Lambda Legal fund is suing a Gary Indiana high school for forbidding a dress-wearing male from attending prom. The student, who self-identifies as female, had women's clothes to school during the academic year, and met with little resistance from other students. But when she donned some taffeta and tried to enter the end-of-year formal, the principal literally blocked the door. The principal's rational, according to The Stranger? A man wearing a dress violated the school's code of conduct, forbidding “clothing/accessories that advertise sexual orientation, sex, drugs, alcohol, tobacco, profanity, negative social or negative educational statements.”
The Lambda lawyer is upset that sexual orientation is lumped into the same category as drugs and alcohol. Fair enough. But consider that a female student was allowed to enter in a tux. Why is a man wearing a dress that is more evocative of sexual orientation than a woman in a tux? And why do the clothes we wear broadcast messages about for whom we’d like to take those clothes off?
It's an old, tired question, one with lots of potential answers. But it raises importantquestions about the link between gender and sexuality and the faulty assumption that wanting to wear a dress also means you want to have sex with a man. (In fact, the majority of transvestites are heterosexuals. And lesbians wear dresses, too. As do nuns, who last I checked weren't sleeping with anyone.)
The student in question was, in fact, transgendered. The irony is that while crossdressers (mostly straight dudes) initially wear women's clothing for a sexual charge, transgendered thinking has less to do with sex and more to do with identity. Yes, part of that identity may be sexual. But the all-too-common tendency to conflate the two is dangerous.
Back to The Stranger for an example: last month, Dan Savage came under fire for this column, wherein he confirms the suspicions of a concerned aunt. Yes, he says, her dress-wearing, musical-watching, 3-year-old nephew is gay. (Or rather, "There's a 99 percent chance your nephew is gay.")
The rest of his advice tells the aunt to create a safe space for her nephew, in which he can engage in "gay" behavior, even if it means lying to the boy's disapproving father. A debate ensued, with some readers taking Dan's side and others saying the father, though possibly in the wrong, had to be respected. Others said just because you wear dresses doesn't mean your gay. Only one reader brought up what I think is the most salient point, which is "How 'bout we add the advice of not making assumptions about our young nephew while providing a safe space in which he can work it out for himself?"
It's admirable to want to accept kids for who they are and not force them into any pre-ordained expectations for gender play or normal behavior. Why then turn around and label them with yet another category with pre-ordained behaviors and norms?
This is not to say that kids "turn" gay when they hit puberty, or that gay children don't already instinctively know that they're gay from an early age. But we don't looking at a Barbie-playing girl and saying, "She's going to grow up to love banging dudes!" Why then are we comfortable saying a kid will grow up to be gay? In essence, we're identifying a norm (a girl playing with dolls) and an abnormality (a boy wearing a dress); we feel the need to label the latter as "other" instead of expanding our view of the former. So even though the impulse to name is kindly, we reinforce gender and sexual norms in the naming.
Of course, we know that being gay carries with it social and personal signifiers far beyond who you want to take to bed. But isn't it time for a little deconstruction? As Judith Butler said, "identity categories tend to be instruments of regulatory regimes, whether as the normalizing categories of oppressive structures or as the rallying points for a liberatory contestation of that very oppression."
Boys of all ages should be able to wear dresses and have that be accepted at face value - not, as it stands now, be accepted in spite of their difference, or be accepted along with a whole other host of unspoken assumptions about what else or who else they like. Remember the nineties, when all those progressive straight boys would go see Michelle Shocked wearing hippie skirts? What ever happened to them?
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
THE SILENT, UN-TOPLESS, MAJORITY
The New York Times ran a piece today about breast flashing at Gate G in Giant's Stadium, tradition at Jet's home games. Apparently, men congregate in the spiral stairwell and encourage women, in the form of lewd cheers and catcalls, to expose themselves.
Two interesting things about this piece:
1) No one within the organization seems to take responsibility, or care too much about the halftime shenanigans - boys will be boys, after all. You can follow the bouncing ball of denial and indifference from one agency to the next; a nice bit of reportage from the story's author.
2) The reporter interviewed almost everyone involved - a concerned parent, a disappointed spectator ("Normally we see a lot more," he says) and the one flasher ("I love my body and I like what I have, so let everybody share it.") He fails, however, to get any comments from the hundreds of women who choose not to flash. Or from the woman who thinks about it, decides against it, and then is spit at by the angry mob, who also throw trash in her direction. What's her take on this little ritual? Do the rest of the women feel afraid? Ashamed? Annoyed? Angry? Are they indifferent or horrified? There's no way to know - the reporter never asked. Though their experience is more representative of a woman at a Jet's game, it's the one perspective that's left out.
