Tongue in . . . Something
4/14/03

Okay, now that we've got that out of the way, we can talk about something less intimidating, incomprehensible and arcane.  Like quantum mechanics.¹

Based on the success of The Vagina Monologues, a great number of people must agree with the above sentiment.    It's certainly not a topic that slips easily into everyday conversation.   Or can be forced easily into everyday conversation.  On the contrary, it's seen as an embarrassing subject and hushed up, as though biology intentionally played a cruel joke that no one wants to acknowledge.  Eve Ensler wants to change that.

The Vagina Monologues, a performance art piece in which women read, enact and interpret a series of interviews done with women from many walks of life, came to Omaha last week.  Oddly enough (to some people), despite my gender, I really wanted to see it, so I asked around to see if anyone else wanted to go (as much as I wanted to see it, I wasn't going to go alone).    I asked Cris first. 

That pretty much ended that inquiry.    I finally talked Joan into seeing it (I started out with "This might sound weird . . .").  Two clicks later I had tickets² to the final performance in Omaha.  We met up an hour before the show and walked to the theater, to find it almost completely deserted.  In retrospect, an hour was probably more of a safety margin than was necessary.  It did, however, give me a few moments to take some pictures:

(Omaha's Rose Theater, known as "The Omaha Theater Company for Young People"
when it's not advertising something with "vagina" in the title.)

Although I didn't realize it at the time, I also "framed" the subject nicely in the marquee.

(An interesting marquee.  Note also the esteemed Omaha Police Officers.)

The only people there when we arrived were the theater attendants and a small group of Omaha Police Officers.  They did their job by checking me out to make sure I wasn't being subversive or something.  Apparently I passed.  I was expecting large crowds on the final night, so I was a little disappointed, but eventually people began to arrive.

     We claimed our tickets from the box office and felt the first pangs of confusion begin to well up.  Our tickets, purchased at the same time, appeared to be for non-juxtaposed seats.    But we went in anyway.  To our relief we soon discovered that, for some odd (or even) reason, seats in The Rose are not numbered consecutively and our entire section consisted of even-numbered seats.  The two women who arrived directly behind us, ironically, had the two seats next to us (leaving the entire rest of the theater empty as the four of us packed in like sardines), and I felt vindicated to overhear them also mulling the eccentricities of the seat numbers.

     This was the only picture I snapped inside The Rose, as the program indicated in no uncertain terms that photography was prohibited.  So you'll just have to take my word that it happened the way I describe it.  People continued to filter in, and the police officers (all men, which I found somewhat amusing) took up positions at the four corners of the auditorium (I'm assuming they were there because we had "celebrities").  I ended up being disappointed by the total number of people.  I would estimate the theater was only two-thirds full, and the women to my right (the ones who arrived when we did) eventually moved down the row to give us all more breathing room when it became apparent that the row was not going to fill up.  I don't know what the attendance was like for the other performances, but I suspect that the slight conservative bent of Nebraska may have contributed to the total number.  I was happy to see that I was not the only "brave penis" (as Amy J. Carle later described the handful of men in the audience) to attend, although as a quick guess men made up only 10%-15% of the audience, and all were accompanied by women.  (The official Web site states, and I concur, "Men have really enjoyed the show and are encouraged to attend. There is no “male bashing."")

     The show started four minutes after 7:00.  Our particular version starred Starla Benford, Amy J. Carle and Marcia Wallace, all of whom appeared barefoot and casual, and they immediately grabbed our attention as Ms. Wallace promptly recited the word "vagina" a dozen times and then expounded on the antiseptic and unattractive sound of the word, followed by a round of all three women listing, in rapid-fire succession, a long list of synonyms and "local slang" (some of which I had never heard).  I can sum up the entire performance in three words:

     Go see it.

     An hour and a half of laughs, giggles, sighs, moans, gasps and silence passed in virtually no time.  The actresses, reading and performing the interviews of the anonymous women who contributed to the project, touched on a number of subjects in 17 "acts," including the "aura of mystery and shame" behind female sexuality and empowerment, the vast array of emotions (from inhibition and loathing to joy and exaltation) that both women and men (more women than men) feel regarding the subject, the horrible facts behind such atrocities as genital mutilation and sexual abuse and the ways that different people and cultures react to all of the above.  There were humorous stories that brought laughter ("If your vagina got dressed, what would it wear?"), sad stories that brought silence, shocking stories that brought tears (involving rape and other forms of abuse) and uplifting stories that brought applause.  The three actresses received a well-deserved standing ovation at the end of the performance.  I was impressed with their lack of inhibition and willingness to stand up and yell what most people wouldn't whisper softly.  Ms. Wallace, for instance, simulated a triple orgasm, followed by a selection of moans by cultural type.  The only act that made me uncomfortable involved Ms. Carle's exhortations to the crowd to yell the word "cunt" as loudly as possible.  As "enlightened" as I'd like to believe I am, I have to admit I did not participate.  This, of course, was the point of the exercise, to remove the stigma attached to the word by forcing people to confront it directly.  Maybe next time I see it . . .

     The only amusing anecdote from after the performance involves the local restaurant to which we retired, where a group of women who had also seen the show were seated at the table next to us.  They, too, were impressed (okay, okay, I eavesdropped a little; shame on me).

     As I've indicated above, I really enjoyed the show and would highly recommend it.  I came away from it with a better understanding and a good dose of education, things that everyone could use (both women and men).  And the show supports a good cause.  Violence against women is one of my personal "pet peeves" (if a word as unobtrusive as that can be applied to something as horrible as violence) and the show helps raise donations and awareness for programs that work to end violence against women.

     Final thought.  The subject of The Vagina Monologues is a taboo, unspoken topic in most of the world's cultures, including ours, and that aura leads to ignorance, intolerance, pain, suffering, embarrassment, awkwardness, violence and an absence of joy and empowerment.  The show wants to change that.  We can help.

¹  Quantum mechanics is one of my personal interests, although I've read enough to know that I know next to nothing about it.  As physicist Richard Feynman put it, "If you think you understand quantum mechanics, you don't understand quantum mechanics."  I have read both of those books, though . . .

²  Whether by design or by some weird quirk, the tickets cost $34.50, which meant my total cost came to exactly $69.  Isn't it ironic, dontcha think?

The Vagina Monologues
(The official page.)

V-Day
(A companion page dedicated to ending violence against women.)