By Phillip Bailey
After seeing the “Vagina Monologues” for the first time last week I cannot help but wonder aloud, what is all the fuss about?
Is it the title?
Is it that those who are ashamed or cannot fathom their own sexual organs choose prudish censorship?
A woman complained of the title in Atlantic Beach, Fla., prompting managers to change the marquee at the Atlantic Theaters to the “‘Hoohaa’ Monologues,” which sounds more like a country-western band than an expression of female empowerment. The director of the play demanded the title be changed back and two days later the “Vagina” was restored.
Male apprehension can be attributed to a number of reasons, some valid, some prejudice. Maybe it’s a fear of male bashing. The Terry McMillanization of African-American fiction has successfully scared off most of my demographic. Instead of creativity or nuance, a lot of garbage is passed off as genius simply for its collection of deceitful, violent and irresponsible black boogeymen, such as Danny Glover’s character “Mister” in The Color Purple.
Just as male-oriented public forums indulge dozens of no talent video vixens that serve only our sexual appetites, the world of women can be outright spiteful or in the words of Dr. Ricky L. Jones, “nasty for no reason.”
Still, before the silent suffering of men is acknowledged, we owe a great deal of public attention to the ugly portrayals of women.
Leaving my apprehension at the door, I learned that the “Vagina Monologues” is a challenge to the entire community’s negligence. Our collective disregard for the global experience, persecution and perspective of women is given a lucid forum at the sometimes comical, sometimes tragic and always poignant stage play.
I was impressed at how easily Eve Ensler’s modern classic connected private anguish to public issues and modern global problems. Centralized by a physical organ, the themes are the meat of the production, not the title. From the female orgasm to rape during war, the “Vagina Monologues” covers a myriad of topics from and for a diverse audience of women.
However, no play is worth watching without a quality cast. Thankfully the University of Louisville’s rendition, which was hosted by the PEACC program, was brought to life by a well rounded group of theatrical novices and potential professionals. Representing black, white and Asian women of different ages, sizes and styles, each actress is deserving of campus wide appreciation.
None, however, were more impressive than Pan-African Studies graduate student Sarah Watkins, whose performance commanded the audience’s attention every time she appeared on stage. Watkins’ familiarity with the material gave her range, depth and the ability to blend her personality with the characters she portrayed, thus giving vivacity to what otherwise would be a glorified reading of narratives.
Few things are worse than hearing actors simply read lines badly and blandly. Her routines coupled with the gravity of the narratives about the war in Iraq, genital mutilation in Africa, rape camps in Bosnia and acid burnings in Pakistan should give even the most stubborn chauvinists reason to pause while the rest of us call for an encore.