Two interesting things about this piece:
1) No one within the organization seems to take responsibility, or care too much about the halftime shenanigans - boys will be boys, after all. You can follow the bouncing ball of denial and indifference from one agency to the next; a nice bit of reportage from the story's author.
2) The reporter interviewed almost everyone involved - a concerned parent, a disappointed spectator ("Normally we see a lot more," he says) and the one flasher ("I love my body and I like what I have, so let everybody share it.") He fails, however, to get any comments from the hundreds of women who choose not to flash. Or from the woman who thinks about it, decides against it, and then is spit at by the angry mob, who also throw trash in her direction. What's her take on this little ritual? Do the rest of the women feel afraid? Ashamed? Annoyed? Angry? Are they indifferent or horrified? There's no way to know - the reporter never asked. Though their experience is more representative of a woman at a Jet's game, it's the one perspective that's left out.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
DEBATE TEAM: FOOTBALL vs. FASCISM
In Debate Team, posters put forth a thought or idea to stimulate discussion. The opinion is not necessarily that of the author - in fact, in many times it's quite the opposite. In no way are any of the ideas presented fully formed. Instead, the post is meant to test assumptions, tease out ideas, mix high and low culture, and start a conversation. Comments are encouraged: pst on how wrong this opinion is, what books refute it, what ideas support it, what started out strong then devolved into craziness and what large points are overlooked.
Resolved: Football Protects the World from Fascist Politics.
It's easy to compare football and other organized sports with facist propaganda events like the Nuremburg Rallies. A superficial analysis often leads one to assume that football is our generation's equivilant of these rallies, and that organized sporting events dangerously mimic the right-wing politics of fascism. And sure, on the surface, there's a lot in common: chanting, cheering, singing songs of loyalty, bravado, matching outfits, common symbols. But to compare football to fascism is to confuse the medium with the message.
Football, in fact is the antidote to fascim. Fascism was successful in part because it tapped into people's inherent need to belong. Man wants to feel a part of something bigger; it wants to be part of a group that's unified both in favor of one group and against another; it wants to be on a winning team. Football allows people to satisfy those instincts, while channeling the energy created into something totally meaningless.
It's exhilarating to be surrounded by people who all believe and support the same thing; it's fun to sing the same songs and clap and cheer with hundreds of your closest friends. Fascism didn't create this; it co-opted it and used this instinct to promote an insidious agenda. Just as most Americans went to the Lincoln Douglas debates for entertainment and social purposes, most participants attended the Nuremburg rallies for the spectacle of it all. They went to the rallies because they were fun, because it was An Event, and because it gave them a reason to clap and cheer. Hitler and other fascist leaders captured and directed that energy towards evil.
In football, you get all the trappings of fascist rallies without any of the dangerous consequences. The sense of belonging that comes with identifying as an "us" versus a "them" is satisfied through cheering for your home team against it's various opponents. Wearing jerseys, waving flags, and buying a Redskins bumper sticker lets you affiliate yourself with a movement without having to do anything more than root for Washington on Sunday. The cheers, songs, and chants performed at the game add to the sense of togetherness. However, As soon as you step out of the stadium - even as soon as the game ends - the emotion and energy dissipates. Sure, you're upset for a few days after your team misses a shot at the playoffs, but you don't take it out on the fans of the opposite team; while you may "hate" Steelers fans, you don't spend your week actively plotting their demise - or standing idly by while the leaders of your football team does.
Resolved: Football Protects the World from Fascist Politics.
It's easy to compare football and other organized sports with facist propaganda events like the Nuremburg Rallies. A superficial analysis often leads one to assume that football is our generation's equivilant of these rallies, and that organized sporting events dangerously mimic the right-wing politics of fascism. And sure, on the surface, there's a lot in common: chanting, cheering, singing songs of loyalty, bravado, matching outfits, common symbols. But to compare football to fascism is to confuse the medium with the message.
Football, in fact is the antidote to fascim. Fascism was successful in part because it tapped into people's inherent need to belong. Man wants to feel a part of something bigger; it wants to be part of a group that's unified both in favor of one group and against another; it wants to be on a winning team. Football allows people to satisfy those instincts, while channeling the energy created into something totally meaningless.
