Theatre in Review: The Gold Room (I am a slow tide/HERE)The last thing you want to hear about from the guy you just picked up is his case of chlamydia. This may go double if both of you are men, and he is also complaining that his girlfriend doesn't understand him. This unpromising beginning (for them) is the first chapter in a frequently amusing and provocative (for us) field guide to gay male coupling in all its permutations. The Gold Room is brief, fast on its feet, and packed with ideas; if you don't like what you're seeing, wait a minute. Playwright Jacob Perkins has another curveball to throw your way. As it happens, the chlamydia and girlfriend are part of a dream related, unwisely, by Robert Stanton, the more experienced of the pair. Lying seductively on the couch, clearly ready for action, he tries to loosen up cagey, tense Scott Parkinson, a Malibu surfer with an advanced degree in evasion. (When asked how his mother died, he replies, "Oh, you know, the usual." Glad we cleared that up.) Stanton's oversharing only causes an increasingly flustered Parkinson to hang back. Stanton, defending his approach, says, "I figure if you're gonna be, like/inside me or whatever soon/it wouldn't hurt to know like a little something about you." This is, arguably, the thesis statement of Perkins' bleak, ruminative comedy of erotic manners. The Gold Room is interested in what it means when two men get together, especially when sex precedes personal sharing or even affection. To that end, the playwright throws in, among other things, some startlingly frank sexual how-tos and the most graphic onstage physical examination since porn star-turned-performance-artist Annie Sprinkle hung up her speculum. Over the course of an hour, Stanton and Parkinson cycle through a series of sketches detailing various man-on-man encounters, most of them marked by power imbalances. Not all of them involve intercourse directly; for example, Parkinson appears as an artistic director (or, possibly, a foundation head), intimating, in his best passive-aggressive manner, that Stanton's sexually graphic play has unnerved his board members: "I had to uh/explain to them that this work/your work/that we don't/ we're not endorsing this as The Way All Gay Men Are." A skillful underminer, he wilts Stanton's hopes with faint praise -- "I totally love your honesty around that subject matter" -- adding, as a kiss-off, "We're really looking forward to what you write next." Something tells me that Perkins may be writing from his own experience; in any case, he has an acute ear for showbiz doubletalk. The actors power through several more situations, including a meet-up between an older, more experienced man and a nervous teenager; asked what he knows about sex, the lad replies, "I know that I want to have it someday." As the elder, who isn't at all predatory, Parkinson kindly offers a list of helpful tips regarding anal penetration. (It's the most informative account you're likely to get this side of a sex manual.) This sequence morphs into an actual rectal examination, sparked by mortifying realization that the doctor (Parkinson) and patient (Stanton) have previously had it off -- or so one of them thinks. By now, it should be obvious that The Gold Room is nobody's idea of a heterosexual date night attraction. But neither is it one of the salacious gaysploitation offerings that pop up each season, usually during Pride Month. (The dialogue is, generally, much more explicit than the onstage action.) Without being sententious or judgmental, it honestly wrestles with the competing demands of sexual and emotional intimacy; even the simplest carnal experience, it seems, is freighted with hidden psychological landmines. Perkins often seems to be trying to establish some kind of baseline definition of gay male identity, while simultaneously wondering if the term has any meaning at all. The role played by shame and fear in these characters' lives is also explored, most notably in the final sequence, featuring a man's boyhood memory of an evangelical prayer circle trying to pray away the gay in one of their own. Later, walking to their car, his father pointedly asks, 'Do you know why I brought you tonight?'" It's an unsettling reminder that sexual identity is, all too often, defined in a negative context. This scene, presented as a voiceover excerpt from a film being watched by a very different father and son, is only one of the meta games on offer. In an earlier scene, when Stanton's lengthy monologue, about his increasingly debilitating panic attacks, starts to turn purple, Parkinson shouts, "Cut," and it turns out the men are working on a soundstage. A kaleidoscopic piece like this requires actors who are the equivalent of Olympic athletes. Stanton, one of the New York theatre's secret weapons, is in fine form throughout, clutching his martini glass like a poisoned chalice, ashamedly confessing that he is "a goody two-shoes kind of kid," and expressing the sheer terror that comes when he holds hands with his boyfriend in public. Parkinson, who has played an impressive number of classical roles in the Chicago theatre community and elsewhere, is more than a match for his co-star, turning from shy to aggressively foul-mouthed on a dime, engaging in an impromptu sex-ed lecture ("I don't care if he's on PrEP. No. No condom, no sex. The end."), and making an attention-getting entrance dressed (for a costume party) as a serial slasher out of a Jamie Lee Curtis epic. He also handles, in authoritative fashion, the play's most lyrical passage, a detailed account of what happens when two men make love. Director Gus Heagerty has clearly done fine pinpoint work with actors, mining the script for every available nuance. The production design is well-tailored to the play's needs. Emona Stoykova's set, a clear Plexiglas box furnished with a blue velvet sofa and white shag rug, is lit with considerable invention and variety by greer x. Costume designer Elizabeth Ward gives each actor a distinctive and attractive look. Some of sound designer Taul Katz's best effects are practically subliminal, but Katz also provides solid reinforcement for the play's voice-over sequences. If, ultimately, The Gold Room comes off something of an exercise, a set of variations on a theme almost necessarily limited to a certain audience sector, it is nevertheless a fine calling card for a gifted writer possessed of an inquiring mind and a knack for dialogue that splits a situation wide open. Add Jacob Perkins to your list of playwrights to watch out for. --David Barbour 
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