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On any given evening, as the lights illuminate Bess Wohl’s Inter-Generational Act 2 broadway game, FreedomA distinctive sound fills the theatre: supportive cheers and applause echo from the audience, often before a single word has been spoken.
This spontaneous outburst of appreciation, or perhaps solidarity, is a direct response One Broadway’s Boldest Scenes This Season. On stage, six characters, members of a makeshift 1970s consciousness-raising group, strip naked for a 15-minute dialogue.
Playwright Bess Wohl admits she was worried at first Freedom This can only be referred to as “playing with the nude scene”. Eclipsing its deeper message. However, she has been “very gratified” by the widespread conversation it has sparked.
“It doesn’t feel cheesy or unnecessary or artificial,” Wohl explains. “It seems like this is a really important part of the work that the women in the consciousness-raising group are doing.”
The concept emerged from Wohl’s research of such groups, where she found that exploring one’s own body was an important need for women of different ages, races, and economic backgrounds.
Primarily based in the 1970s, with occasional shifts to the present, the drama takes references from an important era. In 1970, “Our Bodies, Ourselves”, the groundbreaking work on women’s health and sexuality, was first self-published, with a commercial edition following in 1973.
Actor Susannah Flood, who presents the scene at night, highlights the historical background: “They were growing up at a time when their doctors were men, gynecologists were men, obstetricians were men. There were no conversations about female anatomy that were considered modest. And they needed to take agency in knowing their bodies. So, they went naked.”
This scene is inspired by an exercise Ms MagazineStarts with obvious discomfort. A character comments on the unhygienic nature of sitting on gym chairs. The “assignment” required each woman to describe one thing about her body that she liked and one thing that she disliked.
Reactions range from downright sarcastic to downright poignant. Margie, a sixties-era character played by Betsy Adams, expresses her disdain for an unsightly C-section scar. “It feels unfair somehow,” she laments. “Her kids got life, her husband got the family he wanted, and I ended up this sad husk with this horrible scar.”
Flood, whose character Lizzie serves as both protagonist and host, sees a fortunate convergence between the play’s subject matter and People Talking to each other and the hustle and bustle in the audience every night – plus, people are talking to each other.
A major reason for this increased engagement is the theatre’s strict no-phone policy. On arrival, theatre-goers must surrender their mobile phones, which are secured in special pouches that remain with them but can only be opened by staff. Without the distraction of email or text, real conversations thrive.
“The real power of conversation – that’s the theme of the play,” says Flood, whose character Lizzie travels through time to understand her mother’s choices. “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, clearly marked on the show’s website, is strictly enforced. One evening, a guard observed a theatergoer scrolling during intermission, neglecting to secure her equipment. She was politely but firmly escorted to the staff in the lobby to pick up the offending phone.
Producer Daryl Roth says most attendees seem grateful for the respite from their devices. “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.”
Tracy Bonbreast, 62 years old new york A theatergoer who participated in her book club found herself “much more attentive, immersed in the experience, than I would have been if I had my phone.” She was engaged in a conversation with a stranger next to her, something she believes would not have happened if phones had existed. Wohl also addresses the issue of phones in his script, with Lizzie asking the audience before the action begins, “They took your phones. Are we OK?”, which always causes laughter.
In addition to the phone ban, other precautions are taken; The backstage monitors go black each night to prevent recording or photos. Wohl believes this contributes to the darker aspect of live theatre. She says of each night’s performance, “It will never happen again.” “You have to be in the room. And that’s why it’s so alive.”
The delicate process of staging the scene began during the first rehearsal itself. Kelsey Rainwater, the production’s intimacy coordinator, describes it as “its own miniplay.” He met the actors personally and led intensive rehearsals for the movement choreography. “It was a really involved process,” says Rainwater, who also teaches. YaleDrama School of.
She praises the exceptional sensitivity training provided to the security team. Rainwater described the scene as “a big question” for the actors and said, “It’s not just about being naked on stage. They also have to talk about their bodies and get attention.” Rehearsals were conducted step-by-step, accommodating actors who required a gradual approach and those who preferred to “rip off the Band-Aid”.
Wohl believes that each character, like the actors, approaches nudity practice differently. She explains, “It’s part of the complex contradictions of feminism that I was trying to highlight in the play.” One particularly interesting response came from her own father, who asked: “Do women really talk to each other about their bodies like this?” The audience has been respectful, Rainwater confirms, though sometimes startling. “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.”
For the actors, repetition brought comfort and confidence in the effectiveness of the scene. Flood now feels that the scene is more difficult for the audience than for the artists. The show, which started in late October, is scheduled to run till February 1.
Flood has come to realize that the truly challenging aspect is not the nudity, but the emotional vulnerability inherent in acting. “My parents were acting teachers and they always said acting was controlled humiliation,” she says. “So, is it even more humiliating than doing the scene you consider most important Earth“And has anyone fallen asleep in the front row?”
She says that an additional benefit is that no one gets distracted by the phone for two hours. “People are really having a lived experience with other people right now,” Flood concluded. “I think people are dying for it. They’re desperate for it, whether they’re aware of it or not.”