It's exhilarating to be surrounded by people who all believe and support the same thing; it's fun to sing the same songs and clap and cheer with hundreds of your closest friends. Fascism didn't create this; it co-opted it and used this instinct to promote an insidious agenda. Just as most Americans went to the Lincoln Douglas debates for entertainment and social purposes, most participants attended the Nuremburg rallies for the spectacle of it all. They went to the rallies because they were fun, because it was An Event, and because it gave them a reason to clap and cheer. Hitler and other fascist leaders captured and directed that energy towards evil.
In football, you get all the trappings of fascist rallies without any of the dangerous consequences. The sense of belonging that comes with identifying as an "us" versus a "them" is satisfied through cheering for your home team against it's various opponents. Wearing jerseys, waving flags, and buying a Redskins bumper sticker lets you affiliate yourself with a movement without having to do anything more than root for Washington on Sunday. The cheers, songs, and chants performed at the game add to the sense of togetherness. However, As soon as you step out of the stadium - even as soon as the game ends - the emotion and energy dissipates. Sure, you're upset for a few days after your team misses a shot at the playoffs, but you don't take it out on the fans of the opposite team; while you may "hate" Steelers fans, you don't spend your week actively plotting their demise - or standing idly by while the leaders of your football team does.
Monday, November 5, 2007
MAKING BABIES
It’s November, which means Fall Sweeps are fast upon us. Get ready for a few weeks of near-death experiences, extravagant weddings, large explosions, and of course, shocking baby news.
Two shows, "Brothers & Sisters" and "Mad Men," didn't wait until sweeps week to reveal one of the more reliable TV cliches - an unplanned pregnancy story lines. While both rely on television tropes – and in fact, "Mad Men"’s conclusion seems even more unbelievable and melodramatic on first watch -- the execution of the latter makes dramatic and biological sense; the former seems contrived and trite, and represents a larger problem surrounding Hollywood and reproduction.
On the second season of "Brothers & Sisters," "driven" "career woman" Kitty Walker (Calista Flockhart) has seen both her drive and her career savvy disappear as her romance with boss/dreamboat, Sen. Robert McCallister (Rob Lowe) develops. Last Sunday, her character discovers she’s pregnant – and right as the campaign begins to gain steam!
Like most television characters who find themselves pregnant, Kitty had been using protection that failed. She and her fiancé had been careful - "very careful" -- the show explained, but the pregnancy "happened anyway." She’s not alone: remember Ross’s frantic calls to the condom company on "Friends"? And while it was never specifically discussed, is one really supposed to believe that Sandra Oh's character on "Grey's Anatomy" - the driven, competitive, cold, medical doctor Christina Yang - wasn't taking every precaution to prevent what she clearly viewed as a career-derailing pregnancy? Even "Ugly Betty"’s Hilda had the foresight to use a condom, in the back of a car, on prom night – too bad it broke.
In reality, most unplanned pregnancies are not the result of the few statistical percentage points beyond which birth control is unreliable. Instead, birth control fails - and women find themselves pregnant - thanks to human error and inconsistent application. The most recent realistic portrayal of How A Baby is Made comes in the film Knocked Up: the main characters aspire to safe sex, and usually practice it, but fail to follow through after too many drinks and too little patience for prophylactic detail. But while the “pregnant despite our best intentions” is not entirely realistic, it allows Hollywood to exploit the tension that comes from irresponsible behavior while creating characters who are smart about sex.
The safe-sex boom in the 90s created both overt and covert pressures on Hollywood: When Buffy Summers lost her virginity to the undead vampire Angel on "Buffy The Vampire Slayer," the show faced harsh criticism for not implying condom use between the two lovers. (“When you're losing your virginity to someone who's been dead for hundreds of years, is there a risk of contracting sexually transmitted disease?” asked head of programming Garth Ancier in reaction to the uproar). The media had an obligation, it was understood, to promote healthy behavior through positive examples.
At the same time, safer sex advocates wisely marketed sex ed as a must for those in the know; anyone who wasn’t proactive about sexual health was seen as uninformed, unintelligent, and a little bit trashy. The branding stuck, and writers were loath to make their heroes and heroines look irresponsible or unhip by forgoing birth control. (One pregnancy on "Friends" was a result of unprotected sex; the foolish practitioner was Gina, Joey’s gum chomping, faux-fur wearing teenage sister, heavy on the Brooklyn accent, short on brains.)
