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A CurtainUp Review
Puppetry of the Penis by Les Gutman
For our purposes, this means that two grown men, neither especially attractive but not awful looking either, take the stage, disrobe and proceed to demonstrate a series of what they call "installations" with their genitalia. Amid friendly, sometimes apologetic and occasionally cautionary banter, they fashion their no-longer-private parts into various images: lots of animals, landmarks like the Eiffel Tower, food items (the hamburger is the tour de force of this section), among others. To make sure the audience misses nothing, a large video screen enhances their achievements to many times life size. There are sound effects as well as incidental music to keep things apace. Judged objectively, most all of their installations are highly successful: in other words, we have no difficulty appreciating their achievements. They are also pretty funny. There is, by the way, nothing even remotely sexual about their displays. We are laughing, of course, at the same joke over and over, but the pair generally succeed in maintaining our attention through a fifty minute performance. They are preceded onstage by a stand-up comic, Wendy Vousden, who, after announcing she doesn't have a penis, warms up the audience by telling jokes mostly about herself and various male and female body parts, and then by Priapus (Justin Morley), a self-styled god of the penis who becomes the show's videographer. These introductory pieces are less successful than the main attraction, and the pedestrian nature of Ms. Vousden's routine lowers one's expectations of what is to follow. Presumably, she has been added to fill out what may be viewed as the minimum time a production must consume to charge $40-45, but the result is of little other service. The stage evokes a Roman temple. Over the proscenium there is engraved the words "Tempus Penis" which I more or less translated as "Penis Time" but the creators seem to think it means Penis Temple. Oh well. The robes in which they briefly appear at the beginning of the show suggests that in another life they might have been Roman warriors. There is a great deal more about which I could wax poetic at this point: questions like whether or not this constitutes "theater" (I think it does, for the record), if there is anything culturally significant about a theater season that includes this show and one called Urinetown (maybe, doubtful) and how this show might be compared with The Vagina Monologues (it can't be). There is no intent on the part of the creators to present anything weighty here: it's just offered for our entertainment, and I don't think it's necessary to analyze it as anything else. Although I'd hardly rave about it, these Australians exceeded my expectations and kept me amused, and one can't say -- as I feared in advance -- that the provocative title is all there is to it. LINKS For those unwilling to venture forth, or for the otherwise curious, there is a do-it-at-home version of the show, available from Amazon here.
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