Diva Las Vegas

Ann-Margret, Viva Las Vegas (1964)
Recall the city?s smoky ?60s glamour before it grew into theme-parkish proportions at the Neon Museum, an electric jolt of nostalgia and iconic signage that lit lusty Rusty and Elvis?s romantic romp. A free walking tour of classic blinkers like Aladdin?s Lamp are peppered throughout old downtown?s canopied/laser-lit Fremont Street area, but to truly bask in the flourescence of history, book a tour of the Boneyard, an open-air maze of forgotten dreams and shattered glass at ground level.

Demi Moore, Indecent Proposal (1993)
So, Diana, you were pimped out for a million dollars? Why not round up a posse for a shameless celebration at the Cosmopolitan, the David Rockwell?designed, multibillion-dollar stunner that hit the Strip with urban flair this past New Year?s Eve? Book a bungalow loft (price upon request)?an ultra-plush three-level suite overlooking the Marquee Day Club pool deck?or a 5oth-floor wraparound terrace suite (from $360) with to-die-for views and interiors.

Elisabeth Shue, Leaving Las Vegas (1995)
Of all the drinking holes in this boozy city, we imagine Shue?s wounded bird prostitute Sera mucking her nihilistic lover (Nicolas Cage?s Ben) from the floor of Champagne?s Cafe (3557 S. Maryland Pkwy), a grotty, queer-friendly dive conveniently located near Sunrise Hospital on the Eastside. Think piss-cheap drinks, red flocked velvet wallpaper, a vintage juke, and irony-free karaoke. Meanwhile, Snick?s Place, Vegas?s oldest gay bar, is an eccentric ?70s time warp of a randier sort, particularly late night.

Elizabeth Berkley, Showgirls (1995)
Jubilee!, the classic Mackie-designed tits-out-boas-on fantasia at Bally?s, is unadulterated Nomi Malone?style camp, as pure as a freshly washed pasty for nearly 30 years. But the now is Cirque du Soleil. Nomi?s frothy pool tryst would have been good training for the giant water goblet lesbionic-contortionist number in the bawdy adults-only Zumanity.

Sharon Stone, Casino (1995)
You don?t fuck with the mob...or you might be sleeping with the scorpions. Imagine Ginger?s shallow-grave fate—had the twisted, drug-addled mess not been arrested—with a hike through Red Rock Canyon, a spectacular desert preserve of rugged buttes, crackly sagebrush, and burnt-umber vistas a mere 20 miles from the Strip. Or take a dip in Lake Mead, more than 240 square-miles plugged by the Hoover Dam (and notoriously used to dump bodies). The Mob Museum will have all the redacted details when it opens in a former federal courthouse this December.