Despite making their characters savvy about sex to satisfy both political and societal pressure, Hollywood still relied on the dramatic options created by unsafe sex – namely, the unplanned pregnancy. So while characters on TV were smarter about sex, they still suffered the same consequences. As a result birth control appears as volatile and unreliable as none at all, as Ross so succinctly states on "Friends":
The misrepresentation of birth control as ineffective is troubling (though a Kaiser Health study did find that teenagers who watched that episode with a parent better remembered the efficacy rate of condoms). It’s also transparent. This reproductive bait and switch has been going on for years, and most savvy viewers are tired of it. Many also see it as a throwback to the morality plays of yore – that no pleasurable deed goes unpunished, and that a woman who has sex will suffer for it later. As a result, when a show does introduce a smart, complex pregnancy plot line, it’s often perceived as cheap theatrics and lazy writing.
That’s how many viewers responded to"Mad Men." Peggy Olson’s season-long weight gain had viewers wondering if she was pregnant. After several episodes (and episodic months) passed without mention of a pregnancy, viewers assumed she was just gaining weight in an attempt to desexualize herself and gain professional respect. Both they and she were surprised to find Peggy in labor around the 47-minute mark of the season finale. TV Guide called the story “boneheaded” and said the surprise pregnancy “smacks of the kind of soap-operatic plotting this achingly subtle series has so skillfully avoided.”
But Olson is a 1960s secretary coming of age long before Our Bodies, Ourselves. That she was totally oblivious to her impending labor is more believable than the dozens of current-day characters who find themselves knocked up after doing Everything Right.
Peggy is decent and earnest and way out of her league, a Bay Ridge girl in Midtown Manhattan. She tries to play by the rules and do the right thing, and is surprised when those who don't get ahead - or at least get away with it. She doesn't quite understand the game, doesn't at all like it, but still tries to play -- so badly does she want to be included in the glamorous world of advertising. Therefore it’s no surprise that while lots of characters are shown having sex without physical consequence on "Mad Men "(the moral consequence is another article entirely), poor Peggy is the one who ends up knocked up: A mere 8 hours after her doctor's appointment to obtain the Pill, she has sex with oily, married, co-worker Pete. Joan, the office siren and consummate city girl, could have told her that oral contraceptives can take up to a month to kick in.
While pregnancy denial does seem soapy and contrived, it still happens in this day and age – remember the spate of prom-night pregnancies and dumpster babies? When women, especially young women who don’t know about sex and are in no position to have a baby, find themselves pregnant, it’s remarkably easy to convince themselves that they aren’t. Peggy fits that profile exactly: she’s naïve and inexperienced sexually, but professionally finds herself thriving; a baby would ruin her newfound success. The day she gives birth, she’s also promoted to Junior Copywriter.
Drake LeLane’s excellent “music” column about "Mad Men" ("music" in quotes because the scope and spot-on analysis go far beyond the songs played in the show) explains her psychology perfectly:
Those who still see the plot point as too easy and cheap would do well to read the rest of his analysis; suffice to say the pregnancy of Peggy is not a sensational “gotcha” moment but part of a much more nuanced and intricate theme - and one that's biologically and socially plausible. The challenge now is to deal with the pregnancy’s aftermath in a similarly realistic, thematic way.
CRITICAL MASS: A PLACE FOR EXTRA ANALYSIS
The way "Mad Men" skewered the conventional pregnancy plotline had a smaller, more subtle detail: Peggy and Kitty both attribute their pregnancy-related illnesses to food poisoning. When Kitty Walker starts vomiting at the smell of shrimp pizza, she blames her morning sickness on rancid seafood, letting the viewers know where the story would lead before she did – a nauseous woman has become TV shorthand for a positive EPT. When Olson shows up at the clinic thinking she ate a bad sandwich, she's actually in labor.
Two shows, "Brothers & Sisters" and "Mad Men," didn't wait until sweeps week to reveal one of the more reliable TV cliches - an unplanned pregnancy story lines. While both rely on television tropes – and in fact, "Mad Men"’s conclusion seems even more unbelievable and melodramatic on first watch -- the execution of the latter makes dramatic and biological sense; the former seems contrived and trite, and represents a larger problem surrounding Hollywood and reproduction.
