Parables are generally thought of as stories and legends, used to illustrate a moral or spiritual lesson. They are allegorical in the sense that a comparison is being made to some other situation or circumstance. The parables recorded in the Bible are, of course, very familiar and have enjoyed a degree of currency, as have those derived from other religious and philosophical tomes. Some ancient stories and myths, which have been recounted in the sense of being a parable, have been passed into both common and scientific usage as a simple word or phrase — a form of shorthand. For example, the term narcissism is commonly used as a reference to an infatuation with self. Its definition, and the inferred dire consequences, is a ‘lesson’ clearly derived from the legend coined in the work of the Roman poet Publius Ovidius Naso (43 BC- AD 17), otherwise known as Ovid (Ovid, trans. 1955).
 
 

Some scholars, in the social sciences, have drawn upon a parable in order to give a profound insight into something that is otherwise difficult to capture, or has been so well captured to make somewhat redundant the construction of a new narrative/commentary. Of course, like metaphors, tropes and alike, in being used in an allegorical manner, it always needs to be kept in mind that this is a similarity rather than a literal relationship. Caution has been voiced in the organization discourse that metaphors and stories can have a seductive kind of power — drawing us into the image and simultaneously averting our eyes from where the allegory breaks down, or just doesn’t fit with the ‘facts’ (see Carr, 1997; Carr & Leivesley, 1995). A parable may have a coherence, that not only gives us a picture or touchstone helpful to understand and deconstruct our present circumstances, but also may have an ending which the present circumstances do not. Thus, an aspect of parables is to glimpse a possible future if the analogy to our present circumstances continues. This possible future can itself be an alluring vision — perhaps a fantasy or wish to be fulfilled; or, it might be one that signals impeding disaster. Whatever the future vision contained in a parable, the nature of the ‘lesson’ is problematic in as much as it is in the eye of the beholder as to whether the present circumstances appear similar enough for the ‘lesson’ to be considered relevant.
 
 

Having made this preliminary and somewhat cautionary note, when asked to attend this conference, in which we are asked to deconstruct and act as commentator on Las Vegas, my immediate thoughts go to Homer’s tale, written around 700 BC, The Odyssey (trans. 1991) and how Adorno and Horkheimer (1947/1997) saw it, amongst other things, containing a parable of modern European history — the “parable of the oarsmen”, as it has been dubbed (see Jameson, 1990/1996). In the reading of the parable, this paper concentrates upon aspects that would appear most relevant to a Las Vegas trying to remake itself as a family destination. A ‘remake’ for visual consumption. There are some parallel readings of the parable that are also possible, but not extensively discussed for reasons of space. It is to this parable I now wish to turn.
 
 

The parable of the oarsmen

It was during World War II that Adorno and Horkheimer (1947/1997) wrote Dialectic of Enlightenment in which they try to come to terms with how fascism could arise and gain a firm footing in a nation that seemed to embody the principles or doctrines of Enlightenment . How could these ideals be so easily replaced by the myths of national socialism? What were the flaws that made that nation so vulnerable to such a doctrine? These were the basic questions that Adorno and Horkheimer wished to address and it was Homer’s The Odyssey that they saw as providing the clue to answering such questions.

The modern flyleaf of Homer’s work The Odyssey (trans. 1991) describes it as recounting “the story of Odysseus’ return to Ithaca from the Trojan war and tells how, championed by Athene and hounded by the wrathful sea-god Poseidon, Odysseus encounters the ferocious Cyclops, escapes Scylla and Charybdis and yields temporarily to the lures of Circe and Calypso before he overcomes the trials awaiting him on Ithaca. Only then is he reunited with his faithful wife Penelope, his wanderings at an end”. Many would read this tale as depicting the triumph of skill, intellect and the human spirit over nature and the powerful and mythic forces of a hostile world. Adorno and Horkheimer’s (1947/1997) reading of this tale is a little more complex and involves seeing the tale as an enactment of a dialectical relationship (one of many) of myth and Enlightenment and, moreover, as a tale of how the price for self-preservation has been exacted only through denying (read: sacrificing, repressing and renouncing) aspects of our own nature; resisting temptation/allurements. It is in the episode of the Sirens, the parable of the oarsmen, where Adorno and Horkheimer find the essence of their reading of the tale as a whole.
 
