I don’t get this show.

On the one hand, it features three highly polished, superbly entertaining burlesque performances. On the other hand, these are couched within a plodding, cringe-worthy panel-style show complete with fading rock star jokes and mullet wigs. One minute, we’re sucked in by a striptease; the next, we’re shifting uncomfortably in our seats as the host and judges ‘pretend’ to sexually harass the stars.

The acts change from one night to the next, but we were treated to three consummate performers. Lola the Vamp is classic in the Edwardian sense as she slides out of a corset and satin bustle. Natasha the Pasha’s frothy feather dance is sexy and silly, and National Institute of Circus Arts graduate Marawa hoolas more hoops than I could feasibly lift.

The girls have serious talent, their costumes are spectacular, and most on the roster have toured internationally. So I don’t understand why they’re letting a bunch of C-grade actors ride on their coat-tails (well ‘ frilly knickers) when they could do so well without them.

Burlesque has had to work hard to separate itself from your garden-variety stripping, and the smutty jokes in Idol are embarrassing and undignified. Feminists will hate this show, but not because of the striptease.

It’s still worth seeing’try to arrive late to miss the dragging introduction. It’s your choice as to whether you stay until the end, when the abandoned host gets his kit off and takes us somewhere my friend Clem would call ‘Flavour Country’.