The best of all things is something entirely outside your grasp: not to be born, not to be, to be nothing. —Greek drunkard-god Silenus, quoted in Straight White Men by way of Friedrich Nietzsche
And there beginneth the allegory: Jake and Drew are, of course, the white male faces of commerce and art, and Lee makes sure we understand how clubby they are. Long early stretches of SWM show them in unrestrained adolescent-regression mode, triggered by their return to the cozy family seat. They roughhouse over a video game, find gross things to do with dice during a board game, snack on crap, talk dirty, relive old adventures, and drink themselves sick.
On that score SWM can be thought of as a variation on the scene in Independence Day where the U.S. president asks an alien, “What is it you want us to do?” only to have it reply, “Die.” Lee isn’t without sympathy for Matt’s situation, though. (Why should she be when that situation smacks so much of authorial wish fulfillment?) In fact, she seems at times to have greater regard for him than for her audience. We enter the theater to hip-hop specially selected for the sexual candor of its lyrics and played at black-ops-site volume. Next we’re taken in hand by two people “in charge,” who feel called upon to educate us about gender fluidity. It’s an effective alienation device but a cheap and condescending shot, suggesting that Lee sees the people who’ve come out for her show as 280 seats worth of cultural/racial/regional/class complacency in need of a shock. Maybe we are, but then again maybe we’re not. v
Through 3/19: Wed-Fri 7:30 PM, Sat 3 and 7:30 PM, Sun 3 PM, Tue 7:30 PM; also Sun 2/19 and 2/26, 7:30 PM; Wed 3/1, 3/8, and 3/15, 2 PM Steppenwolf Theatre 1650 N. Halsted 312-335-1650steppenwolf.org $50-$74
