It’s Monday night at a castle in Las Vegas, where evil and Jell-O shots are being vanquished in unison.
Dinner has been served, but Merlin’s not having it.
“Put your chicken down, people — let’s put some pepper into it!” he booms, his voice leaving his throat like a zeppelin departing its hangar as he demands audience participation — the louder the better.
It’s cheer or be jeered here, though most of the crowd seated around the large dirt oval currently patrolled by a tall, leggy wizard are eager to bellow “huzzah!” upon command like new recruits obeying a white-whiskered drill sergeant.
Still, there are some stragglers to the party — and Merlin sees you, lady in the Dragon section. 
“Stand up!” he instructs a woman in the crowd focusing too much on her food, ordering her to engage in a little arm-waving enthusiasm for all to see.
She obliges, Merlin is pleased, and the feasting on Cornish game hens sans silverware resumes at “Tournament of Kings,” the sword-swinging, spell-casting, fire-breathing, longest-running show on the Strip (It turned 35 at the Excalibur in June).
Not only is “Tournament of Kings’ ” longevity remarkable, but its momentum is growing: The production had its biggest year ever in 2022, according to management, and attendance has remained strong since, with most seats in the 900- capacity room filled on this night.
Some 3½ decades into the show’s run, we’re here to see how it’s done and to answer a pivotal question: How does such old-school showmanship remain not only relevant, but steadfastly popular, amid an increasingly high-tech landscape of immersive entertainment?
Shortly after the conclusion of the first of two performances this evening, we catch up with Merlin, portrayed by classically trained thespian Russ Marchand, in the dressing room he shares with two other lead actors.
“In that one show, I covered just over 2 miles,” he notes, exuding more pride than fatigue. “So I just did a 2-mile jog in the dirt — and I’m gonna go do another one.”
“With the 40-pound costume — and you’re running around in horse poop,” adds fellow actor Jared Dalley, who’s playing King Arthur tonight, but who also portrays Merlin and other characters in the show. “When you’re young, and you’re in theater school and you think, ‘Some day, I’m gonna make it,’ this isn’t what you’re thinking,’ ” he grins.
“But man, I wouldn’t rather be anyplace else,” Marchand continues, earning a knowing nod from Dalley. “This is the most fun you’re gonna possibly have.”
And then he excuses himself.
“I have to put on my beard.”
It’s showtime.
Again. 
Horsing around
Even standing right outside its gate, we’d scarcely know there is a stable on the Strip populated by 17 horses and a barn cat named Raisin had we not just been led here by a man who’s been making this same trek for 35 years.
Just six months into “Tournament of Kings’” tenure, Philip Shelburne was hired as an understudy to the original Merlin, actor/theater professor Doug Baker, who also wrote the show and just happened to be one of Shelburne’s college instructors.
Now the show’s director, Shelburne is our tour guide on a big night: After this evening’s performances, the first rehearsals will begin for annual holiday production “ ’Twas the Knight,” a wintry extravaganza highlighted by Merlin making it snow.
It’s a quarter past 4 on Monday, and this is how each day begins, with cast members walking the 10 horses used in the show — nine performers plus a backup — to the arena from a compact, nondescript stable tucked beside a parking garage in the back of the property.
We’re greeted at the barn’s entrance by its manager, Cheryl Stackhouse, a former horse judge and veterinarian nurse of 30-plus years who helps select and care for the show’s animal cast. 
As we walk the perimeter of the square enclosure, horse muzzles protruding from their stalls in search of a quick pet, she explains what she looks for in a “Tournament of Kings” horse.
“Well, they have to have good confirmation — that means they have to be built correctly to be able to withstand what we do,” she says. “The front end has to match the back end; they have to be weighted correctly. If they have crooked legs, not gonna work, because they’re probably gonna put strain on other parts of the body. They’re gonna become lame more often.
“We also look to see how much they respond to noise and flags,” she continues. “So we bring all that with us when we try out a new horse, walk around with a flag, take a sword, maybe clank it, make a noise, see how they react to that. Some horses will take off, shy the other way, probably not a good candidate for the show.”
