Nude, erotic `Crazy Horse Paris': Gypsy Rose Lee meets Bob Fosse and Cirque du Soleil

Talk about eye candy. For voyeuristic visuals, Frederick Wiseman's "Crazy Horse" documentary is breakfast, lunch and dinner -- plus a midnight snack.

Not least of Mr. Wiseman's virtues is productivity. Since his debut film "Titicut Follies" (1967), the terrifying expose of a Massachusetts hospital for the criminally insane, he has directed no fewer than three dozen subsequent documentaries about the agony and ecstasy of human activity in institutional settings.

Ecstasy, not agony, is the essence of that 82-year-old director's chronicle of an institution called Le Crazy Horse de Paris, a landmark nightspot boasting "the best nude dancing show in the world" since its founding in 1951.

Crazy Horse is no standard strip joint. Its high-class revues adhere to the highest standards of choreography and production values in shows blending elements of old-style burlesque, new-style erotica and comic variety acts (including a soft-shoe version of "Swan Lake"). It's a kind of Gypsy Rose Lee meets Bob Fosse and Cirque du Soleil -- more sensual than sexual -- designed to appeal to women and couples, as well as horny single men.

We follow Philippe Decoufle, director of the club's grand new "Desirs" show, as he prepares the dazzling dances in intimate rehearsals that reveal the blood-sweat-and-tearful creative process, onstage and behind the scenes. Along the way, we'll even see the prepping and icing of champagne bottles for each patron's table. But most of all, we'll see the discipline and struggle for perfection -- starting with the dancers' bodies.

Those breathtaking bodies must conform to the strict criteria established 60 years ago by Crazy Horse founder Alain Bernardin, who decreed uniformity: The women should all be the same height, with the same slender, long-legged build and the same small-to-medium-size breasts -- breasts that don't move with movement. Of 500 applicants a year, 20 are accepted, and one of the film's best scenes is the annual audition. The chosen few are all given a stage name (Lumina, Zula, Psykko ...) and patient instruction in adapting to the sapphic story lines of the dances.

"Crazy Horse" represents the completion of Mr. Wiseman's charming French trilogy (the previous two captured the Comedie-Francaise and Paris Opera Ballet) in which he probed and ogled the serious work of simulating pleasure. He does so here in his signature verite style, uniquely impressionistic: extended shots, crisply edited with no fancy F/X. That style has deeply influenced all other doc-makers for more than four decades. There's no pandering or condescending to the audience with the crutch of narration or explanatory voice-overs. He lets us come away with our own opinions, rather than his.

Much of the rehearsal and performance footage is riveting, but, after a while, a certain TMI -- Too Much Information -- sets in. At 134 minutes, "Crazy Horse" would have benefited from a 20-minute edit. Transition shots of the Parisian cityscape are pretty obligatory. And if these dancers have any life outside the CH, we never get a hint of it. The biggest problem is that there's no overarching "story," other than the pressure on Mr. Decoufle (and his diva-costumer) to prepare and mount "Desirs" without closing down for a few days. He insists a break is needed to ensure a classy premiere, "otherwise I can't deliver. It's inhuman!" But the owners say no -- art-vs.-business. As conflicts go, it's not quite Napoleonic in scale.

Meanwhile, the dancers wear only a smile, their costumes containing little more material than their false eyelashes. They are clothed mostly by the amazing lights -- an education in artful shadows. Casual backstage nudity and retro-sexy dance numbers are the name of this game. The physical perfection of these women is astonishing, showcased in an (unintentionally?) funny British military beefeaters routine and in an amazing B&D sequence where a girl's tangled ropes slowly turn into a trapeze swing -- every bit as beautiful as traditional ballet.

"Crazy Horse's" theory and practice is the opposite of a strip show: You START with nudity, instead of salaciously working up to it. You savor rather than anticipate it. Restraint is the trademark of this performance genre, which aims (or claims) to elevate and empower---rather than exploit---women's seductive arts.

You can buy that or not. But these naked "soft-core" starlets get more respect -- from their directors as well as the public -- than their clothed Hollywood equivalents. I can't help thinking of Paul Lynde's immortal response on Hollywood Squares when asked, "What did Kim Novak's bra and panties bring at the MGM auction?"

"A standing ovation," he replied.