•
Rating: It is difficult to find a plausible example of sport, patriotism, spectacle, national pride, commercialism, and media pomp as the Super Bowl, the grand final of the American football championship, in any other global context. Millions and millions of spectators glued to their TVs, major corporations and mega-societies battling down to the last nanosecond to secure sponsors, and a business turnover that easily eludes crises and recessions, transforming a standard tournament closure into a spectacular and monstrous media and economic machine. The best (and also the worst) of the U.S.A. trademark is showcased in the equally famous Halftime Show, the most illustrious and profitable Yankee stage where the best (and worst) examples of Uncle Sam's tradition, true bearers of a star-spangled pedigree, entertain the vast audience during the break of the final battle: just to (try to) draw a plausible comparison with Italy, it is as if during the Champions League final Milan-Inter at San Siro, a media-musical spectacle was staged by pure Italian talents such as Vasco Rossi, Laura Pausini, Ligabue, Eros Ramazzotti, Tiziano Ferro, Al Bano, and so on. This idyllic country transposition has not (thankfully) yet been materialized, however, the last word has not been said.
The Halftime Show stage has seen all kinds of performances. Initially reserved for small bands or theater groups not inclined to extravagant sets and choreography, the show began to swell with VIPs and sacred monsters only in the Eighties and Nineties with the likes of Michael Jackson, Diana Ross, Phil Collins until, in 2004, the famous duet of Justin Timberlake-Janet Jackson with the equally famous nip slip of Miss Jackson. The latest show, in 2012, had none other than the mighty Madonna gracing the stage in Indianapolis, celebrating her thirty-year career with songs like Vogue, Like a Prayer and the then-unknown Give Me All Your Luvin' and performing alongside colleagues LMFAO, Nicki Minaj, M.I.A., and Cee-Lo Green.
To successfully continue the trend of prestigious American musical acts, the Super Bowl scepter of music has been handed to the enchanting Beyoncé, about to build her comeback after the moderate results of her latest work 4. A woman of international fame, intoxicating looks, a new rapper husband and owner of an astonishingly large music empire, a daughter (Blue Ivy) recently born, and no desire to stop in the manner of humble middle-class mothers of our latitudes, Mrs. Carter couldn't pass up such a juicy opportunity to silence the many malicious voices about her and once again rekindle the weary hearts of fans thirsty for her voice, presence, and hits for more than a year now. The beginning of this adventure, however, was not one of the happiest: fierce criticisms have showered down on her like machine-gun fire after the pre-recorded (and therefore fake) performance of Star-Spangled Banner at Obama's second inauguration ceremony at the White House.
Beyoncé's Halftime Show was not heavily decorated with gigantic sets, endless dancers, and regal stages, but - on the contrary - a rather essential performance in terms of frills. Our panther, in black attire and in great shape (despite the pregnancy), debuted, at the end of a fleeting jet of fireworks and shaped lights, with the vocal acrobatics of Love on Top only to twist, wriggle, sway and groove sensually to the tunes of Crazy in Love and the pseudo-tribal End of Time, naturally accompanied by a worthy retinue of attractive dancers. In an "orgy" of dances and ballets, the awaited medley of songs continues with the Arabian Baby Boy and with an unfortunate reunion with Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams under the name of the now-defunct Destiny's Child: the colleagues, in fact, demonstrate even post-mortem (of the band) to be negligible extras who add little, in terms of moves and vocalizations, to their old hits Bootylicious and Independent Women. Having dispensed with the old buddies of million-selling records after the infamous choreography of Single Ladies, Beyoncé returns radiant, unique, triumphant, and regal with the tear-jerking closing ballad Halo.
The show has already received mixed reviews and there have been the usual comparisons to Madonna's past performance. Beyoncé certainly appeared radiant, splendid, and enticing, yet a show was expected in which dance and song balanced and complemented each other in a perfect unicum of talent. Wild, dynamic, confident, and graceful in her movements, the diva nonetheless managed to inject a "hot" touch into an evening lacking female presence, warming the hearts (and not only those) of attendees in New Orleans and television viewers who, undoubtedly, were little affected by a performance not excessively flamboyant in terms of vocals. Also odd is the strategy of chosen songs (all old hits and not even the presentation of the first single from the new album that would have aided its sales) and the completely useless appearance of the former Destiny's Child, inevitably lacking charisma worthy of the protagonist as well as the ability to enhance the few minutes spent on stage with their own means.
What to say, then, about the Beyoncé-branded Super Bowl? A decidedly engaging show, sensual and captivating dances, few but valid highlights (still pre-recorded? Mystery), for an evening where even the ladies were able to play, albeit for a mere fifteen minutes, on the magical playground of American ecstasy.
Loading comments slowly
