That 70s Show: MontBleu’s weekly Boogie Nights costume party takes you waaaay back

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One night a week Tahoe’s Club Blu revisits two long-gone decades

By Dylan Silver

 If You Go

Where: Blu Nightclub inside MontBleu Casino Resort & Spa, South Lake Tahoe

When: Every Saturday / Doors at 8 p.m.

Cost: Free admission in 70s and 80s attire

For more information: www.Montbleuresort.com

 

When faced with a man wearing a giant disco ball on his head, there’s only two real reactions. The first is to tear off into the bathroom, mumbling through tears, “G**damn you, Mr. Bill.” The second is to hold your ground, draw your index and middle fingers up to your face and slide them slowly across your eyes.

 

Yearning for the days of oversized collars, Pontiac Firebirds and a “Highway to Hell?” When you went on a journey to Journey? When summer meant Donna Summer? Ya, me neither. I wasn’t actually there. But, once in every long while, it can be fun to take an imaginary visit (or revisit, for some) to those strange, strange times.

 

If you’ve got the 70s or 80s fever, MonBleu Casino Resort & Spa’s new Boogie Nights throwback party might be the remedy. I took the trip recently. While not old enough to fully appreciate the nuance of the death of the Brady Bunch, I’ll still get down to some Blue Oyster Cult. On the whole, disco-ball head guy aside, I found the Saturday night event interesting, like a computer museum or an abandoned amusement park.

 

When a 20-something guy in line says, “Man, I should’ve worn my Hammer pants,” I assumed I was in for a good time. In my experience, costume parties, except those involving bondage, are more often than not good parties. Inside the club, I was happy to see a half-dozen afros, a scattering of women in one-piece suits, the odd pompadour and a few pairs of Dirk Digglers’ own bell-bottoms.

 

A couple of women in skin-tight shorts and tops pirouetted through the colorful setting on roller-skates. Michael Jackson, in his signature red leather, perused the dance floor. Tom Cruise in Top Gun stared out from a picture on the wall. The squares of color shining on the dance floor flipped like a Rubik’s Cube.

 

“Play that funky music whiiiiite boy/ Play that funky music right/ Play that funky music white boy/ Lay down the boogie and play that funky music till you die.”

 

Suddenly, Madonna tromped on stage in a wedding dress, her lips crimson like a candy apple. She belts out “Like A Virgin” in lip-sync, cavorting and dramatizing to much applause. For those in attendance that lived through the icon’s most genius years, the reenactment may have spurred some ruefulness. I thought it was funny.

 

The night continued. The colorful squares kept searching for their perfect match. The portion of the crowd that was actually alive through the decades seemed to find a special joy in reliving their “Me” years. The orbs of mirrors twinkled a little extra for them. They resurrected special dance moves, waving each other on and circling around for those really on fire.

 

“We’re gonna rock down to Electric Avenue/Then we’ll take it higher.”

 

Disco-ball head guy initiated the filming of a “Harlem Shake” video. The crowd shook and shimmied and waved their hands for the camera. “It’s going to be an internet sensation,” the MC shouted at them. Liar. (Ed’s note: decide for yourself)

Somewhere in there, probably after my seventh Tequila Sunrise, I found the faux-fur-covered circular couches. I sank into the zebra stripes and let Hula Hoop Girl hypnotize me. The daze may have lasted hours. When I blinked, I realized I’d been staring at the backside of a neon tutu. Devo’s “Whip It” was playing. Then it came to me.

The microwave is not a new invention. The Vietnam War is over. Richard Nixon is dead. So is Michael Jackson. Scarface was not a true story. In essence, there’s nothing wrong with dressing up and partying like it’s 1979. It’s great we live in a “party” town. But, man, I’m glad I don’t have to drive a carrot orange Corvette to be cool.

 

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Category: Arts & Culture, Uncategorized