By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
Professor Rudnick dramatizes these accepted scientific facts through the familiar myth of Adam and Steve, same-sex lovers happy in the Garden of Eden, unaware of the parallel presence of Jane and Mabel in another Edenic enclave until Adam's questing spirit accidentally brings about the expulsion. Rudnick assigns to women their traditional virtues of practicality and toughness, making them inventors of the lever, the pulley, and the wheel, as well as articulators of that disputable theory called God, which has recently become so fashionable as party chitchat. Man, in Rudnick's view, invented little except rejection, doubt, cocktail canapés, and "shampoo and conditioner in one"certainly an impressive record for a creature that is all tremulous sensibility.
Women's love, though sorely tried by personality clashes, is seen as strong and binding. Threatened by Pharaoh during the captivity in Egypt, Jane and Mabel are steadfast; Adam and Steve, on the other hand, are uncertain and easily distracted. "We're Godchosen people," they declare. "We don't have children. We have taste." Issues of taste, of course, are eternally divisive: Even as wise men at the Nativity, Adam and Steve quarrel over the choice of gifts. While heterosexual love can't be what God intended, its same-sex equivalent, for males, seems even iffier.
By Amy Freed
416 West 42nd Street
By Jim Luigs
519 West 23rd Street
Rudnick's second lecture-demonstration traces his topic through contemporary life, when people have learned to produce children without the hypocrisy and inconvenience of hetero marriage. Jane, the tougher of the two women, has been selected; her water breaks during a holiday party at Adam and Steve's, while she and Mabel are exchanging vows before a disabled lesbian rabbi. Rudnick has a gleeful time examining the pain and messiness of the birth process, especially its repugnant effect on the more sensitive males.
In this section, he expands the circle around his two couples to include, besides the rabbi, an embittered old-family WASP, a go-go boy, and a wide-eyed Mormon girl newly arrived in the big city, who is the target of the other characters' most acrimonious wisecracks. When she asks if her presence at a lesbian wedding will condemn her to hell, the WASP replies, "Would you rather have a roomful of homosexuals talk about you after you've gone?" She stays, acknowledging that, in postmodern theology, hell is far from the worst punishment imaginable. Another, which Rudnick sees as a kind of non-metaphoric expulsion from the garden of love, is HIV. At the end it decisively alters Adam and Steve's relationshiprevealing, in effect, that what underlies Rudnick's elaborate biblical rethinking is a hidden debate on the relative values of monogamy and promiscuity.
The secret theme is accompanied by a structural joke: The Adam of Rudnick's second half, a private-school teacher, has just staged a re-gendered Bible pageant with his studentsof which the first half's biblical survey is an adult equivalent. Since Adam's spiritual questions lead only to more questions, the effective moral is: Stop asking questions about the invisible and accept things as they are. Especially since, when challenged to name a religion that doesn't brutalize women and gays, the only one the characters can think of is "Oprah."
As can be inferred, Professor Rudnick's exposition is stronger on diversion than on substance, though the jokes cloak enough intelligence to justify even the most dour-minded student's enrollment in his course. The dioramas, under the direction of Rudnick's longtime lab supervisor, the ingenious Christopher Ashley, are fetching in the usual silly way. The teaching assistants who enact these parables include, most appealingly, Peter Bartlett, whose innate affinity for Rudnick's style is an ongoing marvel. Kathryn Meisle, Alan Tudyk, Lisa Kron, and Joanna P. Adler are all charming, while Becky Ann Baker, called on to represent the agonies of birth, is nothing short of awesome.
A kind of counter-demonstration of the clarity that produces Rudnick's humor is offered by Amy Freed's Freedomland, the work of a young writer who hasn't yet found a focus for her inventiveness. The play is another weekend with the dysfunctional American family, '90s style. Dad, blissed-out since the '60s, natters about the end of the world; stepmom keeps busy seducing his daughters' boyfriends; walking-wounded daughter A makes big bucks as a painter, while sheltering and bossing directionless daughter B; son and his wife preach back-to-the-land fundamentalism and blow things up.