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Straight white males take a lot of flack these days, especially in the theater world. If you place yourself in that category, you might want to check out Scott Schofield’s Becoming a Man in 127 Easy Steps at the Theater Project. (If you’re not a straight white male, you’ll want to show up too, but it seemed, that among that gender-unspecific group, the word had already gotten out.)
Not only does Mr. Schofield sing the praises of male heterosexuality. But he’s been spending the last five years effecting a transformation from a deep-South debutante/prom queen, to a pretty convincing guy — at least when he’s got his baseball hat on and his t-shirt pulled tight. And if you think he’s faking it, well, he pretty much puts those doubts to rest after about four minutes.
Transgender is, of course, Baltimore’s favorite spectator sport. Schofield acknowledges that, and although he’s got a pretty sharp wit, he avoids the cliches. For him, he explains, while pole-dancing up and down the red ribbons hanging from the ceiling, it’s an act of will.
He’s talking about the will to tell a story, or to write a story on the body itself. The evening is a sort of mini-Decameron, with Schofield taking prompts from the audience to use elements of sexual identity (male, gay, lesbian, closet, out, trans, and several other categories) to create unique and improvised stories.
This review is starting to sound a little like French Lit Crit. But Schofield avoids that minefield entirely. He’s funny, self-deprecating, incisive, and occasionally cringe-inducing as he moves across the minefield of pain and hope that desire takes him.
I didn’t leave wanting to inject myself with testoserone. (Wait, I’m a guy already, so I don’t need to.) And no, I didn’t join in the standing O. Schofield is a thought-provoker, and a capable performer, but there were a few dead spots. (I.E. the idea of calling up mom in the middle of the play and miking the conversation is cute, but also destroys the sense of continuity).
I did leave, however, energized by the idea that in this age of manufactured narratives, there are people willing to create their own stories. Schofield, now 29, makes it clear that his story is far from complete. And he treats us to one final injection of testoserone to make that point clear.
Check this one out.
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