Sweet and lowbrow

There are plenty of guilty pleasures geared to gay men; many of us indulge in them, but few admit it. Bailiwick’s Barenaked franchise is of that ilk. After L.A. import Naked Boys Singing! ended its five-year run at the Bailiwick in January 2006, the theater scrambled to fill its shoes. The result was last summer’s successful Barenaked Lads in the Great Outdoors, a thinly disguised relative that offered a similar dose of in-the-buff song and dance. It was followed by Barenaked Lads Save Christmas and now Barenaked Lads Take Off Broadway, which opened last week.

Despite the shows’ longevity, each time a production opens, it generates mixed reactions. Many critics, actors, directors and even theatergoers shake their heads in disgust at such blatantly lowbrow fare, while bachelorettes revel in it. Even older ladies are finding delight in watching a gay guy jiggle his God’s arm. But the question is: Is it wrong to indulge in an enterprise whose sole aim is to celebrate the male figure? I went to see the new show to find out. 

I was surprised at how small the theater was; The house only had about 70 seats. This means that anyone attending specifically to see male genitalia (let’s assume that’s everyone) is up close and personal with the junk. The stage was also, appropriately, naked. There was no set, although the proscenium was decorated with glitzy signage such as "South Submissive", "Guys and Dudes", "Fiddle Me on the Roof", and, well, you get the idea.

As expected, the audience was mostly men. The sole exception was a group of rowdy (yep, you guessed it) bachelorettes who showed up late and staged a coup in the front row, assuming the guys there would be more than happy to move for them (rookie mistake, ladies).

The show opened with an introduction by the lone female member of the cast. But enough about her, right? When the curtain finally rose, there stood the men, buck naked. Five naked guys, five exposed penises of varying shapes and sizes. To be sure, these men were all more or less attractive and in good shape, but that should be par for the course considering their chosen vocation.

At first, the audacious display of nudity was discomforting. The actors sang, danced and smiled while looking the audience straight in the eye. I felt embarrassed for them until I realized they’re not the ones naked here—we are. After all, who’s really being exposed? Is it the performers who are cutting their teeth on their craft and taking home a paycheck while simultaneously proving they can be adored by the masses and comfortable in their own skin? Or is it the audience who is willingly trading hard-earned pay for full-frontal titillation?

The opening medley was pretty blah, a predictable montage of classics from the Great White Way reworked into dick jokes. “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” became “Don’t Try to Trim Around Your Wiener” and so on. If the show was one giant naked cliché, it would surely tank. But, it isn’t.

There were some genuinely funny and, dare I say, touching moments, many of which were done clothed. It’s to the credit of the show’s creators (including GayCo funnyman Andy Eninger) that some of the parody is spot-on, including director and actor John Cardone’s hysterical take on an aging diva and the show’s willingness to blatantly poke (poor word choice) fun at both itself and the audience. 

But for all the eye rolling I pretended to do during the first act, I admit I felt a little cheated at all the covering up that took place in the second. Why weren’t they taking their clothes off anymore? It reminded me a bit of living in Southern California. There are only so many sunny days you can take before you crave a cloudy one. But as soon as that day arrives, you want sunshine back. Now really, is that so bad?

Barenaked Lads Take Off Broadway plays Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.