The Vibrator Play

“Someone is offering tix to ‘The Vibrator Play or In the Next Room.’  You interested?”  I nearly careened off the side of the road when I received that text on my way home from a particularly rewarding rendezvous with my boyfriend, Trader Joe.  There was only one possible response.

“Have you met me?”

As we’ve previously established, I never EVER pass up free tickets to ANYTHING.  I’ve been talking about paying to see this show for months, but somehow I hadn’t bought tickets yet.  Imagine my sheer joy at hearing the words “free” and “vibrator” in the same sentence!  I mean, that only happens like once or twice a week, tops.

Yesterday it happened quite a bit, though.  “Rocco, I scored FREE tickets to the VIBRATOR play!”  “Do you want to join me at the VIBRATOR play for FREE?”  “Screw dinner, I have FREE tickets to watch people use VIBRATORS on Broadway…for FREE!”

Oh yeah, life is good.  Had there been fewer tourists and the weather been warm enough for a Naked Cowboy sighting, my night would have been near perfect.

Just in case you aren’t familiar with the play, here’s the skinny.  The story takes place in the 19th century, where electricity is a novelty and hysteria is rampant amongst well-to-do women (and occasionally men).  The male lead is a physician who treats these hysterical women by inducing “paroxysms” via electricity, or occasionally relying on the older, more traditional “manual treatment” as described in ancient Greek texts.  (wink, wink — nudge, nudge)  The female lead is an inquisitive, excitable new mother struggling with feelings of inadequacy when she can’t produce enough milk for her new child.  Let the hijinks begin.

Not that the play is a comedy.  There are laughs to be sure, and not just the nervous ones emitted by the audience as we sat together in the dark watching orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.  At intermission, I turned to my date Danielle and wondered, “Can you imagine having to fake seven plus orgasms every single night?  Double that on matinee days?”

“It’s hard enough to do one right, eh?” she replied without missing a beat.  Funny AND mean – I knew there was a reason I liked her.

The second act dealt with more emotional and somber subjects – surprisingly so, in fact.  That’s probably why the teenage girls next to us set about texting all their friends and watching Youtube videos on their cell phones instead of watching the play.  Coincidentally, that’s also when I started considering murder in the first degree.

Of course by the time I had managed to regain my focus and block out the illumination on the opposite side of Danielle, the play was nearly over.  I wistfully smiled at the tender final scene where the vulnerable wedded couple shed their clothes and embraced in the gently falling snow.  That is, until my smile turned into a grimace as the young girls giggled and joked through the entire thing.  As the male lead stepped out of his pants one of the girls actually squealed, “oh my God a PENIS!!!”

Seriously?

In the age of the Internet, sexting and Reality TV you’ve never seen a penis?  Have you never taken an art appreciation class?  Do they not teach Sex Ed or Anatomy anymore?  Is there not a stack of dog-eared National Geographic Magazines in some neglected corner of your house?

Hell, it’s not even lunch and I’d guess I’ve seen about seventeen already.

From the way they were reacting, you’ d have thought that flaccid thing was going to leap from his body, fly through the crowd, catapult up into the mezzanine, then slap those girls repeatedly in the face and possibly poke their eyes out.  I understand that the schlong is not the single most attractive part of a man’s body, but I think their reaction might have been slightly overboard.  I’m not suggesting the thing needed its own curtain call, but perhaps they should have refrained from attempting to boo it right off the stage.

As far as penis exposure goes, it was really pretty mellow.  He simply shrugged off his britches, hugged his wife, and then laid down on the stage.  It was all very tasteful — you know, for full frontal et al.  It’s not as though he was using a hula hoop, doing jumping jacks, or practicing the MC Hammer Dance.  I hope those gals didn’t see Equus.  Harry Potter’s twig and berries probably would have sent them into their own bouts of “paroxysms.”

If you want a profound and insightful review of the actual play, you can read one from a professional writer here.  In case you’re too lazy to read all that, I’ll still give you my two cents.  The play itself was lovely.  It was just the right balance of pithy, tender, insightful, and profound.  The staging and costumes were magnificent.  As for the cast, I’d describe them as competent.  Each had shining moments, but I found it hard to believe any of them completely.  Then again, it’s hard to really take anything seriously with giggling, twittering twats driving me to distraction.

All in, I’m super glad I was able to see the play.  I’d probably even say that if I’d paid for the tickets.  So go.  Then celebrate the fact you don’t have to plug your vibrator into a wall.