Metropolis' Middle-Age Mix

Metropolis, the new three- floor nightclub on Washington St. in downtown Boston, opened Thursday, February 6. 15 Minutes sent intrepid observers and bitchin' rug-cutters Sally February and Miguel Montana to check out the action.

On Decor:

Sally: Gray and blue lights illuminate the expressionistic sponge-painted walls, lending the place an ominous, expressionistic feel. On one wall, the light system projects a swirling iridescent pattern. Looks like amoebas swimming in an oilslick. I think this is the dance floor.

On the Dance Floor:

Miguel: They've got this groovy map of the world painted on the dance floor. Saudi Arabia is definitely the hot spot on this lukewarm planet. From here, you can scan the crowd on four continents.

Sally: There's a serene college-age couple in the Pacific Ocean and a forlorn businessman striking poses in the Antarctic. The whole Eastern hemisphere is occupied by a clique of stationary women in black spandex and chiffon.

This club is not hopping.

On the Crowd:

Miguel: The place has all the ingredients for a melting pot, but the heat's not on. We've got balding businessmen, clean-cut but horny college kids, aspiring models and way too many grinning yuppies. All the groups are isolated, though, and it's killing the atmosphere.

The potential is here. If these people were all drunk enough, they could realize Janet Jackson's vision of a Rhythm Nation: folks from all walks of life united in homage to the groove. As it is, they're all sort of staring at each other.

Sally: Miguel, dear, deal with diversity.

On Music:

generic, throbbing, boring.

Sally: Where are the Pet Shop Boys?

Miguel: Where's Madonna?

On the MTV dancers:

Sally: So everybody's standing around, like at a Bar Mitzvah. Suddenly, three blue-sequined and hot-panted women climb onto pedestals on the dance floor. A voice booms over the loudspeaker:

"Everybody make some noise for our Club MTV dancers: SOOOOZIE, ANN, LAU-REN! The more you put your hands together, the more they'll move their bodies for you," the WZOU DJ purrs.

This might as well be a striptease, but the audience is unmoved. They look on, stirring their drinks. Ann looks a little stoned. The DJ coaxes, sounding increasingly desperate.

"COME ON, YOU CAN MAKE MORE NOISE THAN THAT!"

On LAU-REN:

Miguel: Ah, Lau-ren. A body like poetry and eyes like burnt caramel flan. I can tell by the way she dances that her soul is tuned to the great cosmic pulse. She moves like dough being kneaded by the hands of God...

Sally: OK, OK, let's hit the bathrooms.

On Restrooms:

Miguel: The men's john is ridiculously small for a place this size: 1 stall, 4 urinals. The only point of interest is the sponge-paint splattered all over the walls--here a virile blue. Rubbers are 50 cents, but no one's buying.

Sally: And the ladies' powder room. A lascivious red. Yum. Condom purchases low here, too. But you can check your lipstick in the mirror over the sinks and subtly inspect your butt for those unseemly panty lines in the vertical mirror behind you with just a discreet toss of the head. How convenient!Middle Age:

Sally: We forgot to mention the first floor--a bunch of folks pondering their mid-life crises in a room that looks like the lounge in a slick hotel. Very beige, very soothing. Squat candles on white tablecloths, a rainforest-wood bar. A jazz/reggae/lounge band is playing "Red, Red Wine." No one seems to recognize the tune.

Couple of the evening:

Miguel: A pair of women sitting on a bench by the bathrooms. They've got their legs wound around each other and even manage to take time out from snuggling to stare down curious looks ("Fuck off, asshole!" the brunette says). True metropolitans. They're too sexy for this club.

Finallmpressions:

Metropolis has potential (3 bars, lots of room) if you're into the slick '90s look. But the sweat and joy factors were low on opening night.

Metropolis

533 Washington St.,

Downtown Boston.

338-6999. $6 Admission,

21 up.