 

The episode of the Sirens, for those unfamiliar with The Odyssey, is an encounter in which Odysseus, the hero figure of the story, is told by Circe — the daughter of the Sun-god — that his sea journey will next take him through waters in which there are sea creatures that sing irresistible songs that lure sailors to their “doom”. No one escapes the allurement of their song. These sea creatures, called the Sirens, know everything that has happened “on this fruitful earth” (Homer, trans. 1991, 12. 192; see also Adorno and Horkheimer, 1947/1997, p. 33) and give pleasure — producing a narcotic-like intoxication in which travelers succumb to rejoice and lose themselves in the recounting of memories of the past. The price for listening to these “sweet songs” is, not only to lose the self in the euphoria of the past, but also the promise of one’s future is lost — “There is no home-coming for the man who draws near them unawares and hears the Sirens’ voices… . For with their high clear song the Sirens bewitch him, as they sit in a meadow piled high with the mouldering skeletons of men, whose withered skin still hangs upon their bones” (Homer, trans. 1991, 12. 40-46). Circe advises Odysseus, that he should take some beeswax and plug the ears of the crew so that they are prevented from hearing the songs and can row beyond the danger. If Odysseus wishes to hear the Sirens, he should have himself bound, hand and foot, and strapped to the mast “but if you beg and command your men to release you, they must add to the binds that already hold you fast” (Homer, trans. 1991, 12. 53-55).
 
 

Odysseus tells his crew of this forewarning and requests they bind him to the mast in the manner suggested by Circe. Their vessel nears “the Sirens’ isle” (Homer, trans. 1991, 12. 167) and the wind drops. The crew take up the oars and, with their ears plugged with beeswax (by Odysseus), row past the voices. All the while, Odysseus remains bound to the mast and hears the alluring songs of the Sirens. He gestures with his eyebrows to two of his crew to free him. The crew members responded by tighten his binding to the mast and adding even more rope to stop him breaking free. Having rowed past the Sirens, the crew unblocks their ears and free Odysseus from the ropes that bound him.
 
 
 
 

Hearing from Adorno and Horkheimer
 
 

Adorno and Horkheimer (1947/1997) read this adventure as one densely packed with meaning and providing lessons for the present. They open their discussion by asserting that the “entanglement” of myth, reason, domination and labor are “preserved in the encounter with the Sirens” (p. 32). For them, the adventure is a portrait of modernity with all its central elements on display. Odysseus “shows himself to be a prototype of the bourgeois individual” (p. 43) that comes to embody the principle of the capitalist economy, that is “Homo œconomicus” (p. 61). It needs to be remembered that Odysseus was ‘ruler’ of his ship, through a recognition of his reasoning skills, and also he had aristocratic standing. In this duality we can see the strands of legitimacy characteristic of modern history. The victory over the threat posed by the Sirens adds further credence to the power of reason.
 
 

Risk taking, renunciation and sublimation of instincts are the archaic elements of the bourgeois in which reason becomes embodied in the interests of survival and self preservation. In the encounter with the Sirens, risk taking can be seen in the decision by Odysseus to the route to sail past the Sirens. He does not choose an alternative route but instead views the “ratio” (p. 61) of return, a calculated risk, that was in his favour. He could listen to the sweet song of the Sirens, assured that the ropes that bound him would save him from the danger. At the same time, the wax in the ears of the crew safeguards them from succumbing to the allurement of these voices. Adorno and Horkheimer read even more into this decision than to entertain risk. They argue that what Odysseus is seeking to do is to defy the rule of law, in this case ‘natural’ law. He must heed the laws of nature but, through his cunning, he finds an “escape clause” which enables him to fulfill the rule of law while at the same time eluding it. Adorno and Horkheimer argue:
 
 

We will draw upon the above citation again, later in this paper, but the element of sublimation is also implicated in a manner that Adorno and Horkheimer view as present in the parable itself and, in my view, is of the most profound importance in the context of the raison d’ê-tre of the volume as a whole. It also has profound importance for the observations made in this paper about Las Vegas. The triumph of Odysseus, the hero, is one gained at a price. Odysseus wishes for “emancipation from the forces of nature and to regress to a pre-rational pleasure” (Rocco, 1994, p. 75). In his efforts to imitate nature, he must, however, learn renunciation and sublimation. The crew that Odysseus ‘commands’ must sublimate such desires in the interests of applying their labor for their own and their commander’s survival. All-the-while the crew also labor in order that their commander may indulge in the beauty of the Siren’s sweet songs and play-out the risk he has taken with their collective fate. The reconciliation of the apparent antagonism between work and pleasure, that appears in the parable, is attempted in the modern bourgeois in the same way, i.e., in the contemplation of art. Adorno and Horkheimer explain this ‘lesson’ and simultaneously provide a restatement of Hegel’s master-servant parable — a parable of the dialectic of self and other :
 
