Watching Madonna unleash her magnificent Confessions show at the Forum last night, we felt like we were on some brand new designer drug, an intelligent psychotropic that makes everything cleaner, brighter, and viscerally more colorful, like an entertainment from the future. When we weren’t feeling superhigh, we imagined we were watching the best, most expensive Broadway musical ever mounted, unburdened of cumbersome story and dialogue. Except for “Substitute for Love” and the duet with that Isaac person that followed, in which Madge tried to impress us with her knowledge of three or more chords on the guitar (which, admittedly, she looked fab doing) and everybody in the arena sat down or went for drinks or to the bathroom, the show was a non-stop barrage of thrilling multimedia visuals – even when the star was not on stage, thanks to her incredibly unbelievable dancers whose unwavering exactitude seemed almost mathematical. We wanted to take them home with us, we wanted to take them home. The influences in the production – which was rife with hydraulics, lifts, trap doors, screens, monkey bars, things coming down from the ceiling, and a well-trafficked runway – were smart and myriad, and we thought we spotted traces of Pina Bausch, Alwin Nicolai, Dream of the Wild Horses, Dita Von Teese, James Brown, Hair, Midnight Express, Roller Boogie, Danny the Wonder Pony, and of course Saturday Night Fever. And of the 18,000 fans who were there, it’s interesting that 12,000 were gay, lesbian, bi, or transgendered. We counted. And the story is that Rosie O’Donnell upgraded her seat to the foot of the runway and left wife Kelli to fend for herself in the cheap seats.