Bash Compactor: P.S. We Love You

  It was heartening to see the Abrons Arts Center’s theater packed to the gills at the spring gala for P.S. 122. The honoree of the night, John Leguizamo, was right on when he joked about the attendance at the average downtown theater: “There were always more people on stage than in the audience. That’s how you knew it was performance art.” Maybe it’s just me, but I prefer live performance. I want to see the sweat, to reach out and touch a performer. Which is why we were all gathered together to raise funds for Performance Space 122— actually housed in a former schoolhouse on First Avenue and Ninth Street for the past 25 years.

One of the reasons I love New York is that I can go out at any given time and see dozens of shows. Usually, I’m amazed by the talent, but you’ll still find a clunker here and there. That’s the air of unpredictability; although a step above the open mike, it’s a place where you can still fail. “People came to see you suck,” Leguziamo quipped. He said it, not me.

Leguziamo used to work the club circuit during the late 1980s. He wrote and performed in his one-man shows at P.S. 122, including Spic-O-Rama in 1991 and 1997’s Freak, before moving them to Broadway, where the prices skyrocket and the intimacy is lost.

I was leery about the P.S. 122 soiree because you never know how buttoned-up benefits will be, but I was wrong.

Someone with a superb sense of humor arranged the entertainment, since it was one laugh after the next. The Wau Wau Sisters, wearing sexy cowgirl outfits, lassoed a couple of innocent audience members and tied them up on stage. Hosts Carmelita Tropicana and Marga Gomez cracked silly jokes. Lucy Sexton was such an effective auctioneer I almost bid on the week in the Caribbean.

Rosie Perez, who’s still hot, came out dancing and did her Puerto-Rican-mother-in-the-Bronx-drinking-

Budweiser routine. Her piercing voice was as pungent as in the flicks. The fabulous John Turturro came out and imitated the honoree, doing his best Latino accent. He did a good job, but Leguziamo has a sharper bite. But turns out the dude’s a pussycat in the flesh, chatting everyone up and posing for photos with a grin.

Naturally, not everyone was in a good mood. “Can I take your picture?” I asked Spike Lee, standing by the door in a baseball cap, needing a shave. “I’m done, I’m done!” he exclaimed. “Oh come on, Spike,” I said, but no luck. Maybe he was glum and antisocial or maybe it was just performance art.