Puppetry of the Penis
dir Simon Morley
27 September
New TheatreEngland’s Ashes victory is under discussion. British Woman: “Loser!”. Australian Man: “Thank you, madam, but you’re the one who paid to see my cock.”
Simon Morley and David Friend have got it made. Their show, Puppetry of the Penis, can’t cost much to take on the road: they get three puffs of dry ice; they need someone to work a video camera; they’ve got two capes, no costume changes to worry about. (There’s no programme, so I didn’t catch the name of the warm-up act.) They ape a double-act in the tradition of the music-hall, Simon performing as if he’s doing a sarcastic stand-up routine, and David playing the younger hapless puppyish stooge who’s more likely to run about, to disappear off-stage and re-enter with a comedy prop.
Simon has short-cropped dark hair; David is a vaguely messy dirty blond with comedy sideburns out of the latest Pride and Prejudice. Simon calls David “monkey boy” and bosses him about. They banter, they show affection, they watch each other’s backs. It’s not a particularly great example of the double-act, but it works the audience to heights of hysteria most comics can only pray for. Why? They happen to be naked save for plimsolls and socks. Neither is buffed. And both their penises look as though they have been rolled out with a rolling pin and then fretted with elastic. They contort them into wince-inducing shapes while keeping up a running patter in offensive stereotyped misogyny.
And that’s why, on a one-off gig on a Tuesday night, the New Theatre is playing pretty much to capacity and predominantly to an older-than-student-age female audience. There are hen nights in, and 21st and 40th birthday parties, as well as a retirement do. “Are there any gay men here?” One couple bravely admits to it and is the butt of jokes thereafter. Repeat after me: comedy is cruel. Here it is really cruel.
Fresh from a successful run at the Edinburgh Fringe, these two guys rub their penises like boy scouts with so much kindling, and then stretch them into likenesses of the Eiffel Tower (with dark clouds obscuring the tip of the tower, so we’re told, though I wasn’t convinced) or Uluru (“Ayer’s Rock,” Simon explains. “Any Australians in the audience? Bet you feel homesick.”)
A hamburger shape takes a starring role as does a chicken nugget (“I’m a big fan of the Colonel’s work,” says Simon; “Smell the magical spices!” says David, sniffing amazedly at his fingers) or Gonzo from the Muppets or the Loch Ness Monster (complete with realistic bobbing head movements). With the addition of a champagne cork-guard, the penis becomes a greyhound eager for the off and then morphs into a frightening Hannibal Lecter.
Somewhere, of course, the line is crossed. But it’s hard to say where. Maybe it was being rash enough to agree to review the show at all. Maybe it’s the woman who, fifteen seconds in, shouts, “Show us your nob!” at the warm-up act. She gets a reproving ticking off.
Maybe it’s the gleeful playing to type as macho ’Stralians who can abuse women and still be loved for it. It could probably be drawn at the warm-up’s characterisation of all Germans as either obsessed with sex acts involving urination or Nazis. It’s definitely the warm-up’s gag about how you’ll never find a man complaining about having his drink spiked, and then miming drunken appreciation of oral sex. There’s offence aplenty for the taking.
If this is the male answer to The Vagina Monologues – as the warm-up seems to suggest – it’s a worrying look-out, but a bit of fun, nonetheless.ARCHIVE: 0th week MT 2005
Comedy
