The venue was about as off-Broadway as it gets — a tiny little theater with folding chairs set up a few feet from the stage.
The infamous sex scene finally came, with the two leads spooning together in a cramped iron bed post-coitus.
A few women in the audience provided the performative gasps, followed by a round of suppressed nervous laughs.
The actor who had no problem with nudity was completely naked, his body awkwardly positioned at such an angle that we got a full view of his taint and baby dick — shaved, of course, with that awful plucked-chicken look that straight men think makes them look bigger.
You know he was proud of himself for having made such a brave artistic choice.
The other actor had tight white briefs on, carefully pulled down so that we saw a portion of his neatly trimmed bush and the base of his shaft, which wasn’t remarkable either, but still bigger than the other guy.
Both actors were obviously heterosexual: their body language was as stiff as the dialogue. Even the way they shared the oversized prop cigarette was unconvincing.
The play was about the forbidden love between two World War I servicemen, described in the program as an “unflinchingly raw portrayal that examines accepted truths and challenges assumptions.” That was my first clue that it was pretentious and dull.
As the actors droned on together, my mind drifted — what if one of them is trying to suppress a fart right now?
If either of the guys let one rip on stage, it’d be worth the price of the ticket.