AUGUST 6, 1993 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE

ENTERTAINMENT

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Kiss of the Spider Woman: Is it just homo chic?

Reviewed by Barry Daniels Talent, money, showbiz "razzle-dazzle," and even a touch of theatrical genius fill the stage of New York's Broadhurst Theatre in Hal Prince's production of Kiss of the Spider Woman.

Is this another step into the gay 90s for Broadway? Can a multi-million dollar musical with all its risks honestly represent the gay community? To what extent are we becoming the trendy fashion-homo chic— for sophisticated liberals to embrace (politely)? Kiss of the Spider Woman sends mixed signals and left me, more often than not, queasy and confused as I tried to figure out what its various metaphors meant.

The action is quite simple and is adapted by playwright Terrence McNally from Manuel Puig's book and screenplay. We are in a prison in a fascist Latin American state. Molina, a femme window dresser, has been in prison for three years of an eight year sentence for attempting to corrupt a minor. (Actually a police decoy was used to trap him in an effort to purge the state of deviants.) Valentin, a straight, macho, Marxist revolutionary is placed in Molina's cell.

Molina has been picked as a set-up whose "weakness" can be used to get political secrets from Valentin. In the production, the prison warden represents the mind of fascism and serves as a narrator who often watches over the action from a metal catwalk high above the stage.

The plot is structured around a set of absolute opposites which are often realized in dual musical numbers. In "Dressing Them Up/I Draw the Line," Molina sings of the joys of window dressing and establishes his completely out femme personality, while Valentin draws the line in the cell, establishing his boundaries and embodying his earnest, albeit, rigid straightness.

In scene nine, the song "Gabriel's Letter/ My First Woman," contrasts the two men's views of love and sexuality. Molina tells of his unconsummated love for a straight waiter, Gabriel, who appears and sings the letter he has written his friend, Molina. In contrast to this restrained and tender relationship, Valentin sings of his first woman, a back alley whore.

Both men have a woman in their life. Molina's is his mother who raised him in discrete poverty, working as an usher at the cinema. She has cuddled and pampered her beloved son. Ironically, Valentin is in love with an upper class bitch who has no interest in politics. The song "Dear One" brings together the two men and their women in a quartet which continues the musical device of contrasting the opposites of the plot.

As the plot proceeds we watch the obvious paradoxes develop. Molina proves the stronger in surviving the hardships of prison than the tough, macho, Valentin. The crux of the action is whether or not Molina will betray Valentin and give in to the warden who manipulates him through his mother and his love for Valentin.

The musical's overriding metaphor is the fantasy world Molina creates which makes it possible to survive the deprivation and degradation of prison life. He conjures up in his mind visions of Aurora, a B movie star, who has specialized in playing in stories of tragic love affairs. He replays her films in his imagination, identifying with her femininity and her doomed passions. This is, of course, a symbol for the healing power of art. Hal Prince's staging of Molina's visions is as pure a manifestation of a particular kind of Broadway genius as I've ever seen.

Prince and his designers, Jerome Sirlin (sets and projections), Florence Klotz (costumes), and Howell Binkley (lights), have created a huge beehive of metal that evokes the oppressive claustrophobic atmosphere of a prison. Through lights and projections this ominous space is transformed into Molina's fantasy world. It is a breathtaking moment for Aurora's first entrance when the whole space turns into a vast starry sky

at the center of which she appears surrounded by mirrors. It becomes a tropical forest for Aurora's first act finale, "Gimme Love." Throughout the cage becomes a glittering web of light when the Spider Woman appears.

Most importantly, the director and designers manage to artfully blend the two worlds of the play which coexist. Sometimes it is the white light reality of the prison cell scenes that is brought forward with characters of Molina's fantasy hovering around or behind. At other times it is the fantasy that is brought forward without ever completely losing the reality of the prison. The true music of this production is the constantly shifting balances and interplay between these two worlds.

To this must be added the performances of the three principal actors. Brent Carver in the role of Molina manages to give depth to the stereotype he plays. He flounces and chatters, a pathetic fairy, unlucky in love, and possessing a mordant wit. Like librettist McNally's Mendy in The Lisbon Traviata, Carver's Molina is over the edge, but his desperate need for love is very real, and his spirit triumphs. Carver's performance is much more daring than William Hurt's rather sedate Molina in the film.

Anthony Crivello has the less showy role of Valentin. His performance is a subtle rendering of the character's gradual understanding of Molina's strength and the real weakness of his own macho facade. The Act II prison scenes are beautifully written and played, all restraint and intensity. The final love scene when Valentin crosses the line and the two men embrace is heartbreaking in its simplicity.

Chita Rivera is given a star turn as Molina's fantasy woman, Aurora, in various scenes from her films. Each of her songs is a major production number involving spectacular costumes and lots of Broadway hard sell. A Broadway legend herself, she gives an accomplished and flashy performance.

With so much going for it, why am I reserved in my response to Kiss of the Spider Woman? How are its signals mixed? On the surface the production seems targeted for a gay audience. The chorus boys are pumped up dancers dressed and staged like scenes from a gay porn film in a prison setting. The prison theme song, “Over the Wall," throbs with the heat of their caged lust. Add to this a dose of leather in the guard paraphernalia and various S/M torture scenes, and you have a view of homosexuality that can safely be put down by a straight audience. The over-pampering mother and the apolitical bitch girlfriend are unnecessarily crude stereotypes.

I began to feel that the musical was presenting a series of cliches for a straight audience, leaving it free to focus on the antifascist liberal storyline and the production's theatricality, while politely dismissing the homosexual themes. At the same time it attempts to attract a gay audience with its positive and realistic portrait of Molina and its various gestures to homoerotic porn and fetishes.

Finally, how are we to interpret Valentin's making love to Molina? In the musical, it is too easy to see this as a sacrifice made by Valentin in order to insure Molina will deliver a message to his girlfriend. A straight audience probably doesn't even notice the cruelty of this or of Valentin's final line to Molina, "Be a man." Molina delivers the non-political message, is caught, and dies for his love of Valentin. He achieves his own fantasy and joins Aurora, accepting the fatal kiss of the Spider Woman, for the final production number. This is much less ambiguous and complex than Puig's novel.

I should also note that the score by John Kander (music) and Fred Ebb (lyrics) is a tedious, lifeless string of cliches. It never achieves the parodic wit necessary for the fantasy scenes nor the originality demanded by the intellectual pretensions of the material.

Valentin, top, finally crosses the line to embrace a rejoicing Molina.

In spite of my very considerable reservations, theater buffs will want to see this production for Prince's theatrical, often astonishing, staging. They will enjoy the fine performances of Brent Carver, Anthony Crivello, and Chita Rivera. I would simply urge those of you who see the production to be attentive to the way homosexuality is portrayed for what must be a largely straight

MARTHA SWOPE

audience. For me, Kiss of the Spider Woman in its Broadway incarnation comes close to being exploitation.

Kiss of the Spider Woman is playing at the Broadhurst Theatre, 44th Street West of Broadway, Monday through Saturday at 8 pm; Wednesday and Saturday at 2 pm. For ticket prices and reservations call TeleCharge at 212-239-6200.

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