Pitchers and Catchers: Chalk gender lines.
Last summer, when former Mets manager Bobby Valentine declared in Details that major league baseball is "probably ready for an openly gay player," sports writers, gossip columnists, fans and baseball players everywhere toaok to the airwaves and the internet, terribly titillated at the mere suggestion that baseball was mature enough to handle a gay man within its ranks. And who can blame them? Its the stuff that New York Post headline writers love.
But Valentines comments came a year after Out editor Brendan Lemon revealed in his magazine that he was having an affair with a baseball player from an East Coast team. Lemon never dropped any other hints, and his lover never came out.
What does all this mean? That Valentine probably jumped the gun. More importantly, it means that playwright Richard Greenberg–who brought Take Me Out to the Public Theater for a six-month, sold-out run to great critical acclaim–has his hand on the pulse of Americas ongoing cultural skittishness regarding gay men. That is, whether its gays fighting in the military or hitting homeruns in the ballpark–the issue that makes some guys uncomfortable is sex.
Set almost entirely in the fictional New York Empires locker room, Take Me Out follows the coming-out process of Darren Lemming–a biracial superstar in the mold of Derek Jeter–and the impact it has on the rest of the team. Lemmings personality is a mix of the brashness, arrogance, good humor and semi-humility that we see so often in deified athletes. Daniel Sunjata–a mix of Irish, black and German descent–is superb as Lemming, exemplifying the baseball stars carefree attitude, charisma and persistent need not to be pitied.
Early on, Lemmings "god-like" talent and confidence is juxtaposed against Shane Mungitt (Frederick Weller), the teams rookie redneck pitcher who was orphaned as a teenager. Mungitt, an obsessive-compulsive who showers two or three times before each game, voices his concern about having to "take a shower with a faggot." A loner by nature who cant easily communicate how hes feeling, Mungitt soon finds himself isolated by his teammates and temporarily suspended from baseball after uttering a bunch of racial and ethnic slurs.
Lemmings business manager, the flamboyant, neurotic, non-baseball fan Mason Marzac–nicknamed "Marz" early on by Lemming–steals several scenes in the play. His nervousness and his flirtation with Lemming is cute, and funny. Denis OHare turns in an enthusiastic performance as Marzac, who feels marginalized by the gay community. Marzac does a 360 in the play, coming not only to love baseball–he spouts statistics and gets giddy when hes on the diamond–but even characterizing baseball as "the perfect metaphor for hope in a democratic society" because "everyone is given a chance." In one conversation, he says baseball is "unrelentingly meaningful" and tells Lemming, "Life is so tiny. Its so daily. This–you–take me out of it." In truth, though, Marzac admits his metaphor oversimplifies things. Unlike the rising-tide-lifts-all-ships theory of democracy, Marzac notes that "baseball says someone will lose."
Some things have changed since Take Me Outs run at the Public Theater. Dialogue has been tweaked, Mungitts background seems more fleshed-out, and the play itself–once nearly three hours long–has been cut to two acts, losing more than 30 minutes of playing time. Scott Pasks set, which includes a working shower where some pivotal moments take place, is brilliantly designed. I only worry how the actors will fare this summer when the air conditioning at the Walter Kerr is on during the nude scenes. Nudity is not a gimmick or a come-on for the audience in Take Me Out, as it was in The Full Monty or Puppetry of the Penis. Thats not to say that the prospect of seeing a group of cute, naked guys wont entice some theatergoers who otherwise dont follow baseball–but it actually serves a larger purpose. It gets to the very core of why Lemmings coming out is such a big deal, and why the prospect of an openly gay baseball superstar in real life still freaks straight ballplayers out. Its the misconception that gay men are sexual predators; when in reality the issue is their straight teammates comfort with their own sexuality.
The main players in Take Me Out are, in a certain way, caricatures of archetypes. The roles, well-acted and perfectly executed, are exaggerated for dramatic necessity and to make a point. Mungitt is not just an orphaned redneck whose father killed his mother, but hes illiterate to the point that he cant even write a letter of apology after his suspension. Hes also not quite sure what state hes from, and he once shot up every glass milk bottle within 10 miles of his house. Mungitt is John Rocker multiplied by ten. Lemmings good friend Davey Battle, involved in the plays melodramatic conclusion (which I wont reveal for those who havent seen it), is a pious, self-righteous man who excoriates Lemming, demanding that he "shut up about [his] demons."
Kippy Sunderstrom (Neal Huff) has some of the more bizarre lines of the show. As the plays narrator, maybe thats his fate. Sunderstrom tries to act as the connection between scenes, while addressing the audience about relevant issues. After Lemmings announcement, Sunderstrom–who worships the ground Lemming walks on–says, "Now youre more human," but laments that the ballplayers "have lost [their] paradise."
Audiences should see Take Me Out because the play, despite its flaws, is entertaining and at times moving and comical. It touches on issues of race, class and sports stars as superheroes. Its about one players coming out, but is also about that players flawed personality. Lemming and Mungitt can be seen as the two faces of contemporary America–one thats self-assured, wealthy, powerful and at the top of its game, and another thats alone, marginalized, uneducated and pathetic. It was, to quote the shows star, "a fuck of a season."
Take Me Out at Walter Kerr Theatre, 219 W. 48th St. (betw. Bway & 8th Ave.), 212-239-6200
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