Siamese Sex Show

Reviewed by Neal Weaver
Lounge Theatre
Through November 13

Donald Trump has repeatedly been accused of vulgarizing our public discourse with his abusive attacks on women, Muslims, African-Americans, Latinos, the disabled, and anybody else who doesn’t share his high opinion of himself. And the charges are most certainly borne out by the facts. But there’s one thing Trump has remarked on which is all too true: he hasn’t said anything that hasn’t already been said by rappers and hip-hop artists.

In the opening moments of this musical satire, which proudly bills itself as a hip-hop musical, the Emcee (Isaac Cruz) addresses the audience, repeatedly calling us “cocksuckers” and giving us the finger. I remember seeing the first Off-Broadway production of John Herbert’s Fortune and Men’s Eyes, in which one character calls another a cocksucker. There was audible shock from the audience, and one gentleman reacted as if he’d just received a solar plexus punch. Now audiences take such language in stride, and are willing to sit and suffer verbal insults from the stage, from a production which later features graphic groping, simulated sex, both lesbian and heterosexual, and revealing costumes. (Another current production, Scorsese – American Crime Requiem, features a night-club comedian who specializes in aggressively blue material.) So Trump is not the only vulgarizer. There’s enough guilt to go around.

Mind you, I’m not advocating censorship, which is anathema to me. But as the saying goes, discretion is the better part of valor. And there’s precious little discretion or valor on display in this show.

Perhaps I’m being too hard on this basically harmless little musical. It’s a scattershot satiric parody on the current fad for tales about fiendish forces trying to take over the world. In this case, the villain is a monster corporation called Monocorp, whose CEO (Keith E. Wright) is marketing a device called the Love Light, for achieving orgasm without human intimacy.

But the Love Light is secretly designed to control its users by transforming into something called the Fear Light. And the corporation is busily disposing of pop stars and replacing them with sexy robots, since robots don’t have to be paid.

Monocorp’s XO (Jillian Easton) hires novice advertising man George O. Thornhill (Eddie Gutierrez) to create an ad campaign for the Love Light. Thornhill is a Dudley DoRight sort, gauche and naïve, who nevertheless is able to create a jingle that convinces millions to buy the product. This is so improbable that even the Emcee confesses that he can’t always follow the plot.

But saviors are in sight: Four pop-stars decide to don Super-Hero costumes and foil the dastardly plans of Monocorp. They include Malika (Cloie Wyatt Taylor), Mr. Hadji (Riccardo Berdini), rapper Jamal (Sean Leon), and a mysterious woman who is not listed in the program for good reason: she is not what she seems.

In the end virtue triumphs, love conquers all, the evil CEO is hoist on his own petard, and everybody else presumably lives happily ever after.

The show is not quite as sappy as this synopsis makes it sound (even Hamlet doesn’t synopsize well). And fortunately an enthusiastic cast makes it palatable while it lasts, with special kudos for Erin Rye as a sexy robot named Cherry. There are four female dancers (Dayna Alice Austin, Janelle Dote, Miki Holmes, and Alyssa Noto) who help to keep things lively, and Todd Waring appears on video as a folksy sinister President of the U.S.

Director Kiff Scholl gives the piece a brisk and efficient production on David Offner’s constructivist set. The spectacular and witty costumes are by (who else?) Michael Mullen, who is the current go-to guy for glitz, glamor and spandex. And Shelia Dorn’s wig and make-up designs nicely complement the costumes.

Lounge Theatre, 6201 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles.  Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m., Sun., 7 p.m.  (323) 960-7738 or https://www.plays411.com/siamese. Running time: two hours with no intermission.