Crítica «FutureSex/LoveShow»: Air Canada Centre

TORONTO – Justin Timberlake may style himself as a modern-day Casanova, but sometimes he’s more of a Don Quixote. Last night, he was on a mission to bring sexy «back» to Toronto — a city which, some would argue, has never really had it.

The last time he performed here, for 2003’s «SARS-stock», he was jeered offstage by 500,000 fans waiting to be thunderstruck by AC/DC rather than loved up by a helium-voiced former Mouseketeer. This time around, JT was clearly hoping to be showered by lingerie rather than pelted by water bottles.

Air Canada Centre vendors remove caps from bottles as a matter of course, thus compromising their effectiveness as projectiles. Still, Timberlake first appeared on his stage in the round protected by translucent white sheets projecting the name of his new album, Futuresex/ Lovesounds.

He needn’t have worried, because the sold-out crowd included flocks of young women who were so taken with him that they more than matched his come hither coos in both volume and pitch.

In the short time since his breakup with Cameron Diaz, JT has been linked in the media with every female celebrity short of Dakota Fanning.

On stage, he was surrounded by a bevy of scantily clad female dancers, as well as men with more dapper attire. They all strutted, shimmied and shook around platforms, through trapdoors and across catwalks, as a seven-piece band replicated the Timbaland-produced grooves and hooks that put the «future» in Timberlake’s sex.

Opening act Pink got the party started with a roaring set that concluded with her singing while gyrating high above the stage on pink streamers that dangled from the ceiling, without benefit of harness or safety net.

But while she proudly proclaimed herself a «dork» and made fun of her own lack of dancing skills, JT was all magnetic professionalism, his every move aimed at eliciting ear-shattering screams, to great effect.

His most impressive dancing came in such innovative numbers as My Love and Lovestoned, where he managed to be fluid and robotic, like a cross between Michael Jackson and Laurie Anderson.

He also did his best to bring everyone back to the sexy «future» of the ’80s by displaying digital graphics that recalled Kraftwerk, busting out the computer-funk jam Sexy Ladies (complete with a totally rad keytar solo) and singing smooooooove porno-synth-laden soul (during the slow jam Until the End of Time, the couple in front of me were trying assiduously to suck out each other’s adenoids).

JT’s 2?-hour show was broken up by a DJ set by Timbaland (who also guested on screwed-up hip-hop number Chop Me Up and the irresistible set closer, Sexyback, which turned the ACC into a giant, heaving, laser-lit nightclub), and by a tequila toast during which the forgiving pop star saluted Toronto and crooned the opening to O Canada.

Although his high-energy songs were his most effective, he did, impressively, manage to redeem the ballad Losing My Way, which comes across as drab and out of place on Futuresex, by singing an affectingly soulful solo, surrounded by spectral projections of a string section and a gospel choir on the sheets that dropped down from the ceiling.

Elsewhere, the show was all about seduction, and when Timberlake sat down at a piano to belt out the cliche-ridden encore, Another Song, with its «please give me another chance» lyrics, it came across as a drearily moralistic ending to an evening of fun.

Sometimes, it’s better to love ‘em and leave ‘em wanting more.