Out on the streets, the pre-show dinner crowd resembles nothing so much as a Night of the Living Sex and the Cities, where pods of elaborately turned-out thirtysomething women range the sidewalks, three and four abreast, the sound of giggly, two-Chardonnay laughter and spike heels ringing out in the Autumn night.
Eerily, the male half of the city seems to have disappeared, though some of the gaggles of girls have a token guy in tow. Inside the stadium, the haze of ladies is even thicker. Indeed, some of the men in the crowd seem to have kitted themselves in some fabulous women's wear as well.
Two hours before the Queen of Pop is due to hit the stage, the air is thick with estrogen and sparkles. It is, pardon the pun, a strange Madge-ic to witness.
At 9:30, just an hour after she's scheduled to perform, the stage flanked by hot pink curtains bedazzled with $2-million worth of Swarovski crystals, comes alive with a bombast of visuals and driving beats, relentlessly teasing until She appears, brandishing a sceptre and draped lasciviously across a throne.
To read the rest of the review by Elaine Corden visit the Times Colonist / Vancouver Sun.
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