Edited by Moe Meyer - Get a Free Blog

THE CAMP TRACE IN CORPORATE AMERICA 137
segment of the show that was not overpowered by the stage technology. The
power of the attraction was the boy’s young age. The audience was in awe; the
boy, some remarked, was only thirteen. Liberace was not only focusing on the
youth of our country, but setting himself in the role of mentor.
When Liberace returned, he was in another cape, which was “not the loudest,
but the most expensive.” The audience was told it was a black diamond mink
lined with Austrian rhinestones and weighed one hundred thirty-six pounds. He
spun around, spread his cape (the inside was a field of rhinestones)—it was
removed—and he told about his real diamond buttons that together spelled out
his name. He confessed to the audience, “You know, you bought me these
things. And since you bought them for me, I know you want to see me in them.”
Liberace then asserted that he had been blessed with trademarks: his
costumes, piano, candelabra, and rings. He knew the audience wanted to see his
rings so he came up with an idea for showing them off. The movie screen came
down, and on it were filmed gigantic close-ups of Liberace’s two hands sporting
all his rings. As he explained the source of each ring, the camera zoomed in even
closer and filled the screen with each ring individually. The first was a diamond
candelabrum ring. The audience “oohed.” The second was in the form of a
victriola with a gold record that actually spun around, given to him by his record
company to commemorate his gold records. The third was a collection of
diamonds given to him individually by “non-English-speaking countries.” He
put them together in one mounting since he did not have enough fingers to wear
them separately. He called them his “European left-overs.” His royal amethyst
was given to him on the occasion of his command performance for the Queen in
London. There was a subtle revaluing process going on here that was consistent
with the ethos of the entire show. Style superseded content. Thus, the royal
English-speaking amethyst was equivalent to the entire group of non-Englishspeaking
diamonds. Baron Hilton of the Hilton Hotels presented him with a
piano ring in Las Vegas, and finally his big opal came from Australia. He also
showed off a bracelet and a diamond watch in the shape of a piano.
Finally, he asked the audience to make requests. He repeated what he heard
and said, “okay.” He repeated “Chopsticks.” The audience laughed. He said, “Oh,
I play all that crap.” In rolled a rhinestone piano. He played another medley
including “Stardust” and a boogie woogie, but, when he broke into “Let Me Call
You Sweetheart,” the entire audience spontaneously began to sing. The acoustics
in the theatre created a warm, sonorous sound so that I too was finally drawn into
the spectacle. I found myself singing and feeling misty-eyed. My brother just
wanted to listen, cupping his hands around the back of his ears. He was amazed
that the audience knew all the words by heart. And then Liberace played “You
Made Me Love You,” and the audience, including myself, continued to sing. At
that moment the spectacle worked even on me, even as I was analyzing and
taking notes. It engendered communitas and broke down the bicameral roles of
performer and spectator, making the spectators part of the spectacle.