Theatre in Review: Latin Standards (Under the Radar/The Public Theater)

	Photo: Kent Taylor

If Latin Standards proves nothing else, it is that Marga Gomez is, now and forever, her father's daughter. Two decades ago she appeared at the Public with A Line Around the Block, which paid tribute to her dad, Willy Chevalier, a Cuban comedian, emcee, and songwriter who reigned in New York's Latin theatres of the 1960s. She revisits this heritage in Latin Standards, a show that has more than enough verve to avoid being called a rehash. Gomez's family history is an almost impossibly rich source of material: This tough-talking lesbian comic -- who favors men's tuxedos -- grew up in Spanish Harlem as the pampered, overdressed offspring of a glittering, glad-handing celebrity father from Cuba and a Jayne Mansfield-style showgirl mother from Puerto Rico. We see photos of the happy family all-too-carefully posed for the camera -- Marga in curls and one of the flouncy dresses deemed appropriate for the daughter of show folk -- but this trio wasn't scheduled for a long run: Her parents, who were flagrantly unfaithful, divorced when Gomez was still a little girl. As she notes, in her distinctively wisecracking style, "I'm the only child my parents had -- together."

Latin Standards is allegedly Gomez's "final farewell concert." (Gomez's lack of stardom is a running theme. Taking stock of her career and simultaneously name-checking the festival presenting the show, she says, "I've been Under the Radar for 30 years." She also wonders whether her career peaked with a featured role in the much-derided 1998 Dustin Hoffman-Sharon Stone potboiler, Sphere.) The show's format is built around a number of pop songs written by her father, but as the star wryly points out, there are no musicians in Martinson Hall -- and, in any case, given a voice that hovers between a rasp and a bark, we probably don't want her vocalizing for more than a minute at a time. Instead, the mention of a number -- and a sample of the lyrics -- allows her to free-associate about the parallel strains in her childhood -- spent watching her father hustle to keep his career going, despite changing times -- and her present-day existence, including her struggle to establish a weekly comedy night at a grim, unsanitary drag bar in San Francisco's Mission District. Willy Chevalier's career faded as his audiences abandoned live Spanish-language entertainment for television and the movies. Gomez's weekly event, Comedy Bodega, flourished for a while, then ended when creeping gentrification caused the bar to close.

At the moment, Latin Standards feels like a work in progress. I attended the first performance at the Public, which was billed as running 75 minutes but in fact lasted nearly 30 minutes longer. I identified at least two points where the piece might have concluded on a satisfying note. Also, Gomez could do more to link her two narrative lines. Still, there's plenty to enjoy, whether the star is on topic or letting her mind wander in various amusing ways. There are priceless riffs about Adele's concert patter, the endlessly pontificating radio host Jonathan Schwartz, and pretentious Williamsburg residents who think you can make a mojito with vodka and parsley. She mercilessly portrays a couple of her younger ex-girlfriends -- at this point they're all younger, she notes ruefully -- as airheads with Valley girl accents and smartphone-addicted fingers. And she has a Carrie Fisher-level eye for the absurdity of her showbiz upbringing: We get quick, hilarious sketches of her mother, inappropriately portraying herself as a marital martyr to her young daughter, and of Willy, a perpetual night owl, worried about making a 2 PM appointment, telling little Marga to call in sick to school so she can make sure that he is out of bed by noon. This leads to a riotous scene depicting Willy, who really needs a job, auditioning at an ad agency for a series of commercials for El Pico coffee. Never mind that Willy, a lifelong Bustelo fan, considers El Pico to be swill; he enthusiastically pitches one grotesquely unfunny idea after another. (One involves a fireman who lets the house burn down because a hapless housewife has given him a cup of Brand X.) Flop sweat has rarely been so amusing.

The director, David Schweizer, would do well to work with Gomez to slice about 15 minutes out of the show; still, they are very much on their way to crafting an evening that is both wackily amusing and surprisingly touching. The set, by Caleb Wertenbaker, and lighting, by Jimmy Lawlor, are fairly basic, but Driscoll Otto's projections include many priceless family photos -- including Gomez's mother in various skimpy showgirl outfits, and, most memorably, in a leopard suit, looking ready to scratch Willy's eyes out. There's also some lively footage from a documentary Gomez made about Comedy Bodega, and a shot of Willy in one of his print ads for El Pico. No sound designer is credited, but the preshow includes a stack of, well, Latin standards, including "Mama Loves Mambo," "Livin' La Vida Loca," "The Girl from Ipanema," and "Desafinado."

One family photo is especially striking. Gomez, who appears to be about three, and her mother look straight at the camera with thousand-watt smiles; Willy, the acknowledged star in the grouping is looking elsewhere, his mind clearly on other matters. What, one wonders, was he thinking? It's no wonder that Gomez remains fascinated by him, pursuing him long after his death. Although Willy Chevalier might be seriously bemused by some of the jokes his daughter tells, he would no doubt be gratified to see how her audience enjoys her. I hope it's not another twenty years before Marga Gomez returns to the Public. Marga, honey: Don't be a stranger. -- David Barbour