Dancing twins evoke musicals of the 1930s and ’40s.
Most regular Vegas visitors have their trip planning down to a science. Do it right and the night will include some combination of hot new restaurant, show, and nightclub. But while you’re virtually guaranteed to find something novel each time you come to Vegas—the shelf life of a nightclub here being somewhat shorter than in most other cities—the formula can be “prescriptive,” says John Unwin, CEO of Cosmopolitan. His remedy: Propel the romance of the traditional supper club into the future. In planning the new club Rose. Rabbit. Lie.—where the revelry accelerates to full-tilt over the course of an evening—the team mantra was “1920 meets 2019.”
At any time during the evening, the following might be happening in one of 10 rooms (including a ballroom, a study, and a hall of curiosities designed by renowned “anarchitects”AvroKO): Diners feast on a dramatic king crab for eight (claws fanned to great effect); rare Champagnes cascade down an almost 500-coupe tower; twins from LA hop from a communal dining table to a rotating stage in a modern version of the 1930s and ’40s flash dancing duo the Nicholas Brothers; and a kitchen emerges from a backlit, wall-size Hieronymous Bosch painting. Unwin suggests imagining Club Babalu meets The Ed Sullivan Show meets Circus Maximus.
A tower of Champagne provides bubbly for all.
The few-holds-barred entertainment—masterminded by Spiegelworld’s Ross Mollison (of Absinthe fame)—brings together 40 artists from around the globe. One group offers flickers of elements from The Jackie Gleason Show’s June Taylor Dancers but reinterprets them into an entirely new genre. One dancer balances a Calder-like structure on her head; a burlesque dancer does a striptease—in reverse. Oh, and there are the whirling dervishes. The entertainment adheres to only one rule: Cosmopolitan’s “right side of wrong” credo, says Mollison. “What you want is no rules—within the boundaries of publicly acceptable behavior,” he adds with a laugh.
Gone is pedestrian bottle service, declares David Alan Bernahl, whose Coastal Luxury Management has reconceptualized the civilized amenity for a new age. Punch bowls and cocktails on tap join a sophisticated Champagne program, and tablesidemixologists pour drinks over giant ice cubes.
A showgirl from 1920, or maybe 2019.
Walls fold upon themselves or disappear into banquettes as the evening progresses. During dinner, “you might hear laughter coming from the ballroom,” says Bernahl, but not see the room until the dessert course (whose otherworldly offerings include a chocolate “dirt”-filled terrarium blooming with herbs and carrot ice cream). Finally, the cavernous space opens up entirely, to cinematic effect. Think of the moment in The Aviator when Leonardo DiCaprio enters the Tropicana in Havana. Says Unwin, “I want one o’clock in the morning to look like this.” Cosmopolitan, 877-667-0585