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As the lights come up on Act 2 of “Liberation” on any given evening, Bess Wohl’s intergenerational broadway In a play about a women’s consciousness-raising group, you can chant “Woo!” Can hear supporters cheering. and “Yes!” -And sometimes, thunderous applause. All before a single word was spoken.
There’s a reason for the explosion of appreciation – or solidarity? -From the crowd. On stage, six characters are launching one of the boldest scenes on Broadway, and perhaps in many seasons. Each one – a makeshift group member in his or her 70s – gets naked for about 15 minutes of conversation.
Wohl says that when she was writing she wondered whether “Liberation” could be characterized as “playing with the nude scene” – while everything else is collapsing around it. Thankfully, the conversation has become much bigger, the playwright says.
“I’ve been very gratified,” she says of the response. “It doesn’t feel cheesy or unnecessary or artificial. It feels like it’s a really important part of the work that the women in the consciousness-raising group are doing.”
Wohl came up with the idea when she was researching what such groups – women of different ages, races and economic backgrounds – actually do. He realized that there was a great need to discover their bodies.
The drama is primarily based in the 70s, occasionally switching to the present day. For context, “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” the groundbreaking work on women’s health and sexuality in 1970, was initially self-published, with its first commercial print edition published in 1973.
“They were growing up at a time when their doctors were men, gynecologists were men, obstetricians were men,” says actor Susannah Flood, who performs the scene every night. “There were no conversations about female anatomy that were considered modest. And they needed a way to take agency in knowing their bodies. So, they went naked.”
The scene – in which the women attempt an exercise seen in Ms. Magazine – begins with discomfort. “It doesn’t feel sanitary,” one person says about sitting on gym chairs. The “assignment” is for everyone to describe one thing about their body that they like, and one that they don’t. Answers range from hilarity to sarcasm.
60-year-old Margie, played by Betsy Adams, hates her unsightly C-section scar. “Somehow it feels unfair,” she says. Her children got life, her husband got the family he wanted, “and I ended up having this tragic end with this horrible scar.”
Flood, whose character, Lizzie, is both protagonist and host, feels that there has been a fortunate convergence of the play’s subject matter – people talking to each other – and the buzz she feels in the audience every night: Also, people talking to each other.
One key reason: Theater goers must surrender their phones upon arrival, so they can be kept safe in special pouches that remain with them but can only be opened by staff. And so, with no emails to send or text messages to check, people actually seem to talk more.
The power of conversation – and freedom from the phone
“The real power of conversation – that’s the theme of the play,” says Flood, whose Lizzie travels through time to better understand the choices her mother made. “And because we have this scene where we all get naked, people have to surrender their cellphones. Honestly, I think that’s a big reason why the show has gotten such an organic response.”
The no-phone rule – marked on the show’s website – is followed scrupulously. One On a recent evening, a guard observed a theatergoer scrolling on her phone during intermission; He had neglected to present it for lock-up. The guard politely but firmly escorted him from his seat to the theater staff in the lobby so the offending equipment could be seized.
Creator Daryl Roth says that, however, most people seem grateful to be rid of their phones.
“Besides the nude scene, it’s a feeling of freedom for the audience,” Roth says. “All they can think about right now is this play. And isn’t that what we want? Come for two and a half hours and give yourself over to what’s happening on the stage. It’s liberating.”
new york Theater goer Tracy Bonbreast, who attended “Liberation” with her book club, says she found herself “much more attentive, immersed in the experience, than I would have been had I had my phone.” She was sitting next to someone she had not met before. “If I had my phone, or he had his, we probably wouldn’t have engaged in conversation,” says Bonebreast, 62.
Wohl also addresses the issue of phones in her script before the action begins. “They took your phones. Are we okay?” Lizzie asked the laughing crowd.
This is not the only precaution. The backstage monitors also go black each night to avoid recording or photos. But the result, says Wohl, reaches something deeper about live theater.
“It’ll never happen again,” she says of the scene each night. “You have to be in the room. And that’s why it’s so alive.”
A delicate process from rehearsal to performance
The delicate work of staging the scene began with the first rehearsal itself.
“It was its own miniplay,” says Kelsey Rainwater, the production’s intimacy coordinator. She began meeting the actors individually and led intensive rehearsals to choreograph movement.
‘It was a really involved process,’ says Rainwater, who is also an actor and teaches at Yale’s drama school. ‘I’ve never had a security team that did sensitivity training, which is really extraordinary. ,
Rainwater calls this scene “a huge challenge” for the actors. “It’s not just about being naked on stage,” she says. “They also have to talk about their bodies and get attention.” The rehearsal continued step by step. Some actors needed it, while others wanted to rip off the Band-Aid.
Wohl says each character approaches nudity practice differently – just like actors do. “It’s part of the complex contradictions of feminism that I was trying to highlight in the play,” she says. One of the most interesting reactions she got came from her father.
“They asked: ‘Do women really talk to each other about their bodies like this?'”
The audience has been respectful, if sometimes shocked, says Rainwater. “There’s a big separation in TV and film,” she says. “But when you’re breathing the same air, there’s definitely a reaction. Sometimes you feel like a voyeur. It’s part of the experience.”
The scary part? no nudity
For the actors, repetition has brought comfort – and confidence that the scene works. Flood believes that it is more difficult for the audience than the actors at the moment. (The show, which debuted in late October, is currently running through February 1.)
Flood says she has realized that the scary part is not the nudity – but the emotional vulnerability of the acting.
“My parents were acting teachers and they always said that acting is controlled humiliation,” she says. “So, is it even more humiliating than doing the scene that you consider most important? EarthAnd has anyone fallen asleep in the front row?
And there’s a bonus: For two hours, no one is distracted by the phone.
,People “Having a really lived experience with other people in the moment,” says Flood, “I think people are dying for it.” “They’re desperate for it, whether they know it or not.”
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Brooke Lefferts contributed to this report.