Eve Ensler's 1997 Obie award winning The Vagina Monologues has evolved from a provocative Off-Broadway consciousness-raising solo effort into an international phenomenon, but her work is still probably best realized as a literary effort when performed by its author. The current show is a carefully constructed set of set pieces, beginning in a style reminiscent of veteran standup comics, such as George Carlin. Ms. Ensler progresses to several styles of theatrical characterization current on the solo scene. While ingeniously reminding the audience that her material comes from over 200 "Vagina" interviews, she casually mentions writing each piece. And the lady can write! As one might hope from an instructor in Dramatic Writing for the graduate program at NYU.
The nine or so sections of this intermissionless evening segue from voice to voice, separately by elegantly simple fades and effects from Beverly Emmons lighting, becoming increasingly poetic. From her first standup persona, the author next gives us a married woman discussing pubic hair and her husband's wish that she shave, not a big step. But then Ms. Ensler slips into an older New Yorker frankly discussing a lifetime of what used to be called "embarrassing wetness." After a bit more banter, her characterization flows into a middle-aged English woman discovering the orgasm at an awareness workshop. Things get more serious when she recreates a homeless black woman friend recounting early abuse, which may resonate with the author's own experiences. Even more poignant and poetic is the harrowing ordeal of a young Bosnian woman in a rape camp, entitled "My Vagina was my village."
Following that, by way of necessary comic relief, the show returns to comedyland for the "first hand" complaints of the offended organ concerning pelvic exams, with a slight echo of Lenny Bruce or Dennis Miller. Ensler then follows up with a tour de force "interview" with a tax attorney turned sex worker which mutates into a demonstration of sexual moans. This performance approaches surrealistic poetry or perhaps jazz improvisation, worthy of the Beats or early performance verse Topping such a scene would be extremely difficult, so the show turns to audience participation, taking the four letter word most commonly used for "vagina" and riffing on it, inviting the crowd to join in. It's a Woodstock moment. And the only possible conclusion to such a show is a straightforward recounting of the birth of her adopted son's daughter, which becomes a suitable benediction to the evening.
This incarnation of TVM is a very canny production, performed with the usual economy. Eve, perfectly named, is seated on her high stool center stage wearing a spaghetti-strapped black dress matching her black bobbed hair, set off by red lipstick and nail polish (especially on her bare feet.) Strips of thin material, probably silk, in various shades of pink, hang at several depths, allowing for subtle back-lighting effects and can be adjusted to fit almost any venue. If Ms. Ensler wasn't an actress when she began in 1996, she is one now, the more so since she believes in the work and the cause it funds.
TVM has played worldwide in the last years either solo or in casts of three or more. Some performances on this tour will in fact be played by three as yet unannounced actresses. There have been larger casts, for special events, on college campuses, and in South Africa, where "my Angry Vagina" was delivered by a vulva puppet. But it remains a very personal show, even though currently it is used mostly to raise funds for violence prevention programs. The real secret of its success is the way the author has tapped into the same sexual wellspring of humor that ancient Greek comedy found 2500 years ago. The piece is also riding the current trend toward monodrama. Alan Schneider would be proud.