On the second season of "Brothers & Sisters," "driven" "career woman" Kitty Walker (Calista Flockhart) has seen both her drive and her career savvy disappear as her romance with boss/dreamboat, Sen. Robert McCallister (Rob Lowe) develops. Last Sunday, her character discovers she’s pregnant – and right as the campaign begins to gain steam!
Like most television characters who find themselves pregnant, Kitty had been using protection that failed. She and her fiancé had been careful - "very careful" -- the show explained, but the pregnancy "happened anyway." She’s not alone: remember Ross’s frantic calls to the condom company on "Friends"? And while it was never specifically discussed, is one really supposed to believe that Sandra Oh's character on "Grey's Anatomy" - the driven, competitive, cold, medical doctor Christina Yang - wasn't taking every precaution to prevent what she clearly viewed as a career-derailing pregnancy? Even "Ugly Betty"’s Hilda had the foresight to use a condom, in the back of a car, on prom night – too bad it broke.
In reality, most unplanned pregnancies are not the result of the few statistical percentage points beyond which birth control is unreliable. Instead, birth control fails - and women find themselves pregnant - thanks to human error and inconsistent application. The most recent realistic portrayal of How A Baby is Made comes in the film Knocked Up: the main characters aspire to safe sex, and usually practice it, but fail to follow through after too many drinks and too little patience for prophylactic detail. But while the “pregnant despite our best intentions” is not entirely realistic, it allows Hollywood to exploit the tension that comes from irresponsible behavior while creating characters who are smart about sex.
The safe-sex boom in the 90s created both overt and covert pressures on Hollywood: When Buffy Summers lost her virginity to the undead vampire Angel on "Buffy The Vampire Slayer," the show faced harsh criticism for not implying condom use between the two lovers. (“When you're losing your virginity to someone who's been dead for hundreds of years, is there a risk of contracting sexually transmitted disease?” asked head of programming Garth Ancier in reaction to the uproar). The media had an obligation, it was understood, to promote healthy behavior through positive examples.
At the same time, safer sex advocates wisely marketed sex ed as a must for those in the know; anyone who wasn’t proactive about sexual health was seen as uninformed, unintelligent, and a little bit trashy. The branding stuck, and writers were loath to make their heroes and heroines look irresponsible or unhip by forgoing birth control. (One pregnancy on "Friends" was a result of unprotected sex; the foolish practitioner was Gina, Joey’s gum chomping, faux-fur wearing teenage sister, heavy on the Brooklyn accent, short on brains.)
Despite making their characters savvy about sex to satisfy both political and societal pressure, Hollywood still relied on the dramatic options created by unsafe sex – namely, the unplanned pregnancy. So while characters on TV were smarter about sex, they still suffered the same consequences. As a result birth control appears as volatile and unreliable as none at all, as Ross so succinctly states on "Friends":
Rachel: But you know, condoms only work like 97% of the time.
Ross: What? What? They should put that on the box!
Rachel: They do!
Ross: No they, don't! (Checks box) Well, they should put it in huge, block letters!
Rachel: C'mon Ross, let's just forget about the condoms.
Ross: Well, I might as well have!
The misrepresentation of birth control as ineffective is troubling (though a Kaiser Health study did find that teenagers who watched that episode with a parent better remembered the efficacy rate of condoms). It’s also transparent. This reproductive bait and switch has been going on for years, and most savvy viewers are tired of it. Many also see it as a throwback to the morality plays of yore – that no pleasurable deed goes unpunished, and that a woman who has sex will suffer for it later. As a result, when a show does introduce a smart, complex pregnancy plot line, it’s often perceived as cheap theatrics and lazy writing.
That’s how many viewers responded to"Mad Men." Peggy Olson’s season-long weight gain had viewers wondering if she was pregnant. After several episodes (and episodic months) passed without mention of a pregnancy, viewers assumed she was just gaining weight in an attempt to desexualize herself and gain professional respect. Both they and she were surprised to find Peggy in labor around the 47-minute mark of the season finale. TV Guide called the story “boneheaded” and said the surprise pregnancy “smacks of the kind of soap-operatic plotting this achingly subtle series has so skillfully avoided.”
But Olson is a 1960s secretary coming of age long before Our Bodies, Ourselves. That she was totally oblivious to her impending labor is more believable than the dozens of current-day characters who find themselves knocked up after doing Everything Right.
