‘Madness’ at Joint is no day at the beach

Friday, Feb. 18, 2005 | 8:33 a.m.

According to Aristotle, three elements exist between an audience and a speaker who is trying to persuade listeners to accept his argument -- ethos (the character of the speaker), pathos (the emotions of the audience) and logos (the logic of the argument itself).

Someone trying to win over an audience will emphasize one or more of those elements.

Well, you can scratch logic from the Greek equation when you attend a performance of "Beacher's Madhouse."

This is theater of the absurd at its best.

Beacher has conceived a brilliant evening of entertainment for a segment of Las Vegas society that may have been overlooked by the devils of demography, a younger crowd looking for something edgier than "Mamma Mia!" and "Forever Plaid." There is not a shred of logic in this weekly Night of Pandemonium at The Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel, where 1,200 (or more) fans routinely line up in a queue that snakes through the hotel for an hour (or more) before the 10 p.m. show begins.

So how has "Madhouse" been able to sustain such a tremendous following for more than a year since it debuted on Dec. 30, 2003?

Inside the showroom is a chaotic scene from start to finish -- ethos and pathos prevail for 90 minutes, inspiring fans (generally in the 21-to-mid-30s age range) to cut loose and let go of their inhibitions (if they have any to release).

The "pathos" begins as soon as you step into the room, standing shoulder to shoulder with a thousand other fans listening to wild music so loud that it makes the floor tremble and rattles the tables.

Co-hosts Pete Giovine and Bryan Callen and DJ Kevin Shand manage to keep the madness at a near-peak level throughout the evening.

Between the music and the constant encouragement of rap-hosts and announcers, by the time the show begins the audience is emotionally pumped up and ready to party.

This is not a show for the faint of heart or anyone with super-sensitive ears.

Screaming is not only acceptable, it is encouraged as waitresses wade through the sea of bodies dispensing expensive drinks to the emotionally charged fans.

Beacher, a rotund comic unafraid of trying the bizarre, has amassed a stable of performers whose characters are so strange they become likeable -- and they win you over with their peculiarities.

"Madhouse" is more about the experience than the comedy, though there is plenty to laugh at.

Where else can you see a man in his 70s (I think) onstage, dancing (sort of), wearing a black cowboy hat, vest (no shirt), chaps (no pants) and a cloth covering his frontal privates? In most situations the wrinkled behind would be disgusting -- actually, even at "Madhouse" it's kind of disgusting -- but it adds to the atmosphere of the show.

The old cowboy, costumed characters on stilts, Tim the Dwarf, a man balancing a garbage can on his head -- Beacher throws everything at the fans he can get his hands on.

In one corner of the room James "The Rope Master" Brewster Thompson skips rope while a volunteer straddles his shoulders.

In another corner, scantily clad go-go dancers dance.

There are wall-to-wall magicians, balancing acts, acrobats and jugglers.

Cameramen roam the room shooting fans and performers, whose images appear on giant screens scattered around The Joint.

And all of that is before the show begins.

When the entertainment finally gets under way, a troupe of acrobats from Africa (Kombe Acrobats) amaze the audience with their strength and agility.

When Beacher makes his grand entry he is surrounded by showgirls and led onstage by a dwarf.

There is a karaoke contest in which the winner walks away with $5,000.

Then there is a dance contest, with another $5,000 for the winner.

Beacher has a rotating cast of stand-up comedians. Two weeks ago Artie Lang, a member of the cast of the Howard Stern radio show, was the headliner.

At the most recent performance, Steve Byrne and Sam Tripoli shared the limelight.

And don't forget Leonid the Magnificent, a gay, 7-foot-tall (counting his elevator boots) Russian who strips to shorts, balances a sword on a knife held in his mouth, twirls hoops and exposes his pubic hair.

Logic? I think not.