I Dream of Madonna

Hello fellow insiders. Let me tell you about a dream I once had. I was at a swanky New York cocktail party, drinking one of those fancy highballs you see on Sex and the City, and chatting about art and culture with Manhattan's high society in the Upper East Side. Out of the corner of my eye I see her. The Queen of pop. The grande dame provocateur. Madonna. She sidles up next to me and fixes her sea foam eyes on my Valentino suit, smiles and we talk. Our conversation? It is about her music catalog. I insist certain songs of hers are her best work. She disagrees. I prattle on about how I know what her best work is. She makes a face. And we argue for the rest of the night. I think I am done for, but when she is about to leave she spins around on her four inch Manolo, looking impossibly fit in her black Gaultier bustier dress, and tells me how much she enjoyed our conversation. "Not many people have the balls to tell me to my face what they really think of my work. Thank you for your interest in my art." With another spin on her heel she vanishes. I wake up.

So goes the major theme of award-winning director Terry Costa's Madonna in My Mind, which just finished a two night run at The Roundhouse Community Centre Theatre in Yaletown. Costa attempts to showcase society's bizarre obsession with the pop icon. We are treated to a lot of graphic dreams and fantasies supposedly pulled from real life people. (I can only assume that Terry Costa did a great deal of research on this matter or perhaps he conducted polls regarding people's fantasies about Madonna.) What follows in the show is a pseudo-Freudian interpretation of Madonna-Fantasy. Hey, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and sometimes a whip is just a whip.

What I described to you above is real. That was a true dream I once had a few years ago about Madonna. So what is it about her that has driven universities across North America to dedicate entire courses to her? What has inspired countless feminists and intellectuals to write essays about her? These questions aren't necessarily answered in Costa's production, but he does give us a glimpse into the psyche of the person enamoured with Madonna...in other words us. You and me. We are represented in the show by a talented ensemble cast.

My friend and I sat in our seats not knowing what to expect. Was this going to be an hour of drag queens wobbling around in size twelve pumps, badly lip syncing to Madonna's music? Not exactly. The show began with DJ Landon James spinning some remixes of Madonna's biggest hits. Then the ensemble cast arrived on stage performing some interesting modern dance moves, not unlike what you'd see in a Madonna concert. A dominatrix arrives on stage next, brandishing a long hard whip, chases the cast off the stage and proceeds to address the audience. The dominatrix gives us a long winded testimony to the feminist power that is Madonna. We hear how Madonna is "sex-positive" and how she has used her brains and feminine charms to climb to the top of the pop culture heap. The speech was intelligent, if not entirely academic, but unfortunately the dominatrix read from cue cards, which held her back too much. I felt if she had the speech memorized she would have more freedom for movement, especially when she grabbed her whip and gave the audience a feisty stare-down.

Parts of the show felt a bit disjointed. Terry Costa seems unsure whether to make his production a feminist dialogue about his favourite pop star, or to move into a more surreal escapism revolving around the cast's portrayals of dreams and fantasies involving Madonna. The pacing was off, as were some of the actors, but they still managed to hold it together for the next hour. What I found particularly disappointing was the overdramatized monologues that seemed to drone on without mercy. Costa needs to cut the monologues down by half and add more dance performance.

Some standout moments were from actors Joey Bothwell and African-born Samora Mpulu. Samora's movements were deeply engaging and captivating. I have not seen someone move so sensually in a long time. Samora also brought some much needed humour to his monologues. Similarly, dancer Joey Bothwell was amazing to watch. From the very beginning of the show she stood out to the audience with her interpretive dance moves and girl-next-door looks. Costa rightly gave Bothwell her own solo dance break halfway through the show. The whole time I thought to myself, she should be on So You Think You Can Dance Canada.

Unfortunately, there were some let downs. The very beautiful Jeanettea Antonio kept speaking in a forced lowered tone that made her part in the show unappealing. My friend and I thought her vocal delivery was awkward and unnecessary. So too were her monologues. Way too dramatic. She wasn't the only one.

Although actress Trilby Jeeves is a very strong actress, I felt she was also too serious, and her voice was a bit shrill, making it painful to listen to her speeches. Costa should have kept the entire mood light and fun. At times his show felt like a rollercoaster ride, but not in a good way. The mood was all over the place and unsteady.

