Theatre in Review: Latin History for Morons (The Public Theater)

	John Leguizamo. Photo: Joan Marcus

Class is now in session at the Public's Anspacher Theater, with John Leguizamo as our unlikely professor. It's certainly a surprise to see the star of Freak, Sexaholix, and Ghetto Klown adopting an academic demeanor, even a mock one. Dressed in blue jeans and a tweed jacket, he's not quite the caffeinated jumping-jack figure of yore. He's clearly edging into middle age, his hair thinning on top and projecting out from the sides in unruly fashion. He could almost be one of our Founding Fathers, or, at the very least, a refugee from the cast of Hamilton.

And, for the first time, the face he presents to us is that of a troubled paterfamilias. Married with two adolescent children, he describes how, last year, both he and his wife -- "the lowest-maintenance high-maintenance woman I know" -- were both disturbed when their thirteen-year-old boy, falling behind at school, began hiding out in his bedroom. A little fatherly investigation discovered that the boy -- a truly gentle soul -- was suffering from ethnic bullying in the schoolyard. His main tormentor called him a "beaner."

At the same time, Leguizamo's son is struggling to name a Latin hero for a school project, so his father, grabbing a copy of Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States, sets out to educate him -- and us. Arguing that the original inhabitants of North and South America and the Caribbean were the products of the same mixed gene pool, he lays out one sorry episode after another: Hernán Cortés, who subdued and conquered the Aztecs by pretending to be the god Quetzalcoatl; Francisco Pizarro, who wiped out the Inca Empire; Andrew Jackson and the Trail of Tears; and on and on. The death toll from such adventures is staggering; just about the only thing indigenous Americans got from these Western European invaders was the curse of syphilis -- which, you can be sure Leguizamo makes clear, was originally contracted by Europeans having their way with sheep. He also fills us in on Latinos who have performed heroically in US wars, in one case spinning a fascinating narrative about Loreta Janeta Velázquez, who disguised herself as an officer to serve alongside her fiancé in the Civil War. It becomes clear that he is overreaching in his search for Latin heroes, however, when his distraught son points out that Loreta fought for the Rebel Army.

This history is no joking matter, yet Leguizamo, cutting back and forth between it and his domestic problems, lands plenty of laughs even as he makes some mighty stinging points. He recalls his own school days, described as "Lord of the Flies, with a lot less adult supervision," recalling one teacher in particular who kept a rear-view mirror affixed to the blackboard and who referred to him as "Mr. Legizmo" while letting his anti-Latin prejudices run wild. He describes the attitude of the Spanish conquistadors regarding Native American women as that of "NBA players at a Kardashian pool party." And, running further afield -- as always, with Leguizamo, his stray thoughts are among his funniest -- he describes his mother's doomed attempt at "ungaying" his homosexual brother via a Santería ceremony. Along the way, there are some delicious characterizations, including his therapist, a vocal dead ringer for Garrison Keillor; Alexis de Tocqueville (don't ask); and Stephen Hawking (again, don't ask).

Throughout the entertainment, Leguizamo deftly walks a fine line, one moment giving American history a savage twist -- Columbus' discovery of America is described as "a home invasion" -- then complaining hilariously about his family in a manner that, say, Alan King would recognize. For example, complaining that kids today have it too easy, what with their smartphones and music-sharing sites, he notes, with considerable asperity, that in his youth, he and his friends downloaded music the old-fashioned way -- walking into a store and boosting a record album.

Leguizamo's recent solo shows betrayed a certain flagging invention, as he strip-mined his youth and family history to diminishing returns. Here, working with a new director -- Tony Taccone, artistic director of Berkeley Rep, co-producer of Latin History for Morons -- and with an all-new concept, he gives his freshest, funniest performance in years -- one that seems all too relevant at a moment when the white supremacy movement, enabled by the presidential election, is once again on the rise.

Latin History for Morons has a just-right design package, including Rachel Hauck's classroom-style setting; Alexander V. Nichols' lighting, which blends discreet white washes with saturated color and chase sequences, most of them in concert with Bray Poor's musical selections, as seen in a dance sequence featuring various Latin music genres, including tango, salsa, and mambo.

Leguizamo also manages to bring his history lesson and personal story together in the finale, when his son, in his middle-school swan song, chooses a most unexpected figure as his Latin hero. I won't spoil the surprise, but it makes total sense as the kicker to this often hilarious and ultimately affirmative entertainment. -- David Barbour