Nothing vague or monotonous in readings

By Joseph T. Rozmiarek
Advertiser Drama Critic

•	'The Vagina Monologues' With Kelly Hu, Amy J. Carle and Starla Benford 7:30 tonight; 6 and 9 p.m. tomorrow; 5 and 8 p.m. Saturday; and 2 and 7 p.m. Sunday Hawai'i Theatre $45-$20 528-0506

The script by Eve Ensler is a collection of readings based on personal interviews, composite memories and statistics — all wrapped around a taboo part of the female anatomy that is rarely discussed and sometimes never visited. It's the "down there" and it's off limits and impolite to mention it.

The real charm in the production — and it begins to delight its audience almost immediately — is that it not only "mentions it," it demystifies the subject and allows us to feel at ease while exploring previously forbidden territory.

The show is deceptively simple to produce — a row of stools and microphones and words on note cards. It can be independently prepared, combined with minimal rehearsal and performed just about anywhere. The performers can also be interchanged, with relatively little detriment, to bring on headliners with name recognition.

None of that suggests that anyone could merely phone in a performance. The script demands energy, charisma and credibility. And this production is first-rate.

The evening begins tentatively, like easing into hot water.

"If your vagina got dressed up, what would it wear?"

"Mink."

"What does it smell like?"

"Something between fish ... and lilacs."

"If it could talk, what would it say?"

"Enter at your own risk."

The show also includes lists and numbers. Lists of regional and colloquial euphemisms ranging from coy to crass. A handful of states that make it illegal to sell vibrators. Statistics on the number of women subjected to genital mutilation and a description of its consequences.

But the real strength comes from the characters behind the monologues.

Kelly Hu leads off with an ethnic voice, adapted into pidgin for this production, of a 72-year-old arthritic woman who has never once looked at her vagina. She's always considered it to be a dank and musty cellar, prone to flooding from leaky pipes and posting a sign that reads "closed for repairs."

Starla Benford figures in two strong pieces. The first is a long story about a plain-looking boyfriend named Bob who helped her character learn to love her vagina by gazing intently into it for hours. In the second, she leads the audience in a sports cheer by breaking down afour-letter word into components.

Amy J. Carle displays an ear for accent in a piece about a young girl who learns that her "kootchie-snorcher" can be a source of pleasure and pain. Then she delivers a climactic pantomime illustrating the range of moans women can emit in the throes of sexual pleasure.

There is a substantial range of experience and emotion in the performance. Sensuous laughter can lead to a serious treatment of mutilation and rape. Coarse slang segues into the ironic indignities of a gynecological exam.

Played in 90 nonstop minutes without intermission, the show is never dull or patronizing, and always characterized by articulate, professional, and compassionate delivery.

See it with someone you'd like to get to know better.