Stackhouse joins the clip-clopping caravan as it heads to the Excalibur, where the horses engage in a 15- to 20-minute warmup routine, trotting and cantering in one direction and then the next.
Among the onlookers is company manager and stunt coordinator Ivan Caulier, a former Marine and stuntman in his native France who’s been with the show since 1991.
He scoops up a handful of dirt from the arena floor and filters its contents through his fingers.
“You see those fibers?” he asks, pointing out some small tendrils in his palm. “It’s synthetic fiber. When you water it, the fiber is going to absorb the water and swell up. We were the first ones in the United States to use that product.
“It’s kind of harder to fight on it, because it’s like running on a beach,” he continues, “but when you fall, it’s a lot softer.”
Not that soft, though. 
‘We all have scars’
Kellan Baker nods toward the economy-sized bottle of Ibuprofen sitting on the dressing room counter.
“Adult candy,” he calls it.
Comes in handy around these parts.
Baker would know: One of Doug Baker’s sons who’s now in his 40s, he’s been part of the cast since he was 9 years old, back when there was a boy in the show.
He’s played practically every role in the production ever since and has returned to action as a horse-riding king after a recent six-week layoff due to a fractured elbow sustained during a fight scene.
With over 30 years on the job, Baker has gotten used to all the aches and pains by now.
“It gets to a point where you step in a hole, you sprain your ankle, and you go, ‘Ha ha ha, I did it again,’ ” he says. “You just start laughing, because there’s nothing you can do about it. I don’t even worry about sprained ankles anymore. We all have scars.”
Baker is getting ready for tonight’s show alongside fellow rider Mark Justice, a veteran actor of 14 years who’s been in numerous films and appeared in the Western TV series “Elkhorn.”
For these two, injuries are as much a part of the gig as all the dirt in the shower drain afterward.
“It may as well be written in the contract, ‘You’re going to get an ouchy,’ ” Justice grins. “You go to swing, you step in a hole and it changes the trajectory of a sword. Accidents do happen. It’s not like dancing on a stage.” 
It’s nearing the show’s 6 p.m. start, and backstage bustles like an airport where everyone’s racing to catch their flights.
We pass the wardrobe room, where department head David Tapia tends to the vast array of costumes like wounded soldiers.
“The girls have, like, four costume changes; the guys have multiple costume changes,” he says. “They get worn out and torn up, falling off of horses, rolling around in the dirt — kind of takes a toll on them.”
Fifteen minutes before curtain time, Caulier addresses a room full of male cast members — it looks like the tryouts for a medieval boy band in here, everyone fit, photogenic — instructing them on the night’s fight scenarios and assigning them the horses they’ll ride during various parts of the show.
Most of them play multiple roles, and Caulier switches things up to keep everyone fresh physically and mentally.
“You can develop some issues that are specific to that spot,” he explains. “For example, the King of Ireland jumps from the castle. If you do that every day, your knees are gonna start to feel it. If the guy is doing the ax fight every single day, it’s gonna start developing tennis elbow. So it’s good to give them a break and do something else. It’s good for your mind; it’s good for your body.”
Caulier’s marching orders delivered, Shelburne leads us down to see the show. 
“This is the torture hallway,” he quips as we pass a half-dozen dancers with foreheads pressed to their shins on the floor, limbering up.
Shelburne is joking, of course, but like most good jokes, there’s some truth to his words.
“We’re doing ballet, which is the hardest form of dance that you can do, and then you add in the dirt, which isn’t a solid surface,” dancer Sophie Davies says later in the night. “My feet and my legs are the strongest they’ve ever been from it.
“We’re always, always tired and pushing through — especially for the Christmas show,” she continues, “but it’s so much fun that it makes it all worth it. This is definitely the hardest job that I’ve ever had.” 
Cheer for your king
“Pound the table for Romania!”
A woman seated near us heeds said command with such force during the show that a dinner plate vibrates to the floor.
