The Men From The Boys
's 30-odd years since Mart Crowley shocked mainstream audiences with his seminal The Boys in the Band, a play that cracked open the closet door on chic gay urbanites at play and titillated the straight and square with glimpses of a secret society--arcane, exotic, and forbidden, but nothing new. Oscar Wilde's green-carnation boys went before, others before them. Boys was pre-Stonewall, pre-Gay Pride, pre-AIDS. We now inhabit a world more changed than we could have imagined. The boys grown older are mellower, some more bitter. Two are 12-step sober alcoholics; another still boozes. Their earlier gathering celebrated Harold's birthday; now they meet to celebrate the life and mourn the death of golden boy Larry, friend and lover of all, truly beloved of Hank, who wears a wedding ring, grieves deeply, and freely forgave Larry's infidelities. Youth is always with us, here especially highly prized, desirable, and desired. Newcomers unmindful of their debt to the boys-grown-old are good-looking youngsters Scott, Rick, and Jason. Their host, successful writer Michael, is blindly enamored of Scott, a disturbed young man who can't reciprocate and can't be trusted. The Fountain Theatre gives Crowley's play a production as lustrous as any it's going to get, which comes as no surprise. Stephen Sachs' direction of an impeccable ensemble resonates with dramatic tension, sensitive shading, allows no dead or dull moments, and opens with an arresting tableau that gives us time to take in the wonders of Eric E. Sinkkonen's trompe l'oeil set. It's a triumph of black, white, and chrome elegance, trick perspectives, and photo montages on walls that open up to reveal a jewel-like liquor cabinet with colored bottles like gems in violet light. It's a breathtaking moment. Style and taste reign in Shon LeBlanc's character-delineating costumes, Kathi O'Donohue's lambent lighting, and Kurt Thum's seductive sound design. As attractive, cynical malcontent Michael, Alan Safier is playwright Crowley's surrogate. Robert Pine's decent, grieving Hank is an empathic peacemaker, as is Georg Stanford Brown's happily married (to a woman) proudly gay and African-American Bernard. Loren Freeman's irrepressible queen Emory quips and camps delightfully with pink feather boa, blazing rhinestones, and a cabaret turn. Brian Carpenter's smiley-faced drunken Donald wears a pink shirt and yellow-striped tie. Age has stolen most from John Durbin's spectral Harold; his sting has lost some venom, and his complexion has cleared up a bit. New boys about to take up the old boys' mantles are Steve Doss as vaguely Asiatic, vaguely woodland-faun Rick; Adam Huss as handsome, arrogant hothead Jason, and Seamus Deaver as problem child Scott. The Boys in the Band told us something about being gay. The Men From the Boys, amusing, annoying, comforting, and consoling, tells us something more about being huma
