I didn’t do it, I swear. The day after Evan and I saw the revival of “Take Me Out” on Broadway, pictures surfaced on Twitter of the star appearing naked in a particular scene. Our seats were in the balcony, allowing for decent viewing but most definitely not close enough for clear footage of an impressive extra limb, even when flaccid. Smartphone photography remains a work in progress. (Truly, it’s a shame someone opted to create a bit of a frenzy online by posting the clip. As tickets were scanned upon entering the theater, our phones were required to be shut down and placed in locked carrying cases that weren’t opened until after the show. An actor shouldn’t have to worry about his performance being whittled down to a certain appendage, ogled on social media. It’s both undignified and unnecessary. If people really want to see dangling dicks, they can find plenty of free porn on the internet.)
Truth is, a man’s naked body on stage isn’t a big deal. “Hair,” premiering on Broadway in 1968 was supposed to shatter that taboo. I suppose it remains uncomfortable or at least a novelty to theater viewers. What appears before them is not contained on a screen. The naked body and the viewer are in the same big room. It makes the cast of “Cats” seem ridiculously overdressed.
It’s not just the star, Jesse Williams, who appears naked. “Take Me Out” is a play about a superstar player coming out as gay and most of the scenes are set in the locker room with players dressing and undressing in front of their lockers or saying their lines in a communal shower which appears and disappears as needed. All the players strip down at one point or another, most more than once.
To be sure, these actors had well-sculpted bodies, easy on the eyes. Still, whenever there is nudity in a play, TV show or movie, my first thought is about whether it’s gratuitous or integral to the telling. Being a reserved person, most of the time I conclude it’s unnecessary. I feel sorry for the actors. I’m (usually) uncomfortable for them. I want the scene to end. Let’s move on to a scene where the main character suffers a career-killing shoulder injury (enough baseball talk, thank you) and tries out for a bit part in “Cats,” fully customed, of course. Keep it authentic.
As a tangent, I’ll add that, while Jesse Williams can certainly be proud of his body, my eyes were fixed on him more in other scenes when he wore form-fitting ath-leisure. Alas, the clothes were not listed in the credits of the Playbill. Guess I’ll forgo an Amazon shopping spree and stick with my frumpy hoodies and saggy jeans.
I can make an argument defending the nudity in “Take Me Out.” I won’t go so far as to say it’s necessary, but there was a point to it. First, it might be silly to have guys standing around in full uniforms in every scene. It’s a locker room. I’m writing this at a café after having just finished swimming laps. I was in a locker room before and after my swim. There was lots of nakedness. It just happened to be the sort one feels a dire need to turn away from. I don’t need to be inundated with previews of how saggy my ass will look in—what, twenty-five years? Or is it only ten?! Grab your towel, guys, and cover up!
I think the nudity was supposed to convey a sense of exposure and vulnerability, the players’ posture and openness to “shoot the shit” changing once it’s revealed that one among them is gay, the straight players implicitly blaming the newly out gay teammate for instilling a sense of modesty and self-consciousness when their modified decorum is really brought on by homophobia. Sure, I can understand that argument. It’s another way to shine a spotlight entrenched man culture. That being said, I’d have preferred it if the play had been set in a dugout and perhaps a bar. I don’t think a single line would have to be amended. Still realistic settings even if it didn’t have players feeling vulnerable in their nakedness with a gay guy in their midst. How much jock-related homophobia do I really need to see?
And that leads to the bigger problem I had with “Take Me Out” which originally ran on Broadway in 2003 and won the Tony Award for best play. (It received four new Tony nominations last week, on the same day the nude footage appeared on Twitter, including best play revival and three acting nods, one to Jesse Williams.) Nineteen years ago, the so-called playing field for queer people was considerably more of a minefield. At the beginning of 2003, Netherlands was the only country in the world that had legalized same-sex marriage. “Will and Grace” was a hit TV show, but Sean Hayes, who played Jack, wasn’t out. The U.S. military was still thick in its muted tolerance of gays with its “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy as a means for allowing members to avoid being discharged. In 2003, a baseball team’s unease about a player being openly gay fit with what was going on in society as a whole. Coming out came with complications.
As a revival, the discomfort and outright homophobia that players think and feel in “Take Me Out” feels woefully dated, but it’s not presented as a period piece. There aren’t 2003 references in the script. I took it as playing out in 2022. The homophobia in sports—among fans and players—remains largely unchecked. Most gay athletes are still closeted, especially in team sports. It’s a milieu for Neanderthals. It exists, but so much of the rest of North America and Europe has moved on. I’m past the point of seeing portrayals of jocks feeling ogled by a gay teammate and hoping we can learn from it. These jocks are clunky and a play depicting them comes off as just as clunky.
Admittedly, there were many in the audience who found the play impactful. People, presumably straight, gasped at expressions of hatred and intolerance, as if they’d not heard these things, as if they thought everyone had moved on. Obviously, not everyone has, but the people I choose to associate with certainly have.
Nudity had no part of my wanting to see “Take Me Out.” I simply wanted to see a gay play. I wanted to appreciate the writing. I wanted to identify with gay characters. By intermission, I was wishing we’d chosen a different play; indeed, a different revival. It heartened me when Evan leaned into me and whispered, “Would it be bad if we just left?” My guy was equally apathetic. (I think I would have enjoyed “How I Learned to Drive” with Mary-Louise Parker and David Morse much more. Alas, my trip to New York wasn’t long enough, my pockets not deep enough.)
As I’d mentioned last year when country music singer T.J. Osborne of the Brothers Osborne came out as gay and kissed his partner after winning an award on a televised awards show, I was happy for him on a personal level, but I’m so far beyond the point of congratulating sectors that have clung to the Dark Ages when someone finally frees himself from the shackles. A fictional baseball player coming out, naked or not, doesn’t get my attention.