“Tournament of Kings” revolves around a little old-world nationalism: The arena is divided into seven sections each aligned with a European country — there’s also the evil Dragon zone — and its king, who’s been called to King Arthur’s court to compete in a sporting contest to celebrate his son Christopher.
Flame-throwing bad guy Mordred shows up to do battle with our heroes as well.
The showgoers cheer for the king from their section as the combatants compete on horseback in a series of events like jousting and javelin throwing.
The action sequences are scripted and tightly choreographed, but during the games, the competition is real, save for a couple of regular plot beats.
“It keeps it interesting for us,” says Justice, who mostly plays the caddish, sucker-punching Romanian king.
We take in the evening’s first performance from the Romania area, which replaced Russia a few years back at the outset of the war in Ukraine.
Each section also features a tambourine-banging dancer who hypes up the crowd for their king and reflects his personality.
“All of us girls rotate every section,” explains Davies, relaxing on a couch in the green room after the first show, Justice seated nearby. “France wins the tournament, so he has a different air about him. He’s there to have fun and entertain the crowd with his fight — same with Ireland.
“Romania is like the bad/good guy, so you’ve got to be a little bit more sassy, and you boo the other sections,” she continues. “When you’re in Dragon, you’re cheering for the bad guys. You don’t like anyone, but you’ve still got to be cute with it.” 
Does she have a favorite section?
“I should probably say ‘Romania,’ ” she smiles, eyeing Justice playfully: The two got engaged during one of last year’s Christmas shows.
There’s only about an hour of downtime between performances, and soon the cast starts returning to work.
We head to the venue, where we’ll watch the next show from the wings.
“You’ll be amazed that there’s that many horses and that many people in that little area,” Shelburne tells us. “It’s a little jigsaw puzzle.”
But first, a word of caution from Caulier.
“It gets really busy,” he says. “And really, you can get run over by a horse, easy.”
‘Little, weird things’
The horses don’t just come in hot, but blazing — they race into the narrow stable just off the arena floor with eyes and nostrils wide, having just 20 or so feet to come to a halt from a full gallop.
This is where the performers catch their breath as their characters get a break from the show.
Baker snacks on handfuls of Sour Patch Kids candy and shares them with his horse. Justice bends over and steals a quick kiss from his fiancée before heading back out into the fray.
For Caulier, Stackhouse and the numerous stablehands here, it’s the opposite, as they get horses ready for action in a fast-paced orchestra of hooves.
It’s 9:20 p.m., about an hour into the second show, and if the riders are feeling hyped up from battle, so are some of their co-stars: A dark gray steed named Fuego gets a little feisty, nipping at the horse in the stall next to him.
“Sometimes we have a younger, smaller horse, he’s a warrior out there, and backstage he wants to continue the sparring,” stablehand Annabelle Bossett explains. “So we’re like, ‘It’s just fiction; these are your teammates.’ But he’s got that thing where he wants to fight.”
And, like most workplaces, there can be office politics as well.
“There’s some that like each other, some that don’t like each other,” Bossett says of the horses. “One of them remembered when somebody bit him, so every time he’d walk by, he’d try to kick the horse. They’ll remember little, weird things. They’re kind of like us.”
It usually takes a minimum of three weeks to get a new horse ready to perform, though some require further training for such a foreign environment.
“Everything we show to the horse here is unnatural,” Caulier notes. 
Because horses see differently than humans, even the arena lighting can bedevil the creatures initially.
“When you’ve got a spotlight onstage and you’ve got a perfect circle — like a white circle, a yellow circle — the horse doesn’t want to go in it, because in his mind, it’s a hole,” Caulier explains.
And so he’ll often pair a new horse with two veteran animals and have them approach a pool of light together.
“The new horse, some of them say, ‘OK, they’re going, I’m going,’ ” he notes. “Some others stop, and you see the horse is analyzing this, like, ‘Why are they not falling?’ ”
Even the seemingly simple task of costuming a horse requires time and patience.
