OLESZKO OPENS ‘HEAR ME ROAR’ SERIES

Performance art is usually far more intriguing as art than as performance. This was never more clear than last Friday when Pat Oleszko opened LACE’s “Hear Me Roar” performance series with a disappointing new show titled “War’N Piece or Where Fools Russian.”

Dubbed the godmother of performance art, Oleszko has appeared everywhere from the Museum of Modern Art to New York’s Easter Parade. She’s an artist with a fondness for outrageous puns and even more outlandish outfits. In fact, she has such a huge repertoire of wardrobes that you’d bet her closet is roomy enough to serve as a set for “Wild Kingdom.”

A lengthy monologue about West Berlin served as the centerpiece of her act, which was too bad, since Oleszko had nothing particularly original or profound to say about the cultural claustrophobia of the city. (The high point of her account of the visit--an idea of the slim textual pickings here--was Oleszko’s analysis of John F. Kennedy’s famous “I am a Berliner” salutation, which she claimed more correctly translated as “I am a doughnut.”)

But the most grievous flaw in Oleszko’s show is that she’s far more engaging in concept than in execution. In other words, she’s not particularly funny. Undermined by LACE’s low-tech sound system, which gives every amplified sound the loud roar of a noisy muffler, Oleszko’s act simply lurched from one set-piece to another. Her clunky comic timing also betrayed her, giving the whole act the ragged pace of an amateur magician fumbling with a botched card trick.

In fact, the highlight of her whole act was a goofy movie that illustrated an outlandish nuclear fallout-preparation scheme where survivors were advised to jump into the nearest body of water. Oleszko’s fast-motion film clip showed her donning dozens of layers of clothing, a mask and flippers, then taking the subway to the beach for a wobbly plunge in the ocean. When Oleszko reappeared on stage in the same padded ensemble, and proceeded to simulate a nuclear blast, you finally got the feeling that she’d captured some of the symbolic power of her crazy costumery. Unfortunately, this was the only minor triumph of the night.

LACE is at 1804 Industrial St.