Edgy Jack L. B. Gohn (bio) The heart wants what the heart wants, as Woody Allen tells us. And the heart will generally not be denied. But that is only half the story. The loins also have wants, and they are just as inflexible as the heart. This turns out to be a problem for nearly everyone, because our hearts and our loins so often want incompatible things. The incompatibility was arrestingly explored by two brave and iconoclastic works about sex I saw a day apart in the same place, Theatre Row on 42nd Street. One was Toni Bentley’s adaptation of her own erotic memoir, The Surrender, a one-woman show with Laura Campbell standing in for Bentley. The other was Intimacy, by Thomas Bradshaw, staged by the New Group. The shows are brave for the forthrightness with which they deal with their subject. Sex and sexuality may be ubiquitous in the theater, but extreme honesty about these things is a lot rarer. Even today, for instance, there are usually limits to the depiction and the discussion of sex onstage. These shows, particularly Intimacy, simply brush almost all limits aside. [End Page 408] (Actual erections as part of the performance are, to pick an example, a new one on me—at least on that block of 42nd Street and in this century.) The shows are iconoclastic for the potentially unpopular things they say. One potentially unpopular thing said in The Surrender would be that a (mostly) straight woman loves anal sex. The iconography of the act (male superior, woman not) sorts awkwardly with the feminist ideals most of us like to think we share. Yet if Bentley has one theme, it is that her greatest release occurs precisely when she is most objectified, most, to use her own word, slutty. (“Anal sex is about cooperation. Cooperation in an endeavor of aristocratic politics, involving rigid hierarchies, feudal positions, and monarchist attitudes.”) One could take issue with this analysis by contending Bentley is “topping from the bottom” (in all senses of the word), but this facile formula really fails to do justice to Bentley’s feelings and views. No, if Bentley is saying anything at all about this contradiction, she is saying that the “sluttiness” (anal and otherwise) she practiced with the lover she called A-Man and with others may not have contradicted so much as ignored all elevated notions of human dignity, and that orgasm trumps theory. In so postulating, she is not falling into the opposite fallacy, the one championed by de Sade and Story of O, for instance, that the male-superior position truly bespeaks degradation, or that degradation is mystically liberating. Her point is simply that the loins want what the loins want. Bentley may be looking for what she calls “the joy that lies on the other side of convention,” but it is not the unconventionality per se that she craves. Just the joy. She has another leg up on those French writers, de Sade and Réage, as well. The 120 Days of Sodom and Story of O have to take place in neverlands, fantasized chateaux where perversity can flourish in a way that reality and the laws would never permit elsewhere. Bentley, by contrast, makes her argument out of what she claims is actual experience. Her claims are believable, illustrated with a thousand piquant details conveying the ring of truth, like the gym-rat environment where she meets A-Man (and a redheaded woman who serves for a time as their mutual lover), or the way she encounters a born-again Christian (whose backsliding she prompts) while cutting dowels at a Home Depot. The Surrender, then, seems dedicated throughout to honesty about sexual reality. Intimacy at least starts out the same way. This seven-character play, built around the ubiquity of masturbation, pornography, and the sexual fantasies that fuel them, is like Schnitzler’s La Ronde in depicting a circle of tangentially associated individuals whose sexual secrets end up linking them together in unacknowledged ways. The play takes for granted, as did Kinsey, that masturbation is pretty much a universal behavior, at least for men, and that pornography, the ultimate masturbatory...
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