The first act is a solid one-act play. Three men, dressed snazzily in designer Marty Rotman couture, interact in a waiting room. They have been summoned to face a tribunal for various crimes of kink. Brandon Nicoletti (The Crucible, Turtleneck) has created an art film involving bondage that is to be banned, Ray Jacildo (Who's Afraid of Titus?) was filmed in a race play scene and the video went viral, while Ryan Cunningham gave self-stimulation (anal and oral) advice on Twitch. It is never explained exactly who the prosecuting entity is, but in a clever twist, the three plead their defiance and desires directly to the audience. We have become the judge and jury. A simple format that theatricalizes Gilbert's concerns blended with what feel like personal stories and desires expanded and fictionalized.
The three actors are passionate and build the material organically, assisted by one dazzling and evocative prop courtesy of Ange Beever and Robin Woodward. The text, credited to the collective, ranges from the outrageously hilarious ("can't have any coloured autistic people in the torture porn") to the didactic ("no-one, at any age, should be ashamed of what gives them pleasure and should have the information to do it safely"). The arguments are coherent and logical. With this particular audience, it was perhaps preaching to the converted. Only Jacildo's segment bordered on shocking and that relates to my having a deeper seated disgust for racism than I have for most kinks. A bit of personal insight gained. It would be fascinating to be in a more mainstream audience, or an audience drawn in by the promise of titillation, to see how they would react.
The second act is, in the form I saw, definitely more of a workshop. Mattea Kennedy, who is credited as "Stage Manager/Intimacy Coach," strides on stage if full dominatrix gear. But she too explains that this is a workshop and that the original concept was to use volunteers from the audience. But, apparently something went wrong in the previous show. So now the practical kink will be demonstrated by the actors. She also makes the fatal mistake of referring to the submissive role as "victim." There is an intriguing table covered in sex toys—crops, floggers, ball gags, dildos, a feather duster, and a package of Chips Ahoy cookies— which we know are not courtesy of Beever and Woodward because there is no glitter. There is also a large container of X Lube who we learn is a sponsor of the production. The three actors bounce in wearing street clothes, except for Cunningham whose lower extremities are merely covered by a black jockstrap. He takes great delight in waggling his posterior every chance he gets.
The central conceit of the second act is to demonstrate basic kink and techniques, a sort of BDSM 101 for beginners or the curious. The information is solid if a little earnest and, while we have been told that we are participants, we are embracing our inner kink of voyeur, it is only intermittently arousing. It is however very engaging. By presenting it as the three improvising and experiencing, identification is instant. They are all appealing characters, emotionally and physically, and if their innocence was being acted, they are also very talented. The scene has a fumbly quality and is very reminiscent of the experience of a first sexual encounter or creating a play, with the hesitation, bravado, and sussing out of where desires connect and where they deviate. Meta-theatrical. It just doesn't quite work dramatically. Yes, I felt that voyeuristic frisson as the tension built, but there was never enough tension for me to feel either indicted or involved. There needs to either be a lot more kink and explicitness, or a layer of theatricality, so that it becomes kink that connects instead of kink that is observed. I have no doubt that a future production will delve deeper, hit harder, and be more bravely kinky.