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"The play opens with a precocious boy
querying his mother about his genitalia.
Showing her unease in having an explicit
sit-down conversation with her son about
his sex parts, the mother euphemistically
tells him that his penis is called 'bootycandy.'"
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For
many LGBTQs across the nation-especially those of us of African
descent-we have been breathlessly waiting for Robert O’Hara’s
“BootyCandy” to come to our cities. “BootyCandy” has come to Boston,
and each show has been a sold-out performance.
“BootyCandy” is O’Hara’s thinly veiled coming-out story of growing up
African American and gay. And the narrative is told in the voice of the
character named Sutter. O’Hara takes the audience on a journey
through his childhood home, church and gay bars that’s depicted
with excessive flamboyance, ribaldry, and unsettling poignancy.
“BootyCandy is a non-linear narrative comprising of disparate vignettes
that’s “difficult for you to find a narrative in this play until the
end, and it’s done that way on purpose,” O’Hara told WBUR reporter
Jeremy D. Goodwin in an interview. The structure of the play is a
nod to George C. Wolfe’s “The Colored Museum,” which O’Hara admits was
a huge influence.
The play opens with a precocious Sutter querying his mother about his
genitalia. Showing her unease in having an explicit sit-down
conversation with Sutter about his sex parts, the mother
euphemistically tells him that his penis is called “bootycandy.”
Sutter is a gender non-confirming effeminate male decked out in full Michael Jackson regalia, complete with one sequined glove.
The mother’s unease to talk about sex and to accept her son’s gender
expression is disturbingly highlighted when Sutter comes home one day
from school to inform her that a man has been following him. Because of
the “politics of silence” in the African American community that chokes
a healthy conversation on human sexuality, Sutter’s mother is not only
dismissive of his claim she immediately wants to know what Sutter did
to provoke such an unsavory encounter.
Her solution, however, for her son’s unmanly behavior is for him to
stop reading Jackie Collins novels, stop listening to Whitney Houston
albums, and stop participating in the school’s musicals. The
scene is absurdly funny yet poignantly disturbing.
And just when you think you cannot laugh anymore, there’s the vignette
with the hilarious telephone scene between two actresses who play
a group of sisters on a phone, one of whom is pregnant and determined
to name her baby Genitalia. (I personally enjoyed this scene because it
reminded me of when one of my sister-friends was determined to name her
new born baby girl Uretha, in honor of the Queen of Soul, Aretha
Franklin.) In a later vignette Genitalia is all grown up, a lesbian and
standing before a minister with her soon to be ex-girlfriend, Intifada,
in an official break up “non-commitment ceremony.”
The lesbians’ “conscious uncoupling” (Not my term. It’s Gwyneth
Paltrow’s in announcing the separation and then divorce of her spouse,
Chris Martin.) vignette is a holds no barred repartee that in the end
leaves both women utterly and irrevocably each other’s exes.
You cannot be LGBTQ of African descent and not have a personal yet all
to familiar narrative about black church homophobia. O’Hara’s Reverend
Benson is your assumed classic fire and brimstone exhorter, especially
with his “call and response” homily. But Benson has a secret of
his own.
Preaching a black queer liberation theology that excoriates the
church’s gossip mongers (the “I Heard Folks” who congregate and become
the “They Heard Folks”) in defense of its gay choir boys, Benson
finally discloses his secret by disrobing and revealing what’s
underneath his vestment.
While homophobia is a running thread in many of the vignettes,
particularly the Black Church and black cultural brand of it, the
story line makes you laugh to keep from crying in order to look at hard
and unresolved issues a young gay black male coming out confronts, like
racism, homophobia, sexual abuse, rape, poverty to name a few - and at
their intersections - and how that might shape one’s self-esteem and
further social sexual relationships.
I surmise the best way to depict “BootyCandy” is to call it a
tragicomedy, a play that uses humor and comedic moments to
obfuscate not only one’s painful person journey of coming out, but,
also, one’s unresolved pain and trauma from sexual abuse. One of
the dark and most disturbing moments in the play is the last of
several gay bar cruising scenes. Sutter and his friend pick up a
drunken white “supposedly straight” male who solicit the
two men to follow him home to sexually humiliate him. Sutter’s
eager and cold indifference to fulfill the man’s request disturbingly
suggests both racial and psychosexual revenge for his childhood sexual
seduction by an older white man.
In the vignette “Conference” there is a mock panel discussion
between four African American playwrights, each of whom has
written one of the previous vignettes the audience has seen, and a
clueless white moderator who condescendingly asks the writers, “I’m
wondering what you are hoping the audience comes away with after seeing
your work?”
Sutter: I think the audience should choke.
Moderator: Choke?
Sutter: Asphyxiate.
Moderator: To death?
WRITER 1: I don’t want them to digest it easily.
WRITER 2: It wasn’t easy to write it and it shouldn’t be easy to experience it.
WRITER 3: Exactly. It should not melt in yo’ mouth.
You leave “BootyCandy” knowing O’Hara’s journey was difficult -like
that of so many LGBTQ of African descent. O’Hara didn’t touch on
HIV/AIDS ravaging our communities, and the Black Church continued
silence on it. O’Hara masterfully shows that only through humor
could the absurdities of black homophobia keep you laughing from crying.
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BlackCommentator.com Editorial Board member and Columnist, The Rev. Irene Monroe, is a religion columnist, theologian, and public speaker. She is the Coordinator of the African-American Roundtable of the Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry (CLGS) at the Pacific School of Religion. A
native of Brooklyn, Rev. Monroe is a graduate from Wellesley College
and Union Theological Seminary at Columbia University, and served as a
pastor at an African-American church before coming to Harvard Divinity
School for her doctorate as a Ford Fellow. She was recently named to
MSNBC’s list of 10 Black Women You Should Know. Reverend Monroe is the author of Let Your Light Shine Like a Rainbow Always: Meditations on Bible Prayers for Not’So’Everyday Moments. As an African-American feminist theologian, she speaks for a sector of society that is frequently invisible. Her website is irenemonroe.com. Contact the Rev. Monroe and BC.
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 is published every Thursday |
Executive Editor:
David A. Love, JD |
Managing Editor:
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