ENTERTAINMENT REVIEW : Animals Outshine Humans Dancing to Sea World Tune

Every evening at Sea World, during the climactic killer whale show, Shamu does his version of break-dancing. In a shallow pool, the 6,000-pound whale spins on his side while disco music blares and his trainers boogie on the nearby stage.

It is a special Sea World moment, vividly reminiscent of bygone days when the park used the celebrity whale in such campy skits as “Shamu Runs for President” and “Shamu Goes to College.” These days, except for the nightly Shamu show (which is different from the daytime show) and a few other seemingly obligatory but hokey presentations, the current performance roster reflects the changes in Sea World’s concept of family entertainment.

During the early 1980s, the Sea World entertainment gurus backed away from the situation-comedy approach and turned the Shamu show--the anchor of the park’s entertainment schedule--toward education-oriented programs. Killer whale shows evolved into tributes to killer whales, celebrating the gallant creatures and inspiring audiences with the

warm feeling that capturing whales and encouraging them to perform tricks for crowds is a holy enterprise for nature lovers.

Those worthy education themes permeate most areas of Sea World, reminding visitors that the park is more than just a money-making machine for Anheuser-Busch, the beer company that owns it. Of course, that barely matters to a parent who just took out a bank loan to buy admission tickets for a family of four.

Families want to see some professional entertainment. They also want to pet dolphins and feed birds, and if, in the process, the parents can show their progeny that marine animals can be appreciated as something more than tasty appetizers, all the better.

At Sea World, the shows serve as deliberate time killers. For the visitor in high gear, it takes no more than a couple of hours to walk around the park and see the exhibits. It takes about another hour to fill up on the vast array of available junk food. That leaves a lot of time to fill in for a day in the park, and that’s where the shows come in.

In a sense, Sea World is San Diego’s most prolific theater, with eight productions running throughout the day and night. The show’s organizers are not trying for Shakespeare, just the classic theme-park tone, a blend of small-town Americana and schmaltz. Visitors are asked to suspend belief and enter a world where everybody perpetually smiles, animals talk and the music is provided by an Osmond family clone. Kids love it. Adults are asked to suffer in silence and leave the wallet open.

Sea World’s newest offering in the theme-park cultural parade is “Beach Blanket Ski Show,” which debuted last week. According to the park’s program, in this “spectacular show,” water-skiers “put the sizzle in a ‘60s-style beach party.”

The show’s inspiration is beach blanket bingo movies, but it fails to achieve even that much depth. The ski show tells the touching and poignant tale of a nerd named Howard who tries to woo a water-skiing sweetie named Barbara Ann. At the same time, a gang of water-skiing thugs, the Squids--led by a pompadoured, jet-skiing maniac named Johnny Stingray--attempts to thwart Howard’s advances while doing tricks to a variety of elevator-ready versions of classic ‘60s songs.

“There is only one way to settle this: a dance contest!” the peppy disc jockey/master of ceremonies cries. Enough said.

To call this show corny would be to elevate “Hee Haw” to the level of Chekhov. Sea World’s shows are intended to be simple, aimed at tourists from places like Iowa and Japan who don’t get to see “spectacular shows” like this very often. Yet it’s hard to imagine even the most landlocked person liking this sort of thing, unless they are somehow fascinated by the layers of meaning and social nuances of “Gidget” movies.

“Beach Blanket Ski Show” makes “Shamu Goes to College” seem like an intellectual high point for the Sea World staff. Even the tricks are mundane, looking rather simplistic compared to the type of action seen weekly on ESPN.

The same is true of the nightly “Hot Summer Lights” show. In an age of MTV and Nintendo, Sea World attempts to amuse audiences with a simple laser show, some perfunctory fireworks and a clumsy lounge magician.

Above all, both “Beach Blanket Ski Party” and “Hot Summer Lights” spotlight the three “-isms” that are the backbone of theme park entertainment: Commercialism, Patriotism and Brain-Deadism.

At least in “City Streets,” another skit-oriented show, the performers display some skill and energy. “City Streets” includes dancing, bird shows, acrobats, skateboarders and BMX bicycle tricksters in a campy musical setting.

Although this type of fluff can be fun, the real backbone of the Sea World schedule, the thing that sets it apart from Disneyland and all the other theme parks, is, and always will be, the animal shows.

Disco Shamu is the evening presentation, different from the daytime shows. The whales go through their paces, jumping in the air, swimming on their backs and splashing patrons, while the trainers, who apparently graduated from the John Travolta School of Marine Science, dance on stage as the speakers blare the rhythms of “Everybody Wang Chung Tonight.”

The daytime show is more reserved, in the more traditional Sea World fashion. The trainers talk in doting tones about the “majestic” and “awesome” yet “delicate” creatures. Music is still emphasized in the show, but instead of disco hits, the tunes tend toward pop--a recorded Whitney Houston-type voice reverentially leading a sing-along ode to nature.

Baby Shamu, who was born in front of park visitors in 1988, is the star of the show. Although the trainers describe the birth of the killer whale in captivity as a “milestone of marine animal science,” more than anything, the birth in captivity probably aided Sea World’s efforts to propagate its shows, since the park has been harassed about capturing whales in recent years.

Primarily, though, the whale shows are cute and based on the Sea World basic-entertainment theory: “Get them wet and they will laugh.” While not exactly profound, there is truth in the philosophy, and it’s hard to deny that people leave the whale stadium smiling.

The same philosophy helps make the dolphin show a perennial hit. At the beginning of each show, a dolphin swims on its back around the outer edge of the pool, using his tail to splash the kids, who love it.

Maybe it’s the smiles that seem permanently etched on the mammals’ faces, but the dolphin shows always seem to be more fun. The dolphins can leap higher, swim faster, do more flips and appear more playful than the killer whales.

With the dolphins, it’s easy for kids of any age to enjoy the spectacle, despite the omnipresent soundtrack that sounds as if it was taken from an episode of “The Lawrence Welk Show.” But there is little of the sit-com smarm that infects so many of the other shows.

It’s just good, clean, soggy fun.