For a series of loosely connected monologues focusing on the patrons and workers at an Atlanta gay strip club, Ryan Kipp‘s biographically based, self-authored, one man show, REDlight, which runs for all of 36 minutes, is immensely ambitious. Not only does it ask much of its performer in generating a diversity of meaningful, sympathetic characters within such a brief span, but it asks much of its audience in exploring the notion of a less fractious, less fragmented experience of sexuality – specifically male sexuality. Identifying fully as a heterosexual man, who is in some regard shopping the goods on an environment created for gay men, Kipp places the cat among the pigeons right from the get go. Audience members can either go with him in his explorations, or resolutely dig their heels in and deny him any authority to speak on matters he is essentially removed from. The latter objection is at the heart of Kipp’s greater theme: the possibility of stepping outside of an identity grounded experience of sexuality to encounter “the other” simply as an opportunity for connection.

The writing is compact and his character sketches necessarily condensed. On an empty stage, with just a trunk of costume changes pushed up to one side, against a backdrop of scene setting projections, and musical/audial atmospherics, we are treated to a succession of characters at various points of excitement, frustration, rage, and regret. His wife just wouldn’t understand, one character opines, that as a straight man he finds something deeply enjoyable about the company of gay men in a sexually charged environment. She wouldn’t be the only one today who couldn’t take this statement at simple face value. In one episode Kipp revisits memories of a loving boyhood relationship with his father, which grew troubled and unraveled due to his inability to countenance his father’s weaknesses. Back at the strip club, VIP clients prove enraged when their social credentials of masculine status cannot compel Kipp’s straight stripper to engage in sex. Episodically, with subtlety, Kipp articulates a world where the socialization of the sexual self gradually alienates us from the capacity for sympathy and intimacy. Related in short, pungent monologues, the author asks the audience to pull the picture together, to mine the melancholy, even as he whoops and cavorts in sexy athletic flips and gyrations. It can be difficult keeping up with who is speaking at any given time, and the boundaries between real experience and story telling are purposely frayed. It’s heady, it’s uncompromising, and it’s compelling.

As a performer Kipp is an immediate and persuasive stage presence, and you’re willing to trust him, even as an exhibitionist cock-tease who plays a game with men he won’t be fully satisfying. Perhaps this is where all the grey matter activity strays into an area hopelessly, historically grey. If you play at sexual invitation, where does the responsibility for your actions end? If you move from the stripping stage to a “VIP room” – and there may be a list of behavioral rules posted at the door – what, as an entertainer, are you playing at by denying a client what you are suggesting you are offering? Who is exploiting who, and is the relentless tease merely a front for psychological sadism? Kipp kicks up a lot of this sort of inquiring dust and artfully doesn’t attempt any pat answers. Which no doubt will prove frustrating for some.

