Inside: titillated and traumatized by Keith Cole, gender and buttfucking
10 Jul 2023

by Drew Rowsome - Photo graphic design by Ryan Russell

One of the joys of the Fringe Festival is the time constraints. Whatever the production is attempting has to be accomplished in less than 90 minutes, often less than an hour. With Inside the time constraint becomes a curse when a concise idea, contained within a simple double entendre, is not able to take the time to expand on a multitude of necessary and endlessly intriguing ideas. There is so much packed into Inside's brief and brisk 30 minutes plus curtain call, that I am still puzzling the pieces together, distracted by some tangents that themselves would have made a solid play, and resorting to googling for references that landed emotionally but eluded my limited intellectual stockpile of knowledge. That may be nitpicking, Inside is a diverting entertainment packed with thought provoking ideas and wrapped up with a cathartic ending that is as emotionally satisfying and narratively dubious as "happy ever after" finishing a fairy tale. It seems churlish to expect more. But the nagging loose ends compelled me to dig for more.

Inside may suffer from time constraints but it blithely ignores the constraints of the stage. The action begins before we enter the theatre with Jonathan Wilson (Gay For Pay with Blake and Clay, My Night with Reg, The Normal Heart) and Ryan Russell teasing with a bit of street theatre while we wait impatiently in line to enter the theatre. Wilson's uptight character ineptly pursues Russell's casual swagger, ostensibly in admiration of Russell's gym shorts. We are primed for the tale of a stalker, or of the stalked, with whether it will be a comic romp or a raunchy melodrama remaining to be seen. The pair disappear into the theatre and we file in behind, only to have them follow us, continuing their awkward pas de deux. And then playwright/director Sky Gilbert (Kink Observed, Who's Afraid of Titus?, Shakespeare's Criminal, I Cook, He Does the Dishes, Sad Old Faggot, It's All Tru, The Terrible Parents, To Myself at 28, My Dinner with Casey Donovan, A Few Brittle Leaves, Dancing Queen, Hackerlove, The Situationists) expands in several directions at once, moving far beyond a tale of sexual celebrity obsession.

But before I delve into the thematic content and ideas—which I consider background knowledge but could be construed as spoilers—it is important to discuss what is on the stage. Gilbert is admirably skilled at writing witty dialogue and Wilson is a master of comic timing so we are in good hands. The situation is a little contrived but the amiability of the performers makes it work. Wilson, impeccably dressed except for one shirttail hanging out of his otherwise far from casual suit, desperately wants, or wants something, from Russell but, as he says, his "thinking is fine, doing of ordinary things isn't." Only Wilson could spin uproarious laughter out of the line, "I'm not dangerous, I'm just fucked up." Russell is more grounded, the porn star with a heart of gold who puts up this ineptly insistent man with diminishing politeness. There are several places where Russell, playing a version of himself, talks about his work and, again, there is an entire fascinating play to be found there. 

It seems that Wilson's character, Tom, has, like many of us, been titillated and traumatized by a work of art created by the iconic Keith Cole. The short film, which we see, is entitled Post-Modern Prometheus and features Russell provocatively writhing while intoning how much he loves having a "man inside of me" and that "I pity you if you don't have a man moving inside of you." Being a Cole creation, the film is more than just sexual, and the title references the Greek myth with its liver eating, Mary Shelley's novel, and The X-Files episode featuring a Cher impersonator and a parody of James Whale's closet classic Frankenstein..Becoming a real man through anal penetration? But Tom, who insists he is "not gay," has a different interpretation. He wants "not just a penis" but "a man inside me." One of his psychiatrists has requested that Tom choose a gender identity from a list of four. The four are not of the binary/nonbinary variety but from the xenogender spectrum which goes past gender as we commonly know it into intensely individual experiences and definitions of self. Gilbert has pushed Cole's theory to an extreme and in an unexpectedly sweet moment, a gentle act of sensual kindness proves that redemption and identity can be achieved through bottoming.

Hopefully Gilbert, and please this perfect cast, gets to expand this idea and turn it into the powerful and provocative piece it deserves to be (and a few more one-liners and a few less psychiatry references for Wilson wouldn't hurt). The ideas are there but I really had to dig to make the emotional thread, which did land, resonate. Though I will forever treasure the reaction of the, presumably straight, woman in front of me who spent most of the play ogling Russell, as did we all, in his mesh and shorts. When she realized the double meaning of the title "Inside," she gasped before bursting into raucous nervous laughter meant to demonstrate she was in the know. All of us gay men had already been laughing, and at least partially in the know, but were now seriously considering just what it means to have a man inside you.