Someone should have warned me about Sylvia Browne’s utterly shameless and abominable one-woman stage act.
I suspected it would be mind-bogglingly awful.
What I couldn’t possibly have predicted was — her show would actually be worse than I expected.
Where to begin?
Sit down. Get comfortable. Grab a drink. Hell, get a bottle. This review is going to be one for the ages.
BEFORE THE SHOW
Click here to read Part 1: WHO WOULD PAY MONEY TO SEE THIS QUACK?
Browne’s show was scheduled to begin at 8 pm on a Saturday night inside a busy casino showroom. Tickets were priced at $42 a pop, plus tax (I got in for free — story to come later).
Prior to her performance, Browne’s devotees are lined up outside the main entrance. By the time I arrive, a few hundred people are streaming into the arena. There’s a single ticket-taker, who must have been in his 70s. I must admit, this senior took his job very seriously. The way he meticulously checked every ticket (one surely has to be on the lookout for counterfeit Sylvia Browne tickets), the way he tore each in half, and then placed them carefully inside the box — made me think he he missed his life’s calling running the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl. Of course, this process slows down the line considerably, making the wait an unnecessary 15-20 minutes.
Fortunately, there’s something to keep those who are waiting occupied. Sylvia Browne has several books and jewelry items conveniently positioned right next to the line to tempt us. How nice of Mrs. Browne to think so much of her followers and their discomfort from having to stand in a long line to (coincidentally?) position her four tables right along the queue. I’m not a psychic, but I suspect Mrs. Browne picked up a few extra sales that way.Read More