This is an intense and personal work, jointly developed in close co-operation with the show’s two directors, Jennifer Tuttle (the author’s wife), and Marc Santa Maria. For all the hands involved, it’s impressively spare and concentrated. It provides a platform to show off Kipp’s obvious acting and writing abilities. Given the sophistication of the themes, a question arises at the conclusion when Kipp purposely breaks the frame of the drama and, arms stretched wide, finally completely naked, addresses the audience directly, asking if they could ever accept him just as he is, without the teasing allure of a constructed sexual persona. But an actor on stage is never merely himself, and as a past stripper Kipp seems ingenuous in suggesting it can be otherwise. You can as soon free such a statement from it’s context as an individual from their history. The tease goes on, but there’s merit in it.

~~~

REDlight
Trigger Creative
Writer: Ryan Kipp
Director: Jennifer Tuttle and Marc Santa Maria
Choreographer: Carol Johnson
Meet Gavin, a straight man who strips in a gay club. From his perch at sexuality’s ground zero, Gavin discovers there is more that ultimately connects us than divides us.
0h 35m   Local   Queens, New York
Solo Show   Drama
Staycation: In Someone Else’s Shoes
www.redlightplay.com
VENUE #06: The White Box at 440 Studios
Fri 10 @ 7  Wed 15 @ 4  Thu 16 @ 9:30  Sat 18 @ 4:30  Sat 25 @ 5  Sun 26 @ 4

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When I was a child there were a few things you could count on, and one of them was that (in the days before VCRs – and yes, honey, I AM that old) if you waited long enough The Wizard of Oz was going to be on TV at some point that year.  Back in the day, TV had that kind of power . . . it could make you wait expectantly for something and then give you the big reveal – making your heart beat faster for that one joyful night.

Seeing Friends Of Dorothy – An Oz Cabaret was a little bit like that and . . . I have a feeling that – just like the hallowed movie – we haven’t seen the last of it.  Dorothy is a Fringe Encore if I ever saw one.  So, while the show has packed up its rigging and its pasties, sit tight.  Here’s a little breakdown of what will certainly come around again:

“Toto,” Dorothy (Rita MenWeep a.k.a Jessica Silver) says to her iPod – crammed with play lists of the band famous for songs like “Africa” . . . “I don’t think we’re in Starbucks anymore!” Poor Dorothy, she got swept away, not in a huge Twister big enough to carry away a house, but rather in a tiny, tidy-bowl sized twister that swirled her through the toilet that she was doomed to clean, had it not, instead, transported her to this magical Land Of Bras.  But Poof!  Just like that the tiny twister took this sister away from her minimum wage job and into the glittery world of burlesque.

First on the scene to welcome her is Glinda (Miss Mary Cyn)  who is swathed in a puff of stuff  . . . but not for long.  Seems clothes just don’t stay on a gal in this Cool New Land.  Glinda sticks around just long enough to strip off the candy pink confection she arrived in, and to give Dorothy some good advice.  Seems the Wicked Bitch of the West (Bianca Del Rio) is looking for the Ruby Pasties (which somehow made their way onto Dorothy’s  . . . dainties) and if Dorothy knows what’s good for her she’ll  . . .well, you know the story.

Soon Dorothy is carried off to dreamland courtesy of a Munchkin (Veruca Honeyscotch) who then dances on the Aerial Silks to a driving Annie Lennox tune.  Sweet Dreams indeed!  Ending with a death defying drop that had the audience gasping in unison as if on cue, this is one Munchkin who knows how to represent – more than just The Lollipop Guild.

So, as Dorothy moves through this strange but exciting land it’s the usual gang of suspects – Scarecrow (Jenny C’est Quoi) does a fun striptease from atop her perch amid the corn, Tin Man (Schäffer The Darklord) entertains with a foul mouth and a nasty attitude (“I am the Tinman . . . who the hell are you?”) by breaking it down for us via a 100mph rap that – if you can follow it – does a great job of  telling the Tale of Dorothy Gale.  And of course there’s The Cowardly Lion (Sizzle Dizzle) who removes her clothes to the A-Team Theme Song.  Cute.  It’s right about at this point in the show that Gypsy’s “You Gotta Get A Gimmick” popped into my head (Once I was a Schleppa, Now I’m Miss Mazzeppa . . .) and I thought “Wow, this is SOME gimmick!”

The Wicked Bitch does her best to strut and sneer and vamp delightfully, when she’s not introducing the next act.  I mean, summoning her minions.  Flying monkeys (Harvest Moon and Mr.  Fantastic) doing a beautiful routine on the static trapeze and more stripping – courtesy of The Wizard -but not really the Wizard (Ambrose) himself round out much of the middle.

When the gang manages to thwart The Wicked Bitch – not with a pail of water but with something much more frightening to a carefully made-up drag queen – there is rejoicing all over the land, including the joyful Gate Keeper (Go-Go Harder) who does a neat little strip of his own.

In the end, Dorothy realizes that she never wanted to go home anyway, The Land of Bras is where she wants to be . . . and as she strips down to her magical Ruby Red Pasties it’s clear that she’s where she belongs.

Fun from start to finish, with just the right mix of kitch, drag, burlesque, circus, and glam this is one wild ride over the rainbow that doesn’t disappoint.  Keep an eye out, this one will be twisting its way back into town again soon – count on it.

~~~

Friends of Dorothy: An Oz Cabaret
Conatus Productions
Writer: Rita MenWeep, Scot Marshall
Director: Megan Doss

www.conatusproductions.com
VENUE #7: The Ellen Stewart Theatre @ LA MAMA

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