'Brent or Brenda?' is a kick in the pants

No matter where you stand on appalling abominations against nature, "Brent or Brenda?" is right there with you. Think cross-dressing heterosexual men are a shameful disgrace to the human race? "B or B?" seconds that motion, abominating abomination and demonstrating how transvestites are natural born murderers.

THEATER REVIEW

BRENT OR BRENDA?

PLAYWRIGHT: Scot Augustson (based on an idea suggested by Adam Josiah Epstein)

WHERE: An Ethereal Mutt production at Re-bar, 1114 Howell St. (21 and older)

WHEN: Through April 2

TICKETS: $15, $10 for advance sales to groups of six or more; 206-325-6500 or www.ticketwindowonline.com

Think men in women's clothes are fine and dandy and people who fulminate against such phenomena are ridiculous? "B or B?" agrees. It satirizes narrow minds and celebrates ... what is it called again? ... yes, diversity, it celebrates diversity.

"B or B?" is a preposterous farce by Seattle playwright Scott Augustson. It takes the form of a cautionary tale. For chuckleheads, it is comedy. But it presents itself as alarmist preaching -- something like "Reefer Madness," the 1936 shock film that abominated marijuana. "B or B?" director Ed Hawkins creates a wild ride style that allows actors and production artists to seem seriously serious one minute and seriously loony the next.

Ben Laurence is hilarious as Brent, who, as a little boy, had a mystical experience in his mother's clothes closet. A devil (Stacey Plum) and an angel (Jennifer Jasper) competed for little Brent's soul. The battle was fairly even until the angel was distracted by a kicky little faux rabbit fur bolero jacket.

Brent somehow manages a double life. The World War II army fails to make a real man of him. It uses him as a spy: a cross-dressed pseudo fraulein behind enemy lines.

G-I Bill higher education doesn't help. Brent's college roommate is gay, and so, quite naturally, he commits suicide. ("B or B?" does take the form of a mid-20th century morality tale, after all.) Left with a room of his own, Brent starts going too far. He trifles with Jean Paul Sartre, Arthur Miller and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Eventually, even psychiatry cannot help him!

By the time Brent reveals his shameful proclivity to the girl he means to marry, disaster looms. In a moment of actual germane attention to a serious issue, Plum (as the fiancee) delves into the practical and emotional hardships entailed by cross-dressing. A final scene, set in heaven, demonstrates one reason why paradise is so highly thought of.

Laurence has his hands (and feet and everything else) full playing Brent/Brenda. Each of his three fellow cast members, however, play seven of eight roles. Wendy O. Henry is a one-woman funhouse. She is ludicrously serious both as an admonitory narrator and as the formidable psychotherapist Bruno Bettleheim. She is just plain ludicrous as a put-upon dog and as a martyred rabbit.

Plum's thespian stretch goes from bullying agent of political correctness to ingratiating spokeswoman for ladylike feminism. Jasper handles bullying feminism and ladylike psychiatry.

"B or B?", artistic disgrace or campy triumph? There can be no doubt. A triumph it is.

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