 

The Homeric parable of the oarsmen, is one that Adorno and Horkheimer view as containing important lessons for their present time . Their reading of The Odyssey, like Foucault’s genealogies, is one which juxtaposes the past and present without glorifying or reifying either. The intention is to clearly reveal how risk taking, self-denial, repression and sublimation are archaic constituents in modernity. The reading of The Odyssey, and the parable of the oarsmen included, is an attempt to open up the present to analysis and to “free the present moment from the power of the past” (Adorno and Horkheimer, 1947/1997, p. 32). Christopher Rocco (1994) argues:
 
 

In that same sense of opening up the present to analysis, the parable appears to have led Adorno and Horkheimer to explicitly consider the issue of culture — an issue of importance for our reflections on Las Vegas. At one level, the reading of the parable was of how self seeks to dominate other and implicated in that process was how ‘art’ and manual labor became structurally divided. In a chapter entitled “The culture industry: Enlightenment as mass deception”, Adorno and Horkheimer (1947/1997) developed this thesis further in the context of their contemporary era.
 
 

Adorno and Horkheimer, like Gramsci (1971), viewed capitalism as engendering a new form of domination. The power of the ruling classes was being reproduced through a form of ideological hegemony; it was established primarily through the rule of consent, and mediated via cultural institutions such as schools, the family, churches and mass media. It was in this context that Adorno and Horkheimer argued that culture, like everything else in capitalist society, had been transformed into an object. This objectification resulted in both the repression of the critical elements in its form and content, but also represented a negation of critical thought. As Adorno (1975) was to remark:
 
 

Positivist rationality, the manipulation and suppression of critical imagination, were embodied in the images and messages produced by the culture industry — an industry so reductionist that culture was mere amusement . The structural division between work and ‘art’ (read culture) was such that culture was to be the vehicle of escape from the boredom, drudgery and powerlessness inherent in mechanized work processes. Culture had, instead, become an extension of that same world of work. In the words of Adorno and Horkheimer (1947/1997, p. 137):
 
 

The views of Adorno and Horkheimer on the matter of art and its critical function have to be seen within a context of how a number of the scholars of the Frankfurt School viewed art, for there was a significant degree of mutual influence within the School. The scholars I have in mind here, in addition to Adorno and Horkheimer, are Marcuse and perhaps the lesser known work of the (equally brilliant) scholar Benjamin. In what might, at first glance, seem a slight digression, the work of these scholars as a collective gives us further depth of understanding as to the importance of art and to the central arguments being raised by Adorno and Horkheimer. A very brief pause to consider some aspects of the work of these scholars on art I believe is in order before we resume our discussion to illustrate how Adorno and Horkheimer’s discourse on the culture industry might be useful in understanding Las Vegas.
 

Adding Benjamin and Marcuse

Walter Benjamin (1933/1999b) suggested we all have a “mimetic faculty” (mimicry) responsible for producing and perceiving resemblance. While imitation maybe the ultimate form of flattery, and a basic behaviour through which we may learn new skills etc., Benjamin (1933/1999a, p. 698; 1933/1999b, p. 720) also viewed it as one of our most irresistible impulses. Indeed, Benjamin, along with his fellow critical theorist Adorno, came to think of mimesis as an assimilation of self to other — a type of enactment behaviour (Adorno, 1970/1997, p.111; Benjamin, 1933/1999b, p. 720; see also Nicholsen, 1997, p. 147; Jay, 1997, p. 32).
 