The climax of the show had the diva herself come out to entertain us. "Madonna" (aka: drag performer Trixie) strutted out onto the stage with her background dancers and brought the house down. One of her dancers was frightfully out of sync with the rest of the performers, but she did her best to catch up. And what better way to exit for the queen of all divas than to have artist Shaira Holman literally ride on stage on her Harley Davidson and whisk "Madonna" off the stage before her adoring fans had a chance to mob her.

But that's the point isn't it? Madonna will always be just out of our reach. Like the dominatrix in Costa's show alluded to, Madonna is like Aphrodite, Artemis, Athena. She is a myth, a legend, a mystery. Is she real or is she just a fantasy? We all feel like we know the real Madonna, but we aren't sure the famous pop chameleon even knows who she really is. Most of us will only experience her through our stereos and ipods; through the television or on youtube. And if you're truly lucky you might see her live in concert. If Freud was alive today he could probably build an entire career out of psychoanalyzing Madonna. After all, Madonna is pure id. The pleasure principle as corporeal form. For the rest of us, she is only a dream.

Juicy Wet Pussy

Hello fellow insiders. Well, this is my first blog for the month of August and where did our heatwave go? I think it rightly ended with gay pride last weekend. What didn't end with gay pride weekend, however, are the events taking place in the city this month. Most are queer related. I was hoping one event in particular would keep the summer heatwave going.

Last Thursday my friend "X" and I went to Queerotica 2009. This took place at the Roundhouse Community Centre in Yaletown. The event was hosted by Zena Sharman, who seductively teased and stripped for us throughout the evening, and had a slew of presenters and readers from all walks of queer life. Okay, perhaps that was an exaggeration. Most of the readers were artists-cum-writers-cum-performance artists-cum-directors-cum-actors. Phew! It's amazing any of these people have time to have a sex life to write about in the first place.

Perhaps that is why the erotica fell short of expectations. All but a few of the readers went for comedic effect. Not good when you're trying to turn me on. One guy, Dane McFadhen, had a promising story consisting of deviant sexual escapades with his partner in various public places in Montreal. Tres raunchy! He chose to end his story with a rather unpleasant scene in a public bathroom involving an ill-timed bowel movement in the stall next to his. His story literally stinks. Moving on.

One person came decked out in top hat and tails, and I knew this was bad news. Cheesy, non-erotic outfit, equals bland storytelling. To my surprise her story was high end pornography, involving episodes of fisting, spanking and kink. I felt like she used too many "volcano" and "fire" metaphors, but all-in-all, her story wasn't half bad. Where she faltered was in her clumsy delivery. "X" leaned in close to me and whispered, "will she take those cotton balls out of her mouth!" Note to readers: if you are going to read your work publicly, learn to read. Meow.

I'm afraid the other stories were simply too comical to be considered erotic, or they were written too stylistically intricate and therefore bored the audience (one lesbian sitting next to me hissed crankily to her partner, "I thought this was supposed to be erotic"). Yes I know I am being a bit harsh, but when you go to an event designed to turn you on and it comes up short, you leave with a limp dick and not even so much as blue balls. A tad disappointing.

Only one reader had my ears perked. Elaine Miller. Dominatrix. Techie. Writer. Sex goddess. With a creamy tone in her voice she ejaculated, "she had a juicy wet pussy". The audience percolated and shifted in their seats. Elaine cooed and oozed sensuality and sexuality for the next five minutes. No stilted oral deliverance; no raunchy toilet humour; no misplaced humour at all. Just hot erotica, like what the event promised us.

I do need to talk about the artwork on display at the Roundhouse. "X" and I had had enough and got up to leave, but I insisted we take a quick scan of the artwork. The works are done by local queer artists and a re-imagined version of Botticelli's Birth of Venus stood out immediately. Pride in Art runs from late July to August 14 at the Roundhouse. Some events are by donation or have a small admission price. I believe to go and view the art on display is free. So please take the time to support local artists. In fact, the art is what stood out to me at Queerotica more than the, ahem, erotica. Frankly, I got more turned on watching old episodes of Sex and the City.