Peggy is decent and earnest and way out of her league, a Bay Ridge girl in Midtown Manhattan. She tries to play by the rules and do the right thing, and is surprised when those who don't get ahead - or at least get away with it. She doesn't quite understand the game, doesn't at all like it, but still tries to play -- so badly does she want to be included in the glamorous world of advertising. Therefore it’s no surprise that while lots of characters are shown having sex without physical consequence on "Mad Men "(the moral consequence is another article entirely), poor Peggy is the one who ends up knocked up: A mere 8 hours after her doctor's appointment to obtain the Pill, she has sex with oily, married, co-worker Pete. Joan, the office siren and consummate city girl, could have told her that oral contraceptives can take up to a month to kick in.
While pregnancy denial does seem soapy and contrived, it still happens in this day and age – remember the spate of prom-night pregnancies and dumpster babies? When women, especially young women who don’t know about sex and are in no position to have a baby, find themselves pregnant, it’s remarkably easy to convince themselves that they aren’t. Peggy fits that profile exactly: she’s naïve and inexperienced sexually, but professionally finds herself thriving; a baby would ruin her newfound success. The day she gives birth, she’s also promoted to Junior Copywriter.
Drake LeLane’s excellent “music” column about "Mad Men" ("music" in quotes because the scope and spot-on analysis go far beyond the songs played in the show) explains her psychology perfectly:
[…]Pete's cruelty, coupled with her career's sudden upward trajectory, made having this baby an impossibility. She had the pill on her side for deniability... it was a new product with plenty of side affects to help her explain away many of her body's signs. In parallel this season, both Betty [the main character’s wife] and Peggy have lived with this growing feeling, kicking inside them, yet refused to recognize the beast for what it was until that final painful kick (the call to the therapist, the hospital).
Those who still see the plot point as too easy and cheap would do well to read the rest of his analysis; suffice to say the pregnancy of Peggy is not a sensational “gotcha” moment but part of a much more nuanced and intricate theme - and one that's biologically and socially plausible. The challenge now is to deal with the pregnancy’s aftermath in a similarly realistic, thematic way.
CRITICAL MASS: A PLACE FOR EXTRA ANALYSIS
The way "Mad Men" skewered the conventional pregnancy plotline had a smaller, more subtle detail: Peggy and Kitty both attribute their pregnancy-related illnesses to food poisoning. When Kitty Walker starts vomiting at the smell of shrimp pizza, she blames her morning sickness on rancid seafood, letting the viewers know where the story would lead before she did – a nauseous woman has become TV shorthand for a positive EPT. When Olson shows up at the clinic thinking she ate a bad sandwich, she's actually in labor.
Monday, October 29, 2007
THEATER REVIEW: YANK
Ken Burn’s upcoming documentary The War serves as a potent reminder of America’s healthy affinity for the Greatest Generation and all things World War II. A simpler time, a nobler time, a time when men were men and the bad guys branded themselves with easily-recognizable insignias. Yank! a new play at the Gallery Players, taps into that nostalgia while also exposing its inaccuracies. A gay love story meets big showy musical, Yank! is both innovative and familiar, and lots and lots of fun.
The show opens with our narrator reading from a diary he found in a junk shop. The device, though tired, works well enough here: the diary entries become both the framework for the plot and, later, a major plot point. When our narrator shurgs off his sweatshirt after a haunting opening number, he transforms into journal’s author, sending the action from present day San Francisco to Fort Bliss, 1945. Stu (Bobby Steggert) shows up for basic training a shy, baby-faced kid unable to handle a rifle and too afraid to strip down for the showers. (The rest of the cast, it should be noted, has no such problem). He knows that he’s different, and hopes the army will teach him to be a man – whether that’s by shooting a gun or fantasizing about Betty Grabel.
Stu meets Mitch (Alexia deToledo), a French Canadian stunner (which, why? Just to justify deToldeo’s accent?), who shamelessly flirts with Stu but can’t quite find the courage to take the next step. The plot follows the basic war romance convention – will these kids get together? Will their love survive the war? Will the leading men take a bullet from the Japs? - with a twist: Will the Military Police send Stu and Mitch to prison for their degenerate acts?
The play promotes itself as a big, bold 40s style musical, and it delivers; written by David Zellnik with music by his brother, Joseph, Yank! lovingly sends up the clichés of the genre (the company is made up of a braniac from Boston, a Brooklyn hothead, a Tennessee hick, and a Sicilian immigrant: “one of every kind – except a negro”) while embracing its joy and energy.
