Playing the Palace

Liza by Warhol: Think Pink!

When, as from time to time happens, I decide that the single biggest mistake of my adult life was leaving New York City, it's usually a phrase like this that's the catalyst: "Liza's playing the Palace!"

And she is. And here I sit on the other side of the world; granted, we have a real Palace hereabouts (several, in fact), but it's hardly the same thing.

The reviews mostly aren't in yet, but early signs are good ("Liza Minnelli reigns in opening at The Palace Theatre" - Newsday). I'm not an absolutely rabid Liza queen, but these days, her kind of razzle-dazzle is in sadly short supply, and if nothing else she's an incredible link to a show-biz tradition that stretches back, when you think about it, a century or more.

New York has a terrific profile in honor of the new show, and soon enough shaky YouTube videos will be helping bridge the gap between here and there, so I really can't complain about a Liza-drought.

And of course, I have to think of all the things that wouldn't have happened had I stayed ensconced in my little West Side flat - Mr. Muscato chief among them. Thanks to Liza, I do know that Life is a Cabaret, but thanks to him, I'm equally aware that there's not a thing in the world wrong with knitting, a book and a broom (with the right guy around to hold your wool), and that, for the moment, at least, I'm not going like Elsie.

And neither, it would appear, is Liza. Three cheers for that!