“A Bronx Tale”

Chazz Palminteri’s youth found him under the wing of a neighborhood mob capo as his surrogate father. An interracial crush ended in “West Side Story” tragedy.

Small wonder that when an Actor’s Studio pedigree failed to put Palminteri on the map 20 years ago, “A Bronx Tale” did.

For the past two years, the 57-year-old actor and writer has been back on the boards with his star-making vehicle. A middle-age man steps back into his youth under a prop street-corner sign of 187th and Belmont and still makes it uniquely thrilling; resonant and personal, but told in a showy, one-man format seldom seen in these parts.

At first glance, it seems out of place on the Strip, parked in Wayne Brady’s theater, financed by sons of the casino industry. After all, I saw two mentalists last week. Quite the change, you know.

Scratch a little deeper, and it makes sense. Vegas is a very East Coast western city, with a wise-guy heritage dating back to the early-1950s casino settlements.

And if you strip the story from the technique, Palminteri’s hat trick is a one-man Cirque du Soleil, a theatrical high-wire act.

(I thought it was only me pondering one distraction. But after the show, I heard several people say they were waiting to see if Palminteri would take a drink of water and marveling that he could go full-steam for almost 90 minutes without it.)

Las Vegans have seen Hal Holbrook’s “Mark Twain Tonight” off the Strip, but Billy Crystal canceled a “700 Sundays” booking at the MGM Grand. Both of them are rooted in stand-up comedy anyway. “A Bronx Tale” is a different structure: a play or movie with Palminteri doing all the parts.

It takes a few minutes to quit noticing his physical energy, how much he uses his hands, and how it’s kind of weird at first to watch a 57-year-old affecting a boy’s mannerisms.

Before long, thanks to the ancient illusion that is theater, you sublimate the technique and focus on the fast, deep conversation of neighborhood boss Sonny telling 9-year-old Calogero (Palminteri’s real first name) that Mickey Mantle isn’t God.

By now, most people who would buy a ticket come in knowing the story via the 1993 movie version. If so, you notice how the tale accelerates in the one-man format and how, for the most part, it’s funnier. The Damon Runyon types get more stage time. The street guys’ brawl with a biker gang isn’t literal, and Palminteri lets some of it be told by the neighborhood guy who puts all his words into song.

In the movie, Palminteri played Sonny as more of an icy cool character, as classy as they came in the 1960s Bronx. Onstage, he’s more the thug as big dog, and it’s Calogero’s father who has the steely voice that brings a hush to the room.

Their tug-of-war on the lad is basic but compelling. Sonny says the working man is a sucker. The bus-driving father claims the honest man is the real tough guy. Both of them mean to do right by the kid. Eventually, their roles blur; it’s Sonny loaning out the car for a big date.

The racial themes are less of a detour within the compact stage presentation, which becomes more cinematic in its lighting and sound effects — overseen by Broadway director Jerry Zaks — as it races to a climax.

And if the sentimental ending had Mike Tyson or some of the opening-night casino and poker heavyweights going soft like so many gamblers in a Salvation Army hall? That only gives “A Bronx Tale” a fittingly Runyon-esque place on the Strip, one which Zaks might recognize. A spinoff of his “Guys and Dolls” revival played the Desert Inn back in 1995.

Contact reporter Mike Weatherford at mweatherford@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0288.