The script has a few clunky lines (“Don’t you think it would behoove you to know a fellow solider?” Mitch asks Stu, in his clumsy French-Canadian patois). But the Zelnick’s should be commended for flirting with convention and still managing to pack some surprises in a story you know can’t have a happy ending – and for making you believe, up until the very last act, that it might. It mostly avoids didacticism while providing a nuanced look at gays in the military – at least, as nuanced as one can be in a musical. Sure, it’s chock full of every single gay stereotype (the lesbian WAC, the promiscuous marine) but each are lovingly rendered and as fully developed as the genre allows. Part of the joy of a throwback show like this are the clichés –as long as they’re well written (which they are), and the jokes hit (more often than not) who cares?
As a musical, it delivers; the score sounds as if it’s been lifted right from an MGM movie musical, and fills the Gallery Playhouse to the brim. It’s a show of standards, and Zelnick hits the mark: five part harmonies, company-wide dance numbers, gorgeous jazzy ballads, pitch-perfect swing.
Yank! provides some truly delightful, transcendent moments - - the musical cacophony of the foul-mouthed men in the steno pool (and their subsequent shapes and forms throughout the play) and thrilling tap dance duet between Stu and Artie (played by Jeffry Denman), the Yank! Magazine reporter who introduces Stu into the secret world of gays in the military. The ease with which Stu follows Artie through the complex routine in the fun, fantastic “Click” nicely parallels Stu’s earlier clumsy fumbling during weapons training – finally, Stu has found his place.
There are a few problems – the biggest being the show’s romantic lead. DeToledo, tall and dark and broad and handsome, commands attention as soon as he stand on stage. Both his looks, dark and piercing, and his voice, a low, clear baritone, perfectly encapsulate a suave 1940s leading man. But when he speaks! He lacks the presence and urgency needed to carry the lead. Maybe, because he’s so perfect in the aforementioned departments, his flaws as a thespian are especially obvious. He plays the cocksure flirt in act one with charm enough, but when Stu calls Mitch’s bluff with a late-night kiss, DeToldeo can’t convincingly convey the lust and fear that lies beneath, and only musters a flat, petulant denial. As a result, the mutual declaration of love that preceded the kiss seems too casual; the second-act reunion forced. It’s especially obvious because Doggert is so eager, so earnest and true as Stu, a scared boy who grows into a man throughout the show (just not in the way he imagined).
David Zelnick also misses an opportunity to really tease out homoerotic tension inherent within the military. He almost gets it right, but falls short by excluding poor, terrified Stu from many of these towel snapping, muscle-flexing exchanges.
It’s Jeffry Denman who’s star of the show. As Artie, he brings energy to every scene in which he appears. He gives a brash and confident portrayal as an openly hidden (but not closeted) gay man in the military. Neither angelic or nefarious, Artie does what he can for his protégée while still looking out for himself. Denman’s choreography is dynamic and innovative; the cast – some of whom play pudgy, stodgy, oafs - move with grace and fluidity. The haunting, moonshine-induced dream ballet at the end of act II could easily have been a disaster if it wasn’t so beautifully choreographed and executed.
At the play’s conclusion, Stu poses the well-worn questions about who’s really brave – the brash boys on the front line or the queers who aren’t afraid to be who they really are. But with so many soldiers, both gay and straight, are currently facing death and disfigurement in Iraq, the question feels like a false dichotomy.
The more graceful and obvious point is made without having to offer any anvil-like dialog. Yank! is so true to it’s period and so lovingly re-creates the 1940s that the romantic conflict feels almost charming and retro – imagine two men who have to hide their romance! It’s only after leaving the theater that the full effect sets in -- that while servicemen may now face a different war, a different geography, and a different time, the treatment of gays in the military remains the same.
The show opens with our narrator reading from a diary he found in a junk shop. The device, though tired, works well enough here: the diary entries become both the framework for the plot and, later, a major plot point. When our narrator shurgs off his sweatshirt after a haunting opening number, he transforms into journal’s author, sending the action from present day San Francisco to Fort Bliss, 1945. Stu (Bobby Steggert) shows up for basic training a shy, baby-faced kid unable to handle a rifle and too afraid to strip down for the showers. (The rest of the cast, it should be noted, has no such problem). He knows that he’s different, and hopes the army will teach him to be a man – whether that’s by shooting a gun or fantasizing about Betty Grabel.
