The Gay Thing

Something continues to mystify me.

If you take on the role of Macbeth, no one thinks you're a serial killer offstage.

If you play Richard III, no one actually thinks you're a hunchback.

So what's the big deal about playing a gay character?

OK, I realize that straight guys in theater take a lot of crap, like guys in ballet, or anything that isn't considered "manly."

Like they used to think any woman involved in theater must be a prostitute. And so they didn't let them get on stage for many, many years.

But you're an actor.

It's acting.

If you're not convincing as a gay man onstage, it doesn't make you more of a man. It makes you a bad actor.

Priorities, people.

Do your job.

Screw a goat on your own time for all I care.

And if I don't care, the audience sure as hell doesn't.

Grow a pair and kiss the guy.

Touch him.

Make me believe you care about him.

Or you're screwing up the story.

No one's asking for full-on graphic anal sex in full view of the audience.

This isn't cable television. It's theater.

No one's even asking for a little tongue.

We're asking for intimacy.

Terrifying as that is to contemplate.

There are auditions and a printed script so you know what you're getting yourself into.

If you accept the role, play the role.

Or step aside and let someone who really wants the job take the role.

There are all kinds of perfectly legitimate reasons to turn down a role - artistic, monetary, personal, moral, sexual.

But if you accept the role, you've committed to creating a character *who is not you* as faithfully and completely as possible.

Or you're just phoning it in.

These are the things that worry me. When I think about them.

Most the time I don't think about them.

I assume people are professionals.

And it's only when I run smack into the wall of someone else's prejudice or discomfort or whatever possesses people in situations like that to recoil, that I'm reminded.

"Oh yeah, that's normal for me. It's running through my brain all the time because that's just who I am. But most people live in the straight world. It's a stretch. It's a leap."

Stage combat is a lot more easy to process than kissing.

I'm hoping that isn't an issue with "Leave" when we start rehearsals early 2011.

But you never know.

It's been a challenge in the past.

I was reminded of that in the first chat with director Matt Greseth. He wanted to be sure I was OK with him directing. And at first I was confused by the question. Then he mentioned someone else's name and I realized what he was driving at.

He wanted to direct it, but would I be more comfortable with a gay man directing it instead?

The other three people who directed the play in its various incarnations prior to now were gay men. I didn't seek them out because they were gay. They'd all sought me out. Probably in part because they wanted to tell a story that meant something to them personally.

But if a straight director doesn't mind directing my play, I certainly don't.

I want to work with good people, regardless of orientation. Matt knows his new plays.

In the past, it's been useful to have a gay man at the helm, because the actors haven't been gay (go figure). So a little "Gay 101" was in order. That looks more "porn scenario" when I type it than it ends up being in reality.

Basically it means there's someone there to assure the actors that "yes, we enjoy the same intimacies that straight people do" - it feels the same, it looks the same, just the gender's different. There's no secret handshake. A kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh.

Holding hands looks more like a political act of defiance when we do it, but it's just two hands. The same nerve endings pulse beneath the skin.

(Don't make me quote Shylock in Merchant of Venice.)

The last time I acted in something other than a reading, I had to kiss a guy. A straight guy. It turns out I was actually more skittish about it than he was. He'd played gay before so for him it was no big deal. But looking back on it, I was unconsciously stalling, discussing pretty much everything with my director and acting partner to avoid, you know, actually doing the scene. Finally, the straight actor rolled his eyes, reached over, pulled me in, and planted one on me. When the first kiss was out of the way, he looked at me and said, "Now, can we get on with it?"

We spent the next couple of months kissing in rehearsal and performance, and we're still friends. I have to admit I've still got a soft spot for the guy. Not a crush so much as I just think of him fondly. After all, we'd "been through the wars together."

So I get it. If there's intimacy involved, gay or straight, it's a little weird.

As a writer, I don't ask anything of an actor lightly. There's always a reason something's there in the script. It's never unthinking or gratuitous. It's all about plot and character and relationships.

I have to watch "straight" theater all the time. And don't get me wrong, I enjoy it. I was weened on it. But when the rare chance arises to see a gay story, or better yet have the opportunity to tell one myself, I appreciate how special it is, and I want it done right.

Because at their base, most of my stories are about how, really, there isn't that much of a difference. If the audience grows to care about the characters, gay or straight starts not to matter. They want to see those characters happy, even if happy looks a little different than what they're used to. They want things to end well, or to leave with a little hope.

But they need to see those characters fully, for who they are. And humans are tactile creatures. They need to be touched. They need contact with someone who cares for them.

Four gay actors, the right gay actors, might make things a lot simpler.

But just as there are more straight people than gay people, there are more straight actors than gay ones. So, inevitably, odds are good that one or more of our actors in "Leave" is going to be a straight guy.

Look at it this way, guys. There are hidden perks.

You know how a lot of guys find the idea of two women together a real turn-on. A fair number of women feel the same way about watching two guys together. It's a great conversation starter. And you may get the chance to show the ladies just how great an actor you really are, to be crass for a moment.

Also, you get a chance to relax. Normally we're putting up so many walls between each other as men, it's hard to get to know one another at all. That's why sports and locker rooms and military barracks are such welcome escape valves. (And why the idea of an openly gay person in those environments, bringing the possibility of sex into an atmosphere already charged with intimacy, is something that meets with such resistance.) In a gay role, you're being asked to strip away all the barriers. You have permission to let your guard down.

Because we'll be able to tell if you're faking it. If you're hedging, or calling attention to the fact that "hey, I'm just playing a role here." There have been years of secret code and stereotypes and half measures on the way to full representation. Less than truthful doesn't cut it anymore.

There are four meaty, challenging roles for men in this play. The only "catch" is you need to be a convincing gay man.

But that's what acting's about - pretending to be someone you're not, so we believe you.

Just like the Marines, and our closing 2010 Urban Samurai show, we're looking for a few good men.

Four actors who are man enough to kiss another man. Touch another man. Hold another man.

You wouldn't think they'd be that difficult to find.

I'm still waiting to be proven wrong.