 

Benjamin (1933/1999b, p. 720) notes that a child’s play is “everywhere permeated by mimetic modes of behaviour. … The child plays at being not only a shopkeeper or teacher, but also a windmill and a train”. Anyone listening to their adolescent offspring trying to sing along with whatever is the top of the hit parade, will soon discover it is not only a matter of getting the words right, you also have to get the right accent to sound like the original! Of course, this behaviour is not always reproduced in the same form, i.e. an aural phenomenon imitated aurally. For example, the child who moves through the house as though they were an aeroplane. Here a human being is seeking to imitate a non-human object. Some areas of this imitation, such as flying, are substituted with a behaviour that is in another form — in this case, running around the house with outstretched arms. Thus the similarity is not necessarily embodied in the same form. These brief examples cause us to consider, perhaps more deeply, the dimensions of mimesis — not only the issue of the success in producing a likeness, but the more general question, that of: “What is the nature of the link with otherness that is both presupposed and created by imitation?” (Nicholsen, 1997, p. 138). The ability to produce but also perceive resemblance would appear to implicate some form of human mimetic faculty or capacity.
 
 

Mimesis and the mimetic faculty, for Benjamin (1933/1999a, p. 695), in times long gone is different to that of today. In those earlier times, Benjamin points to interest in the cosmic order and divination as the medium through which the reading of correspondence was to occur. Today the system of signs takes the form of language, as Benjamin (1933/1999a) argues:
 
 

Adorno (1970/1997) agreed with these sentiments but suggested that, rather than language, it was art that had become the emergent form of the mimetic impulse. He did, however, suggest that art had a non-conceptual but language-like character (enigma) which incited philosophical reflection. For Adorno (1970/1997) a work of art actually induced mimetic behaviour in the viewer (or listener, in the case where he uses the term art in its broader sense to include music, film etc.). Nicholsen (1997) summarizes his position here well when she says:
 
 

The capacity of the arts to resist assimilation was a view shared by many of the scholars of the Frankfurt School. Benjamin and Marcuse saw in surrealism an instance within the arts to further rescue its critical dimension from assimilation and positivist rationality. While it could be said that Adorno was hesitant toward embracing the work of the surrealists’ , Benjamin and Marcuse found that this body of work engendered an opportunity to see the world anew. The variety of techniques developed by the surrealists in writing, poetry, painting, theatre and film were intended to inspire new associations and overthrow the usual linear correspondence of objects and ‘logical’/familiar associations. The paintings by de Chirico during 1911-1917 which inspired some of the early work of the surrealists, and prefaced the formal declaration of surrealism by Breton in 1924 (see Breton, 1924/1969), was work that echoed the founding philosophy of surrealism. De Chirico, like some of the ‘officially’ declared surrealist painters that followed e.g., Magritte, Dali, Delvaux, and Toyen, questioned the familiar identity of objects by faithfully reproducing them but placing them in unfamiliar settings and using such unfamiliar associations to produce a kind of poetic strangeness. The shock of the juxtaposition of objects in unfamiliar association elicited unforeseen affinities between objects and, perhaps, unexpected emotion and sensations in the observer. As Breton more generally observed: “the external object had broken with its customary surroundings, its component parts were somehow emancipated from the object in such a way as to set up entirely new relationships with other elements, escaping from the principle of reality while still drawing upon the real plane (and overthrowing the idea of correspondence)” (1927/1965, p. 83, italics is added emphasis ).
 
 

Marcuse and Benjamin both viewed surrealism as producing a discomfort, turmoil, shock and/or emotional disturbance, in short, borrowing from Bertolt Brecht, an “estrangement-effect”. Citing the words of Brecht, Marcuse (1964) explains the effect in the following manner:
 
 

Both Benjamin and Marcuse saw an affinity between the production of the estrangement-effect and the mode of critical thought championed by the Frankfurt School scholars, i.e., dialectics. This affinity was such that Benjamin (1929/1997) argued that surrealism needed to be perceived dialectically in order to appreciate its purpose and contribution and, in particular, to understand that “we penetrate the mystery only to the degree that we recognize it in the everyday world, by virtue of a dialectical optic that perceives the everyday as impenetrable, the impenetrable as everyday” (p. 237, italics is added emphasis). The dialectic optic is used in its Hegelian sense . The estrangement that comes from contradiction, paradox and irony are the necessary reflective opportunities in which juxtaposition aids dialectical self-consciousness. For Benjamin and Marcuse, the surrealist movement and the estrangement-effect become an artistic-political reflective device only to the extent that the estrangement can be maintained “to produce the shock which may bare the true relationship between the two worlds and languages: the one being the positive negation of the other” (Marcuse, circa unknown/1993, p. 187). Marcuse warns that, in the past, intellectual oppositions to the mainstream became impotent and ineffective because the estrangement-effect was, in effect, disarmed by the assimilating mechanisms of the prevailing order. He argues in Aragon , for example:
 
