Theater review: Breathe

by Christopher Soden of John Garcia's The Column

Many shows you see about gay people focus on the unflattering, often picaresque aspect of our lives, not that we would have chosen to be categorized as rebels or iconoclasts. Numerous plays, films, television series exhibit the demeaning or simply unique components of queer culture, a history of duplicitous, covert, encoded and (according to the statutes) "criminal" behavior, forced upon us to survive with some shred of our identity and sexuality intact. I don't say this to be critical, on the contrary, checkered though our past and present may be, our culture evolved to a large degree, by way of necessity, by roles conferred upon us, and if pieces such as Angels in America, Queer as Folk, Torch Song Trilogy, and Trick choose to unapologetically share the unsavory aspects of what it means to be queer in a hetero-dominant society, I'm thinking it's all to the good.

Breathe (now playing at the KD Studio Theatre in Dallas), on the other hand, comes from a more idyllic (and certainly, just as valid) worldview. Gentle, radiant, metaphysical, advancing a spiritual take on homoerotic energy and connection, as well as same-gender cherishing, it combines humor, pathos, pragmatism, and a nearly non-confrontational assumption that those who do not understand us are merely confused, that nurturing anger is counter-productive.

In a piece called Boxed, a gay performance artist, filled with rage, is confronted by his grandmother in the middle of a tirade. She pleads with him to remember the gentle boy he used to be, and while this may not address the self-esteem that comes with anger (and catharsis) I'd be lying if I didn't mention the tears that piece brings to me even now.

Dressed in informal, loose-fitting, white, off-white, and beige cotton trousers, dresses and slippers designed by Suzi Cranford, and performing seven musical vignettes on a stage evoking an ancient Greek temple by Andy Redmon, the three men and two women (denoted generically in the program as Man #2, Woman #1, etc) of Breathe grapple with the many challenges facing lesbians and gays, in contemporary (often upscale) settings. A successful advertising consultant, discreet and diligent, channels his inner goddess, a lesbian couple has a wedding, then, subsequently finds the perfect sperm-donor, ministers of extremely divergent faiths find common ground in the tenderness of same-gender love and a terminal patient finds solace and redemption with the help of loved ones and the ghost of his departed dad.

Breathe is a very altruistic, conceptual musical. With its relaxed attire, small orchestra comprised of four string musicians and a keyboardist, and five ensemble members to fulfill choral and choreographic interpretation, it has a tremulous sweetness and ideological simplicity that is appealing without being precious or coy. It's rewarding to hear characters speak about love manifested in a context of sensual expression, in a way that feels lofty and enlightened. It aims to reconcile the exigencies of carnal and spiritual urgency. And however practical and intense our desires, sooner or later, we all want to do that.

The cast and ensemble of Breathe have a jubilant, giddy, authentic touch. Director Bruce Coleman and Choreographer Kelly McCain have found a graceful, introspective tone for the show; the participants seem very comfortable with each other's bodies, and instilled with a sort of whimsical bravado. Some of Coleman's blocking seems to verge on tableau, which feels right for the content. Michael Tuck (Man #2) has a very open, vulnerable quality. His emotions are palpable and accessible. Gregory Lush (Man #3) has a yearning, soul-driven demeanor that is dazzling and poignant. Stephanie Hall (Woman #1) sings in way that brims with rhapsody and Brandi Andrade (Woman #2) has a wry patience and understated elation that is infectious. Thomas Renner (Man #1) has charming, boyish enthusiasm and energy, and a knack for humor.

In a time when a new bar in Fort Worth cannot open on the 40th anniversary of Stonewall without fearing cynicism and oppression, how can we doubt the need to (as they used to say) "stand up and be counted?" As queer folk we're besieged on numerous fronts. At the risk of reading too much into Breathe's subtext, I think it's a relief to encounter a show that celebrates the considerable progress we have made. It admonishes us to step back from the turmoil for a moment, inhale, and feel gratitude for the blessing that we are who are: uniquely born to express love without inhibition or pettiness. Breathe seems to draw its sparkle and energy from a spring of brimming humanity and tireless optimism. It's an oasis in the scorching desert we're sometimes required to wander. Go on. Treat yourself to some bliss.