by Steve Meigs
All politics is local, they say. Is all theater local, too? And can theater be politics? Find out. Go see Vampire Lesbians of Sodom. Even better, phone your right-wing conservative religious uncle and invite him to go with you to see it at the City Theater where it's now playing. Don't tell Uncle the name of the show, don't give the game away. Just say “Gee, Uncle, it's a comedy and the first scene is set in a famous Biblical city!”
First scene, Vampire Lesbians of Sodom: A sweet, innocent 14-year-old flaxen-haired Vestal Virgin is chosen as a sacrifice for a blood sucking lesbian demon, the Succubus. The virgin played by Joe Hartman in a long blonde Rapunzel wig, red lipstick and mascara struggles to escape, gets grabbed by the palace guards, and with flailing arms and legs screams "Break my hymen! Break my hymen!" Too late, virgin babe. The Succubus, Kirk Kelso with an evil sneer and a hellish red page boy wig, bites her on the neck and she swoons.
Is she dead? Not exactly.
All theater is local politics. Your uncle may bolt out of the theater and your life forever.
Or maybe he'll rip his Romney button off and try to stab you with the pin?
Or surprise, surprise. He could giggle and change in ways your aunt will never understand.
Most people see Vampire Lesbians of Sodom and laugh their asses off. It's just so damn ridiculous. It's got action faster than a speeding improv. It's weirder than an op-ed page in a free weekly. It cold cocks you with its purse and then makes you beg for it again.
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