 

In the Dialectic of Enlightenment, although not adopting these words, it was the dialectic tension and the maintenance of some estrangement that Adorno and Horkheimer (1947/1997) had concern for in the face of the culture industry. They despaired at how the culture industry had assimilated the arts into a world of advertising and kitsch and in this process of objectification had repressed (neutralized) art’s critical function. The work of Benjamin and Marcuse gives us a deeper understanding of these dynamics. Most recently Fredric Jameson (1990/1996) has examined Adorno and Horkheimer’s rendering of the parable of the oarsmen and discerned a somewhat more subtle distinction as to the forms of art both in this joint work, Dialectic of Enlightenment, and in Adorno’s subsequent and last publication Aesthetic Theory. By way of supplementing the much broader commentary thus far, perhaps the insertion of a ‘Post-it note’ on Jameson’s additional insight on these forms of art is in order.
 

Adding a ‘Post-it note’ on Jameson

In one-third of a volume entitled Late Marxism: Adorno, or the persistence of the dialectic (1990/1997), Jameson examines Adorno and Horkheimer’s view of Homer’s parable of the oarsmen and, indeed, how Adorno’s book Aesthetic Theory helps to clarify how art is being conceived. Jameson (1990/1997) suggests that Adorno’s thinking, in particular, “takes place on two distinct axes, which often intersect, but cannot be combined or conflated” (p. 128). Jameson believes Adorno is making a distinction “between ‘art’ in general and the experience of individual works” (p. 128). What is then teased-out, by Jameson, is not just one ‘opposite’ to art but in fact two oppositional terms — anti-art (in the form of the culture industry) and non-art (as in being excluded, as was the case with the oarsmen), “which do not quite overlap conceptually” (p. 151). However, Jameson believes there is another position on art which is the negation of all of the other positions. This position on art is that of the philistines which is a position Jameson (1990/1997) finds can be “identified allegorically as a character in Adorno’s deeper ideological and phantasmatic narrative” (pp. 151-152). The allegorical reference is to the final chapter in Dialectic of Enlightenment on the matter of anti-Semitism.
 
 

In using the word “philistine” Jameson (1990/1997) is not using it in the sense “to be grasped in terms of categories of taste; their project is a more active one, and their refusal is a gesture that has a social meaning which ultimately transcends the matter of art itself and the more limited sphere of the aesthetic” (p. 152). It is not that this group does not understand art, quite the contrary they understand it all too well. They understand that art offers alternative conceptions of the world — a world that has a social order that is less “deformed” (p.154) by class. Cultural envy is but one transcendent expression of this position.
 
 

Thus to summarise Jameson (1990/1997), he suggests (derived from the work of Adorno) there are in fact three positions “that come into being over against art” (p. 152) (see figure 1) : those, like the oarsmen, who are deprived of their very sense organs to appreciate culture, whether it be commercial or authentic, and are initially excluded (non-art); those, like the public of the culture industry, who passively consume mass culture in place of what they have been excluded from (anti-art); and, those, like Odysseus who are all too aware of art and its deeper meaning, but however, unlike Odysseus, resent it (philistines). The variety of positions that Jameson discerns and the manner in which they relate to the broader social structure are shown in figure 1.
 
 

Figure 1: The location of ‘art’
 
 
 

		superstructure
ART (with critical function)					ANTI-ART (‘bad’ art, the culture industry)
ruling classes							oppressed classes
PHILISTINES (deeper hatred of what art represents)					NON-ART (the non-hearing oarsmen)
		base

 

Having added this ‘post-it note’ to our pages on the Frankfurt scholars’ views on the matter of art and its critical function, I would suggest the work of these scholars provides us with a valuable optic through which we can view, and perhaps more deeply understand, Las Vegas and what Las Vegas represents. It is to Las Vegas that I now wish to turn our attention.
 