Stu meets Mitch (Alexia deToledo), a French Canadian stunner (which, why? Just to justify deToldeo’s accent?), who shamelessly flirts with Stu but can’t quite find the courage to take the next step. The plot follows the basic war romance convention – will these kids get together? Will their love survive the war? Will the leading men take a bullet from the Japs? - with a twist: Will the Military Police send Stu and Mitch to prison for their degenerate acts?
The play promotes itself as a big, bold 40s style musical, and it delivers; written by David Zellnik with music by his brother, Joseph, Yank! lovingly sends up the clichés of the genre (the company is made up of a braniac from Boston, a Brooklyn hothead, a Tennessee hick, and a Sicilian immigrant: “one of every kind – except a negro”) while embracing its joy and energy.
The script has a few clunky lines (“Don’t you think it would behoove you to know a fellow solider?” Mitch asks Stu, in his clumsy French-Canadian patois). But the Zelnick’s should be commended for flirting with convention and still managing to pack some surprises in a story you know can’t have a happy ending – and for making you believe, up until the very last act, that it might. It mostly avoids didacticism while providing a nuanced look at gays in the military – at least, as nuanced as one can be in a musical. Sure, it’s chock full of every single gay stereotype (the lesbian WAC, the promiscuous marine) but each are lovingly rendered and as fully developed as the genre allows. Part of the joy of a throwback show like this are the clichés –as long as they’re well written (which they are), and the jokes hit (more often than not) who cares?
As a musical, it delivers; the score sounds as if it’s been lifted right from an MGM movie musical, and fills the Gallery Playhouse to the brim. It’s a show of standards, and Zelnick hits the mark: five part harmonies, company-wide dance numbers, gorgeous jazzy ballads, pitch-perfect swing.
Yank! provides some truly delightful, transcendent moments - - the musical cacophony of the foul-mouthed men in the steno pool (and their subsequent shapes and forms throughout the play) and thrilling tap dance duet between Stu and Artie (played by Jeffry Denman), the Yank! Magazine reporter who introduces Stu into the secret world of gays in the military. The ease with which Stu follows Artie through the complex routine in the fun, fantastic “Click” nicely parallels Stu’s earlier clumsy fumbling during weapons training – finally, Stu has found his place.
There are a few problems – the biggest being the show’s romantic lead. DeToledo, tall and dark and broad and handsome, commands attention as soon as he stand on stage. Both his looks, dark and piercing, and his voice, a low, clear baritone, perfectly encapsulate a suave 1940s leading man. But when he speaks! He lacks the presence and urgency needed to carry the lead. Maybe, because he’s so perfect in the aforementioned departments, his flaws as a thespian are especially obvious. He plays the cocksure flirt in act one with charm enough, but when Stu calls Mitch’s bluff with a late-night kiss, DeToldeo can’t convincingly convey the lust and fear that lies beneath, and only musters a flat, petulant denial. As a result, the mutual declaration of love that preceded the kiss seems too casual; the second-act reunion forced. It’s especially obvious because Doggert is so eager, so earnest and true as Stu, a scared boy who grows into a man throughout the show (just not in the way he imagined).
David Zelnick also misses an opportunity to really tease out homoerotic tension inherent within the military. He almost gets it right, but falls short by excluding poor, terrified Stu from many of these towel snapping, muscle-flexing exchanges.
It’s Jeffry Denman who’s star of the show. As Artie, he brings energy to every scene in which he appears. He gives a brash and confident portrayal as an openly hidden (but not closeted) gay man in the military. Neither angelic or nefarious, Artie does what he can for his protégée while still looking out for himself. Denman’s choreography is dynamic and innovative; the cast – some of whom play pudgy, stodgy, oafs - move with grace and fluidity. The haunting, moonshine-induced dream ballet at the end of act II could easily have been a disaster if it wasn’t so beautifully choreographed and executed.
At the play’s conclusion, Stu poses the well-worn questions about who’s really brave – the brash boys on the front line or the queers who aren’t afraid to be who they really are. But with so many soldiers, both gay and straight, are currently facing death and disfigurement in Iraq, the question feels like a false dichotomy.
The more graceful and obvious point is made without having to offer any anvil-like dialog. Yank! is so true to it’s period and so lovingly re-creates the 1940s that the romantic conflict feels almost charming and retro – imagine two men who have to hide their romance! It’s only after leaving the theater that the full effect sets in -- that while servicemen may now face a different war, a different geography, and a different time, the treatment of gays in the military remains the same.
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