A crowded program of revue-style short takes that opened Tuesday night at P.S. 122, “Danceoff!” is a lot of fun. The event, which bills itself as a “full-contact, non-competitive, not-really-a dance competition,” occurs intermittently at different venues around the city, and is curated and produced by Terry Dean Bartlett and Katie Workum, who also appear as master and mistress of ceremonies.

“Danceoff!” is appealingly sophomoric. At times it assumes a deliberately faux-naif manner; often the performers attempt to reinvent the wheel in their own way, to redefine classic theatrical tropes of Dadaism, absurdism, and performance art. They proceed by trial and error, happily running the risk of trying too hard at times.

As we took our seats, the performance space was already set up for the opening piece: “[underscore]” created by Jonah Bokaer, who dances with the Merce Cunningham company. Mr. Cunningham now choreographs using a software program, and Mr. Bokaer seems influenced by Mr. Cunningham’s long-standing interest in video and computer possibilities for dance replication and creation. The evident topos of “[underscore]” was the human figure and its mechanical reproduction in various media.

A mannequin lay on the ground. Other mannequins stood erect like koure figures in Attic sculpture. A digital clock had been placed on each dummy. The one sitting on the recumbent dummy told the correct time, but the others did not. Black-clad technicians distributed cassette tapes; I thought I was seeing the opening of a new “Mission: Impossible” episode. These yeo man stretched tape around the space and seating bleachers. It was wound around piers, mannequins, and continuously manipulated, turning the seating area and the stage into a wrap worthy of Christo. Computer-generated figures on video alternated with spedup footage of a nude man flexing himself into double-jointed positions. More systems of time regulation weighed in with a ticking stopwatch on the soundtrack.

Mime Skyler Sullivan was a leitmotif of the evening. He did three short comic turns. Dressed in classic mime attire, he manipulated imaginary objects, lumbered clutzily to music from “The Nutcracker,” and simulated insects buzzing as well as a cat that scratched its owner and was choked for its temerity.

Ms. Workum contributed excerpts from her piece “RED,” which began with the performers – Jerry Miller, Luke Miller, Will Rawls, Stephanie Roy, and Jenny Seastone Stern – arrayed in a tableau resembling a George Segal sculpture. They started to mouth dialogue a la Beckett or Pinter, evoking familial foibles. “Mother” and “Father” each engaged in dialogue with his or her own bullhorn. An edgy kinetic unanimity of sorts was achieved when the family unit continued to exchange dialogue while moving back and forth en suite.

“It Wasn’t What You Thought It Was” was created and performed by Ani Weinstein and Russ Salmon, who appeared in party clothes as a neo-nonsensical Burns and Allen. They echoed each other’s statements, repeating words and phrases with childlike obstinacy. Clowning became enmity as they turned on each other.

The “full-contact” aspect of “Danceoff!” implies audience involvement. After our seating area had been wrapped in “[underscore],” we were peppered with questions posed by Ms. Weinstein and Mr. Salmon, after which Ms. Weinstein served a sandwich to an audience member.

“Tsimtsum,” created and performed by Cynthia Hopkins, was haunting and macabre, informing us that the human race was starring in a last-chance turn in an apocalyptic cabaret of its own design. Ms. Hopkins entered in a sort of spacesuit that she slowly peeled off, as she described an attempt at collaboration by Dylan Thomas and Igor Stravinsky. Thomas’s self-destruction became a metanym for the entire species. “I love the human race,” Ms. Hopkins professed ironically.

“Artifice Dentrifice or, Modern Face Dance (Work in Progress)” was choreographed by Mr. Rawls, who had earlier appeared in “RED.” He performed it with Sharon Estacio and Reba Mehan. Dressed in briefs and T-shirts, they breathed heavily, their arms encircled into an interlocked huddle that moved in place. Their breaths became rhythmical and the trio dispersed and regrouped.

There followed a video called “I Promise I Won’t Break Stuff.” It was filmed in some sort of big, empty space, and had a homemade garage rock feeling, choreographed in minimal lexicon by Shanti Crawford with Nate Schenkkan, and executed with earnestness by Mr. Schenkkan.

“Danceoff!” concluded with an excerpt from “Le Petit Mort (Now It’s Time To Say Goodbye),” choreographed by Pavel Zustiak. This final piece was more kinetically dense than the earlier ones, more about pure movement. There was tumbling, collapses to the ground, football pile-ons. The dancers – Gina Bashour, Yoel Cassell, Saar Harari, Marya Wethers, and Mr. Zustiak – tore across the stage as a pack, dragging one dancer along the ground.