 
 
 

The ‘imago’ Las Vegas
 
 

The term “imago” is one used in the psychoanalytic arena as meaning an idealized image that has become an acquired but unconscious representation t (see Laplanche and Pontalis, 1973/1988). Living in Australia, the image of Las Vegas that I have acquired initially came vicariously i.e., through the various written and visual media rather than first hand experience of it. Las Vegas and Los Angeles are the ‘fun’ places to be in the States. Las Vegas, or, more in line with the media shorthand — “Vegas” was the place to be to win your fortune at the roulette tables all the while being entertained, often for ‘free’, by the world’s top popular entertainers. Actually, Frank Sinatra, Trini Lopez, Wayne Newton, Barbara Streisand, Tom Jones and alike are part of the lure to get you into the Casino in the first place. It is at this point in the paper, that I thought it would be useful to check my memory of what I understood to be ‘Las Vegas’. I ‘surfed the net’ and came upon the Lonely Planet’s description of Las Vegas with a brief history of the place. They informed me that:
 
 

Odysseus, aware of the laws of probability, might have a system to succeed on the roulette tables. On the card tables, he might just be The Gambler that Kenny Rogers sings about advising, “Son I made a life out of reading people’s faces, knowing what the cards were by the way they held their eyes”. Kenny then sings the chorus, “you got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away, know when to run…” (D. Schlitz, ASCAP – Writers Night Music). The risks for Odysseus and other captains of industry and commerce are, however, not the same as for the “smaller spenders”. Odysseus and the captains of industry are already wealthy, and can afford the risk of losing money — it’s not really ‘theirs’. It is money that represents the extracted profit of the labor of others. The ropes that bound Odysseus to the mast, that Adorno and Horkheimer (1947/1997, p. 34) observed have “irremediably tied himself to practice”, have their parallel in an economic system that binds the collective fate of worker and owner — a yoke created by a superstructure which will continue to hold them in a relationship that safeguards and yields a differentially greater benefit to the ‘captains’. For example, recently, Kerry Packer lost A$30 million at one sitting at the gaming tables, but the structure of his empire continues to extract profits giving him access to tax havens (access to institutionalised cunning, i.e. tax lawyers) and alike, ensuring that he can indulge in the song of the Sirens like few others.
 
 

Those that respond to the allurement of the sounds of the Sirens and visit the gaming houses may also see around them the pile of “mouldering skeletons of men, whose withered skin still hangs upon the bones” (Homer, trans. 1991, 12. 40-46). Those who became addicted to gambling, loiter with intent — more concerned for their habit than their own general welfare or the welfare of loved ones. They have moved from “chasing” the money they’ve lost to the next phase, gambling on credit and future earnings — the power of the allurement of the Sirens rob them of their future. Then there are the “skeletons” that are less visible: the increased crime rate; white collar crime that can be attributed to a gambling problem; the bribery and corruption of politicians and public officials; the increased domestic violence and relationship stress; the escaping behaviours to other excesses (alcohol, drugs, sleep); and, the decline in work performance of the gambler.
 
 

It was noted in the citation from the Lonely Planet that “in recent years, Vegas has bent over backwards to remake itself into a family resort destination”. A recent visit to Vegas suggests that the discontinuity with the past is really superficial. On route, I was in Los Angeles airport and overheard an irate traveler complaining to a desk attendant about missing a connecting flight to St Louis. The attendant told the traveler that unfortunately there were no seats left on direct flights. The attendant then made the suggestion that he could get a flight via Las Vegas “as they fly people from around the country for the gambling and entertainment. There are lots of flights to that destination as they want to cater for the folks who just want to fly there for the day”. Talk about an industry! As we came into land in Vegas, I was momentarily disoriented. Was that a pyramid and the Sphinx I could see through my tiny porthole? I was later to learn this was the Luxor Hotel and casino. I am sure Adorno would be asking why make a pyramid and the Sphinx the objects for mimesis? That fundamental question that was posed in the theoretical framework seems to present itself, i.e. “What is the nature of the link with otherness that is both presupposed and created by the imitation”? It is a question that suggested itself as one did the tourist thing and explored the compact downtown areas called Glitter Gulch and the Strip.
 
 

Glitter Gulch is an area downtown that mostly houses some famous casinos, such as the Golden Nugget and the Golden Spike, and strip clubs . The Strip is the area where one finds the most visible evidence of Vegas trying to remake itself as a family destination. The overpowering first impression is one that this city is a ‘remake’ for visual consumption — a world of mimesis and enigma. Of course, commercial buildings like hotels, represent spaces, or places, for consumption but the fantasy-theme-architecture of this area is about attracting your attention to visit. In a sense the fantasy buildings have become cultural monuments to be visited in their own right and, at the same time, the monument is the place for consumption. An interesting duality. A duality that Horkheimer and Adorno had not envisaged but one that is consistent with their idea of the dynamics of the products of a culture industry. In this context I might suggest that the streetscape be probably more appropriately called a fantascape. I will return to this point presently but for those unfamiliar with this ‘new’ Vegas let me describe some of the buildings in a little more detail.
 
