On a bitterly cold but clear night in Cambridge, Daneaya, Hugo, Jose, Andrea, Adrian, and I took a cab from the overrated Pourhouse to a vagina monologue. Most Americans with ties to pop culture will probably be atleast familiar with the term "vagina monologues." Many, including me until now, didn't know what that exactly meant or entailed. Are we actually going to see vaginas? Girls wearing revealing clothing but without actually exposing.....? A boring lecture about practicing safe sex? A humiliating and condescending lecture about not treating women like sexual objects? What exactly is a vagina monologue?
Vagina monologues are true stories about women told by an array of other women in the first person. That is, an actress plays the part of the woman telling her own story to the audience. These stories can be tragic or comedic, intense or light-hearted. Some include men, good and bad; all include women, good and bad. These stories are told through the vagina. One of my favorites was a story called "The Little Coochi Snorcher That Could" told by Jenn D'Ascoli. It's the story of a young Southern girl who began exploring her vagina, but had the misfortune of being seen by her mom, who told her never to touch it. And she got so scared that she never did touch it, even though sometimes she really felt like touching it. One day, as a teenager, she met a glamorous lady who dressed very nicely, had a car, and an important job - a secretary. They became fast friends, and the lady eventually invited the girl to her apartment. At the apartment, the lady began to make sexual advances on the girl, and the girl only managed to make out a little bit before having an orgasm. The lady poured herself a vodka, and the girl asked for the same. The lady hesitated, but agreed after the girl lightly threatened to tell her mom about their sexual encounter. Looser now, they proceeded to play with each other, and the lady taught the girl lessons about her body that she sorely wanted and needed. In that evening, the girl was transformed from a girl ashamed of her sexuality into a woman proud of her sexual identity.
These stories are powerful. They are well-written and captivating. Unfortunately, they are ill-served by the women acting them out. These women are students at MIT, few if none with formal training in acting. This lack of believability strains our patience as an audience. They seem to be trying too hard at times. The "southern" belle in the story above lost her accent about midway through the story. I let it go, but I noticed it immediately. During the truly poignant and saddening stories about genital mutilation, rape, incest, and other horrible acts, we especially notice the poor acting abilities of these girls. They are trying to be good, but they simply aren't. The stories suffer because they no longer seem believable. Perhaps Eve Ensler, the creator of the Vagina Monologues, foresaw this, and, therefore, did a truly smart thing. All of the actresses carry notecards onstage. It's not because they can't remember lines; it is to remind the audiences that these are real women's stories - not theater. To be sure, there were a couple of powerful performances, but in general, the material would be much better served by professionals. Nevertheless, I learned a great deal about women.
The entire event took approximately two and a half hours. At ten thirty, we began walking home, all the while an angry wind biting our severely chapped skin. Minutes later, I walked into my room and turned on the TV. The news said that, with the wind chill, the temperature was 2 below.