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The Last Castrato

nytheatre.com review by Kaipo Schwab
August 15, 2005

“When I was six, I was the only child who had dolls that were anatomically correct,” remarks Joseph, the lead character in Andy Eninger’s The Last Castrato, as he begins his appeal in front of a parole board hearing. He wants us to understand how he got locked up and so he tells us his life story.You see, Joseph was born without a penis. His father, ashamed of his son (how could he play baseball without balls?) enrolls him in a school for "special needs" children where he is treated like an idiot until they realize he can read—after which they "upgrade" him to idiot savant and send him to Paris, where idiot savants are considered artistes. There, Joseph meets Elena, a woman born without skin—she lives in a specially sealed contraption to protect her vital organs and only her head is visible. Elena’s talent is that she sings like an angel. Joseph’s talent is that he has no talent (he even fails at writing simple haikus) except to look normal (with clothes on, of course). The two fall in love at first sight and Elena’s parents suggest that he market himself as one of those rare Italian Castrati of old—boys or men who purposely cut off their manhood so as to reach those musical high notes. But, since Joseph can’t hold a tune, he enlists Elena to sing for him as he lip-synchs in front of the crowd. Naturally, Joseph becomes a huge star—so much so that he receives 30 penises a day from wannabe admirers who castrate themselves to be like him. To reveal any more of the story would be unfair. At the very least, I have to leave you wondering just how did Joseph end up in the aforementioned prison?Joseph is energetically portrayed by our solo performer, Jeff Swearingen (who looks like he could be Viggo Mortensen’s younger brother). Perhaps too energetically: Swearingen leaps, rolls, kicks, and rips around the stage like the Tasmanian Devil (a chair on stage broke in half after one such out-of-control maneuver, leaving awkward remnants of itself in later scenes.) I sat through most of these gymnastics hoping he would calm down so I could just listen to him. At times I also wished that he and his director, Brad McEntire, would have toned down some of the acting choices (the broad style employed bordered on indicating) so the audience could follow the story more easily. Eninger has written a solid tale with a complex character at the heart of it, but each time the story began to move us Swearingen (perhaps by McEntire’s direction) would overplay the bit, distracting us from the moment.Lighting, sound, and set (two simple suitcases filled with assorted props and sometimes doubling as characters) complement the action on stage nicely.Perhaps with a few more performances under its belt, The Last Castrato will hit more of those high notes. The story certainly warrants the effort.