 

The building that I saw when approaching Vegas, the Luxor, is a hotel and casino that alludes to an image of ancient Egypt. Built at a cost of US$375 million, this black glass 36-story pyramid has a 10-story replica of the Sphinx as its entrance. Inside there are some 4,476 rooms and a casino that occupies 120,000 square feet of floor space. The Egyptian and ancient civilization theme is carried through in some parts of the building. There is, for example, a simulator to give visitors the illusion that they are descending 1,000 feet below the surface of the earth to an archeological dig. There is museum and a reproduction of King Tutankhamun’s tomb. The Luxor web site describes this feature informing us that: “The measurements of each of the rooms are exact. The treasures were reproduced using the same gold leaf and linens, precious pigments, tools and original 3,300-year-old methods”. Elsewhere, restaurants and bars bear the names: Nefertiti; Isis; Ra; Papyrus; and the Sacred Sea Room — the latter has murals and hieroglyphic reproductions adorning the walls and there is a blue ceiling mosaic to give an illusion that you are dining at sea.
 
 

The Luxor also houses an IMAX-3D theatre that has a 7-story high screen and some 30,000 watts of sound. There is also “VirtuaLand” (virtual reality as the new form of ‘gaze’) where you engage in a car racing game on a 14-by-50 foot ‘screen’ with “individual motion-based race cars”.
 
 

The Luxor is typical of a number of the buildings on the Strip. The intention is to give the tourist an escape from the world of work and the everyday, and transport them to another realm — a realm of fantasy. The schism between work and pleasure, that Adorno and Horkheimer identified in their analysis of Odysseus’ encounter with the Sirens, is on show in Vegas. The visual consumption that is on offer here is tantamount to a commercialization of common fantasies. A product is offered for consumption, which seeks to almost overwhelm the senses in both the real and virtual objects/experiences that it provides to the consumer. The product is something inaccessible to the real everyday world of the consumer and has a kind of hyper-real (or ultra-real) quality that is designed to elicit amazement and large emotions. The arts that are on ‘display’ here are not those with critical function, they are amusement goods and, in the language of Adorno — noted in earlier in this paper, aimed at capturing attention but inducing passive and uncritical reception. These are patterned and pre-digested products of common fantasies. To resonate, they must have the appropriate (i.e., predictable) ‘players’ and ‘scripts’ and must not contradict the consumers’ expectations. The mimesis presupposes the elements of this otherness called fantasy.
 
 

The comments about fantasy and what the mimesis presupposes, are comments that are also relevant to many of the theme parks and playground ensembles that we find in and around hotel complexes in Vegas. The continuities with childhood fantasy abound. Some of the buildings, however, have a very overt relation to consumption. In what must be one of the biggest ‘exclamation marks’ to the Adorno notion that art has merged with advertising as cultural products, imagine a building in the shape of the largest Coca-Cola bottle in the world and in it you are invited to recall associations in your own life with the product, Coke. Such is the case in Vegas and these associations may then be retold and become part of Digital Storytelling Theater. We find consumption of a slightly different kind in the hotel called the Mirage, which is also on the Strip. Outside the Mirage a fake volcano erupts every half hour, belching smoke and fire, while 54 artificial waterfalls help to complete the orchestra of sound. Once you make your way through the mini tropical rainforest and are in the building at the check-in counter, your attention cannot help but be attracted to what the Lonely Planet (1999) describes as the “bête noir of water conservationists”: a 20 metre long aquarium with over 1,000 fish which uses over one million gallons of water a day. In the context of Nevada being a relatively dry State, this seems an act of conspicuous consumption!
 
 

One could go on with further examples that appear to ‘fit’ the critical framework developed earlier in the paper. Clearly aspects of Las Vegas might be read through the framework, but the glitz, glitter and newness of the present does appear all the more meaningful in the light of the archaic. This juxtaposition affords us an opportunity to see ourselves in spite of ourselves, or as we noted earlier, to be decentered from our historical position of privilege — not a bad starting place for deconstruction?