Arrows of Desire

Happily, there are better reasons to see The Joy of Gay Sex than its narrative flow. Fisher seems to have effortlessly staged his show as though he were directing the characters themselves rather than the actors impersonating them, and the result is a collegial effort marked by strong performances. The evening clearly belongs to Gilhool, an adorable monster (and a projection of the playwright-director, who works the spotlight from the audience seats) whose narration is both seductive and suspect. Gilhool receives strong support from the ensemble, which also includes Peter Denlo, Jane Paik and J.T. Tepnapa. Wolthausen, whose rusty-voiced, hard-edged innocence and shifting facial expressions suggest a Lynda Barry cartoon character brought to life, turns in an especially endearing performance. Fisher makes use of every inch of space here, and this cramped venue is perfect for his comic-book backdrops of Berkeley‘s Campanile, the Golden Gate Bridge and the San Francisco City Hall dome. A word of advice, though: Arrive early, as the mere ability to adjust one’s shoulders, let alone find two seats together, becomes problematic whenever single chairs are added to accommodate latecomers. (Every time I go to the St. Genesius, I imagine this is what sitting inside an animal cracker box would be like.)

Special mention should be made of Paul Cady‘s musical direction and fine piano accompaniment to a list of standards sung by the cast, tunes ranging from Cole Porter to George Gershwin, which, with Stephens and Fisher’s energetic disco choreography, capture the hopeful, insurgent mood of a city that even the jaded Nick refers to as ”the brightest star in the firmament.“