“Horses are flight animals, so you come at them with something, put it on their hind end, they’re not used to that. ” Stackhouse says. “Think about a mountain lion coming after them and pouncing on the back of them — that’s something they would normally want to run away from, so that’s something we do slowly.”
And no matter how well-trained one of the four-legged cast members may be, there’s always a degree of unpredictability when featuring live animals in a live setting.
“Sometimes a horse says, ‘Oh, I’m gonna go the other way today,’ ” Caulier notes.
That happened recently, in fact.
“A couple days ago, we had a horse that decided that — instead of running back after our big battle — was now going to keep running downstage,” Justice recalls. “So we had a guy on a horse that started wrangling him like he was a cowboy.” 
Fanning the flames of longevity
You can feel the heat from the stands, a sudden gush of warmth akin to the face-tingling sensation you get when opening the oven door.
Mordred is in the house, shooting grand plumes of flame from a trident, cackling maniacally, scaring kids — you know, bad guy stuff.
There are a whole lot of exploding flash pots, sparks raining down from the rafters and bursts of fire during a “Tournament of Kings” show. The man behind it all: Antonio Restivo, who’s been playing Mordred for 21 years and who owns the Guinness World Record for blowing the longest flame ever by a fire breather — 26½ feet long.
“Fire-breathing is the most dangerous thing you can do, because the fuel is in your mouth, and fire’s chasing the fuel,” Restivo tells us in the green room. “It’s really working with your diaphragm to be able to push the fuel out with enough inertia to get the height. I practiced for a year with water in my shower.”
Restivo is also heavily involved in the holiday production, creating all the illusions and tricks for the show.
Seeing as how he’s been with the company for over two decades, we ask him about “Tournament of Kings’ ” longevity, why it continues to resonate from one generation to the next in a city whose entertainment landscape is barely recognizable from 30 years ago.
“We break that fourth wall on a regular basis,” he explains. “We invite the crowd to be loud and fun and party, and the better they are, the better we are, you know? I think that’s a big part of it: There’s no line between us and them. They’re encouraged to be part of our show.” 
Yuletide preparations
“We’ve got the maypole coming through, ladies!”
The workday’s over for most of the crew, but not for the dancers. And Fuego.
As workers bring the ribbon- strewn, candy-cane-striped wooden pillar into the arena, the first rehearsals for the holiday show get underway shortly after 10 p.m.
“It’s probably like 15 minutes that’s completely new and original, only for that period of time,” Shelburne says of the seasonal production, with dancers rehearsing three to four times a week to get ready.
“It’s definitely a lot of preparation,” Davies says. “There’s a lot of different dances put into it. There’s a maypole — that’s its own beast.”
Tonight, the dancers begin by pirouetting around the 10-foot-tall pole while grasping its yellow ribbons, which fan out like rays of sunshine on a bright day.
After 15 minutes or so, Fuego is back in the arena, rider Alina Stasik warming him up.
The floor is cleared of onlookers, as no one knows how the horse will react to performing this routine for the first time.
“Right now, I’m just feeling his body, if he’s tense in certain areas,” Stasik explains from the saddle. “Horses communicate differently. They communicate with neuroreceptors, like heart rate and how the body moves, so I’m just kind of feeling how he reacts. Through that, I can understand how I can communicate with him better.”
Soon, “Little Drummer Boy” is playing through the PA system as Fuego trots around the track regally, becoming neither distracted nor frightened by the music and dancers in such close proximity. 
“Wow! Good job!” Shelburne exclaims afterward, letting out an audible “whishooo!” of relief. “Nobody died. This is good. He did it without even trying.”
There’s still over a month to go before “ ’Twas the Knight” premieres the week of Thanksgiving, meaning this is only the first of many long days of rehearsal. Still, this night counts as a promising start.
In January, everyone gets a break with nine days off — including the horses, who will be taken to a ranch in nearby Alamo, where they’ll graze and roam pastures.
Until then, the show will go on: 10 performances a week, sore ankles and all.
“Are you ready for some fun?” Merlin will ask the crowd at the beginning of each one.
“Huzzah!” they’ll say. ◆
