Playwright: Philip Dawkins. At: About Face Theatre at the Biograph, 2433 N. Lincoln. Phone: 773-871-3000;$28. Runs through: July 24
Mart Crowley, Terrence McNally and David Dillon, among other playwrights, have tracked the status of gays in America through the microcosm of a party—the singles equivalent of family reunions—usually attended by a circle of acquaintances, some of whom share histories, and some not. Philip Dawkins' chronicle, ironically, begins with a break-up in 2010, then proceeds to flash back in two-year increments to 2000 and a gathering at which a small-town youth just arrived in the city was welcomed by new companions. Over the intervening years, the activities of these six men and one woman bring them into confrontation with personal trials during a decade of swift changes (as what decade isn't, when viewed from up close?).
Their progress dispels many long-outdated stereotypes: for example, why can't gay heroes of fiction be afflicted with the same illnesses—cancer, say—that hets suffer? How often (outside of musical comedy) are women who befriend men-who-love-men depicted, not as frustrated harridans, but sisterly comrades? No demographic has a monopoly on marital fidelity or lack thereof, but when since The Boys In The Band have gay males ever discussed the issue of monogamy? In Dawkins' dramatic universe, even a quick roll in the sheets circa 2006 advances such milestone observations as "Tops get AIDS, too" (to which the HIV-positive speaker's companion shrugs, "Twenty years ago, you'd be dying").
An abundance of life-shaping events can occur in a deceptively brief time when you're young—obviously—but the most impressive aspect of this world premiere production is its 30-year-old author's unexpected command of mature reflection articulated in discourse combining witty repartee and solemn insight without a single word wasted on frivolous one-liners or maudlin hankie-grabs (debunking another stereotype in its rejection of the myth that gay audiences only respond to cheap farce or equally cheap melodrama). Under the direction of Bonnie Metzgar, the About Face actors likewise dispense with shopworn mannerisms to deliver smart, sensitive performances delving their personae's every utterance, however small or enigmatic, for subtextual revelation.
"Don't cry! This isn't Chekhov!" Peter admonishes a melancholy compatriot, thus pointing us toward our play's 19th-century prototype, even as he professes to mock their similarities—for what Dawkins has crafted is nothing less than a group portrait of his contemporaries, reproduced with an accuracy deserving of its enshrinement in a time capsule addressed to future generations in need of comfort.
