As she beamingly tells the crowd before dancing off, “Like they say in America, I got some balls.”Īnd Bebe Buell‘s got some fabulous ovaries, thank you. Whatever she does, this Margarita is one I can swallow. At one point, Pracatan sashays to the piano and proves she can belt out seriously triste ballads, but, insanely, the restless audience starts gabbing away, forcing a return to the keyboard and the high camp. The show has no structure the woman just sings, then talks, then sings, then talks-a lot. I Did It Again” is turned into a wacky samba about repeated pregnancies. “Cabaret” gets a staccato rhythm enhanced with some ’70s dance-club whoops. “I Will Survive” becomes “I Will Survi- heeve.” “It’s Raining Men” becomes unrecognizable. And you sing with me because most of the time I forget the words.”) She shimmers behind an electric keyboard where she pushes all sorts of buttons to initiate the disco-flavored tracks of the K-Tel standards she puts her unique spin on. “You are about to experiment,” she told the half-dressed gay audience, while adding a multicolored boa to her getup and announcing the rules. Pracatan-who’s like Charo on GBH-tastefully enters in a blur of sequins and lamé, sprinkling demented yelps of “I love you!” and “Pracatan!” to the canned background music. The middlebrow revue is no Invention of Love, but it’s way less painful than a bris, and by time you’re made to sing along on “Harvey and Sheila” (to the tune of “Hava Negila”), you’re totally having a (matzo) ball.īar mitzvah entertainment with a salsa beat comes in the form of Margarita Pracatan, a Cuban-born public-access star who’s gone from selling men’s underwear at Saks Fifth Avenue to showing off her own amazing outerwear at Fez, where she rips new assholes into your favorite cheese classics with an infectious party spirit that’s kosher in any language. It’s really something.įor nothing, I joined some clothed heteros and saw Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh!, an homage to Allan Sherman, the ’60s sensation who put lyrics about contempo Jewish life to public-domain melodies way before Weird Al Yankovic (or Jerry Seinfeld). I hear Jerry and the wife’s Hamptons house is situated on the way to the gay beach, so all day long, naked homosexuals traipse by, touching themselves while seductively looking for action. Jerry Seinfeld, who had a show about nothing, now spends his days watching people wearing nothing. She got some balls (and a lot of feathers): Fez’s Charo on GBH, Margarita Pracatan.