measure for measure

measure for measure
Originally uploaded by a nameless yeast.

memorial day weekend 2002

Among the saturday theatre listings in Time Out New York was a production of Measure for Measure at Show World, a former strip club .

On the way to the theatre I had to find a bathroom, and stopped in an Irish bar on 8th Ave. A bonnie lass welcomed me inside, where big Irish guys gathered around a bagpiper. The loo was downstairs. The floor above me shook with jigging. I was smaller than most and darker than all of the men. When I threaded the chanting crowd on my way out, a fat slob of an Irishman shouted at me: "WHO LET THE DOGS OUT! WHO LET THE DOGS OUT!" I shrugged. I met a few sympathetic Irish eyes who wondered what was up with this guy. When I walked out of the bar, I could hear O'Lardboy belting out "GOD BLESS AMERICAAAAA..."

Show World was a few doors down from the Port Authority. In the lobby, a ceramic monkey rode a ceramic tiger. In one of the spaces now used for legitimate theatre, such carousel beasts had once been straddled by live dancers. Parts of the ground floor and basement still operated as an adult bookstore, with video peep booths. One wall of the bookstore was lined with large synthetic phalluses, and synthetic orifices intended to represent the inner touch of various porn stars. How would you know?

This production of Measure for Measure was set in 1979 Times Square, when Koch was Mayor. But when the Duke brings down his decree against vice it's meant to reflect on Giuliani's [then-]reign. Granted, Giuliani's decree against live nude dancing (which still does exist around Times Square) is exactly what turned Show World into this alternative arts space.

When the house opened, the audience was led into a room the director called "Go-Go 1". "That's the way I like it" blared. Donna Summer too. The main stage was a runway/dance platform, flanked by smaller stages on both sides (which would reveal a confessional and a St. Sebastian convent), and a narrow walkway along the opposite wall. The ceiling and walls were lined with diamond-shaped glass tile decor, garish red and black color schemes. There was little mistaking the former purpose of this room.

The mood was set before the play started. Hookers alternately danced on stage and milled around the audience, along with a purple-jacketed pimp and barker, who encouraged patrons to buy a drink from the bar (cheap red wine and bottles of Russian beer in a bucket). Other street types srtutted: a statuesque madam in fishnet stockings; sailors; a doughy Irish cop, who scuffled with a black sailor. A curbside priest read scripture in condemnation of the iniquity. Three different actress-prostitutes [or prostitute-actresses] flirted with me. The first was a platinum blonde who wore only a bra and aqua gym shorts under her boa and pancake makeup. She stopped at my table and put her hand on my shoulder. We exchanged boilerplate: "I haven't seen you around here before." "This is my first time." "I hope you become a regular."

The pre-play atmosphere was already worth the price of admission (a cool $15). A beautiful black woman was next, cooing "Hi sailor." I asked if I could take her picture and she said sure, blowing a kiss at my lens as she walked away, blurring the shot. The actor who played the Duke came along and asked me not to take any more pix - there are "scantily clad" ladies around. [Above is the one good picture that came out of this session.] He did give me a fake dollar bill to give to one of same ladies. I left it on my table.

Next was the blonde-wigged woman with Sara Gilbert small eyes and thin lips. She was the bondage woman, writhing on stage with a whip. In the audience, she walked between me and a guy next to me, lifting herself past us with her hands on our shoulders. We smiled. Then I noticed the bruises on her arms.

The black goddess came back for my fake dollar. I wasn't sure how much was allowed here - does anybody get carried away during this part? Did I seem like somebody who wouldn't get carried away? Did I look safe? She said it's okay, go ahead, so I put the counterfeit bill in her panty string (which was on top of a somewhat less revealing undergarmnet), resisting the urge to, say, brush the back of my fingers against her creamy hips. "Stay in school," I told her as she left.

Then the play started. The set-up was so fascinating that I was distracted from the language, but aside from that it all worked great. The cast was inconsistent (Isabella was in high dudgeon throughout), but the Duke was terrific, powerful yet human. Other standouts were the slimy smooth-talking Aeschylus, and a transgendered (according to a conversation I overheard from his/her roommate) jailer who could have passed for a lost member of Los Lobos. In between acts, Elbow, the Irish cop, would come in and tell us to move on to the next stage - because of a gas leak, or because Mayor Koch had shut the place down. Act II was in Angelo's office; Acts II and IV were in a prison stage; the final act was in a strobe-lit red ballroom, the players in the round. As the Duke and Isabella come together, she takes off her frock to reveal a white lesiure suit - matching his. The lights dim, the strobe-light stars dance across the floor, and "Celebration" plays. It's the kind of thing that might have made me cringe, but it was oddly touching.