7 Blowjobs
nytheatre.com review by Martin Denton
April 21, 2005
Just in case you're worried, there are no actual blowjobs in this play; there aren't even any actual blowjobs depicted in the seven photographs that fuel all of its action. These photos arrive at the office of Senator Bob X, from an anonymous sender, delivered FedEx. Receptionist Dot peeks into the mystery package and is stunned by what she sees—pictures, evidently, showing people in provocative states of doing something that apparently is naughty, perhaps even forbidden. Administrative Assistant Eileen and Legislative Assistant Bruce take a look next—long, long, long looks—looks that drive them gaga, in fact, with Eileen writhing about at a desk and Bruce more or less orgasmic on the floor, one photo pressed against a private area of his anatomy. Eventually, Senator B himself gets a gander at the offending photos, and is, yes, offended. But unlike his staffers, he's more interested in finding out who has sent these incriminating evidences to him, and why.
This is, in effect, all that happens in 7 Blowjobs. Senator Bob seeks advice from a television evangelist named Reverend Tom, whose reaction is pretty similar to Bruce's but whose broader experience in such matters enables him to provide the senator with some valuable strategic/tactical assistance—namely, to pin this and other conspiracies against decency on "fags." Bob, Jr., who one suspects may indeed be a bona fide member of that last-named group, is also interrogated, but to no avail.
The point of all of this non-sequitur lunacy is obvious: playwright Mac Wellman wrote 7 Blowjobs in 1991 in response to the flap on government funding supposedly obscene art by the likes of Robert Mapplethorpe, and he dedicated it to Senator Jesse Helms. Hypocrisy in government not having gone away in the past decade, the play resonates resoundingly; the spectacle of seeing self-appointed guardians of the moral order salivate and drool over dirty pictures feels great and registers as hilarious, scoring points off its lascivious targets all the while.
The play's brilliance is mostly attributable to Wellman's astonishing language, which simply soars with glee as it dances around actually naming whatever it is that might be depicted in those seven pictures. Wellman delights in imprecision here: Reverend Tom declares them "photos of unnatural acts, capable of rendering a full-grown man happy," and that's really as much as we actually know about their content: how much apt commentary on the current state of morality and censorship in America is packed into that?
Subjective Theatre Company's production is zany, anarchic fun, which is, I think, precisely right for this play. It takes place in a stylized office (kudos to set designer Nicole Frankel for transforming the tiny Manhattan Theatre Source space so effectively), where a Big Brother-ish voice on the loudspeaker reminds the characters in the play and the audience watching them that they're all here together, looking at each other. There's also a "media packet" provided in lieu of a program, which adds more formalized interactivity to the proceedings, the loudspeaker voice directing us to turn to page X at predetermined intervals.
Director Steven Gillenwater wisely eschews subtlety in his staging, which is knockabout and broad throughout. The actors play similarly big, with Darius Stone the standout as an explosively hilarious Senator Bob, outfitted in a Groucho moustache and bounding about with a self-interested bluster somewhere between Archie Bunker and the Cowardly Lion. Robert Saietta has a blast doing Reverend Tom, especially when a makeshift "sermon" against the evil blowjob photos takes him to (literally) orgasmic heights. Alaina Noel, as Dot the Receptionist, who is apparently the sanest person in the office (faint praise, that) really warms into her role; Megan Kilian as Eileen and Andy Waldschmidt as Bruce perform with gusto but perhaps too little restraint. Zack Griffiths does fine in the play's smallest role of Bob, Jr.
One possible misstep that Gillenwater takes is in letting the audience see the photos too clearly. The MTS space is very intimate, so it's hard to hide things from spectators, and there's a very funny moment when Senator Bob actually shows some of the pictures to audience members. But I think on balance the photos ought to be smaller and less visible to us, which would let our imaginations go wherever they will—hopefully not the same dire places that Senator Bob and Company seem to be headed; but you never know.
