BEIRUT
What they call “the plague” in this drama is transmitted not only through blood and semen but also through sweat, saliva, and any other bodily fluid you could mention. The government has responded to the epidemic with mandatory blood tests, quarantined communities, and a ban on sex for the uninfected. Torch, the male lover in this melodrama, has tested positive but so far shows none of the gruesome symptoms, which he periodically describes in lurid detail. He’s been quarantined in “Beirut,” the Lower East Side of Manhattan. This location, presumably chosen for its radical chic, is derivative of the more intellectually challenging B-movie Escape From New York. Blue, Torch’s uninfected and therefore unfulfilled lover, adores him and wants to live with him, but mostly she wants to sleep with him. She removes her dress and taunts him. She doesn’t care if she gets the plague. She needs him that bad. But Torch, caught between a boner and the deep black void, can’t cave in to such awesome irresponsibility.
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Well, enough of that. Thoroughness–and Isaac Asimov is a prime example–doesn’t necessarily make for good writing. More disturbing is Bowne’s cavalier exploitation of the AIDS crisis. This play doesn’t enlarge our understanding of how to deal with AIDS. This is a regression into paranoia, ignorance, and greater peril. The plague in Beirut revives misconceptions about AIDS transmission through casual contact, just when Surgeon General Koop has started to make some headway in educating the public. In Beirut there’s no such thing as safe sex, which leads to the horrendous conclusion of, what the hell, why bother, just go ahead and do it anyway. You’ve got to die sometime. Meanwhile, there’s love.
