Weekend Reviews : Theater : Truth and Lots of Dare in ‘Party’

Nudity on stage is nothing new, of course. David Dillon, the writer-director of “Party,” the all-male striptease play now at the Henry Fonda Theatre, discussed the issue recently in TheaterWeek magazine. He compared what his seven-member cast does onstage to Vanessa Redgrave’s theatrical baring of skin (in “Orpheus Descending”). In fact, “Party” is closer to a controversial episode of “Baywatch.”

A small-theater hit in both Chicago and New York, “Party” brings its easily grasped charms to the Fonda, which has been made more intimate for the occasion (its 863 seats have been cordoned off to a cozy almost-300). That the play is a crowd pleaser is undeniable. The reason is this: A game of truth or dare played by seven gay friends leads to quickie-personal confessions, major quipping and more bare buns and penises than you can shake a stick at.

*

These guys protest too little. Someone only need say, “It is my fantasy that you play the rest of the game in your underwear!” and they are out of their clothes lickety split. This is nudity you can set your watch by. At the first hour, the audience has been mooned, flashed and a dancer is down to his dance belt (a really skimpy pair of black underpants). At one hour and 50 minutes, two guys are utterly naked and a third is about to bare all. At two hours, four men down and three to go. The final 10 minutes bring three more stripteases, a set of 20 jumping jacks and a full-throttled tribute to Karen Carpenter.

As the auteur Dillon has obliquely pointed out, female nudity is often used as a ticket draw; whether that nudity is gratuitous or not is in the eye of the beholder. To this beholder, “Party” has just enough wit to pass for something other than an evening at Chippendales.

The play--or the game, which is all the play is--doesn’t build at all, although the laughter does. The more exposed bodies, the giddier the audience gets, and I must report that the laughs grow to explosive proportions.

But in fact the play doesn’t get any funnier than the one-liners Ray (Ted Bales) delivers with clockwork regularity. Ray is a lanky Catholic priest, dishy and randy, who tosses his hair with elan. Most of his quips are well-placed and well-timed quotations from female characters in films and plays. Bales follows virtually every quip with either an elaborate eye-roll or extreme fake contrition until the laughs die down. He seems heavily influenced by Paul Lynde.

The other guys are bland and interchangeable, aside from tiny personality traits. There’s the regular-guy host (Mark Ciglar), the Valley boy (Ray Barnhart), the dancer (Dan Jarrett), the hipster (William Wesley), and two other nice boys (Vince Gatton and Russell Scott Lewis). One thing you can say for Mr. Dillon, he doesn’t waste much time pretending “Party” is Tennessee Williams. The confessions he gives his characters are so light they evaporate before they are out of their mouths. These confessions are usually followed by a respectful silence. One character recalls his childhood ambition of getting into show biz (“I wanted to be part of all that excitement and magic!”). Ray remembers why he wanted to become a priest. “I wanted to be there for any kid like me who needed to know that they were OK as they were.” To which no one responds, “Great, but why did you want to become a priest?”

No matter. “Party” is not about priestly confessions or avowals of friendship or passing references to dead friends, although it contains them all. “Party” is about temporal matters. Much more temporal.

* “Party,” Henry Fonda Theatre, 6126 Hollywood Blvd., Tue.-Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 5 and 9 p.m.; Sun., 3 and 7 p.m. Ends Dec. 17. $30-$35. (213) 480-3232. Running time: 2 hours 10 minutes.

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Mark Ciglar: Kevin

Ted Bales: Ray

Russell Scott Lewis: Philip

Dan Jarrett: Brian

Vince Gatton: Peter

William Wesley: James

Ray Barnhart: Andy

A Michael Leavitt, Fox Theatricals, Leonard Soloway, Peter Breger, Dennis J. Grimaldi, Steven M. Levy production. Written and directed by David Dillon. Sets James Noone. Costumes Gail Cooper-Hecht. Lights Ken Billington. Sound Tom Clarke. Production stage manager Larry Baker.