The only thing that still glitters here is the sea. The gloss has long since faded at Venice Beach. And yet the tourists keep coming — to see and be seen.
Elvis is flagging, but he manages a couple more numbers. He chortles slightly as he sings, but it’s the music that counts. It’s Showtime. A small crowd of snap-happy tourists is assembled around him. Mingling among them are a couple of his friends, who have yet to change into their own disguises. The sky above is blue and if you listen carefully, you can just hear the waves of the Pacific breaking in the distance. Elvis casts a brief look around, adjusts his old Marshall amp to full gain, and launches into an adroit hip-swivel from left to right. His quiff jiggles in time to Jailhouse Rock. The sun shimmers from the rhinestones on his once-white, rather tightly-fitting jumpsuit. Elvis isn’t entirely sure of his lines and occasionally his timing is off, but he continues, laughingly. The Venice sidewalk is Elvis’s own stage.