Playwright: Aline Lathrop. At: Chicago Dramatists, 1105 W. Chicago. Phone: 312-633-0630; $32. Runs through: March 6
For most people, the world of prostitution is a fantasyglamorous, lurid, romantic or titillatingbut their own individual fantasy, nevertheless, to shape according to their private preconceptions and desires. Playwright Aline Lathrop arrived at her topic from the standpoint of a sexual victim and, despite the psychological distance her extensive research was supposed to facilitate, the initial prejudice engendered by this one-time encounter cannot help but permeate her conclusions generally.
Our milieu purports to be one of the licensed brothels permitted under Nevada law, but restrictions on its off-site privileges (a legal measure designed to reduce fraternization with the local citizenry) quickly reconfigure the dramatic action into that of an old-fashioned Prison Play. We meet the personalities typical of this genre, embroiled in the usual petty intrigues: who put the razor blades in the porn-star's soap? Who rescued the youngest sorority sister after she slit her wrists for love of her worthless man? Is one of the "girls" really pregnant, and how, with condoms a house regulation, did she get that way?
It's not all the same old melodrama, however, or even the same new melodrama (did I mention the adrenaline-snorting Iraqi war veteran or the Asian med-school dropout?). Amid the predictable women-in-bondage dynamics are many interesting facts about the Harlot's Profession and those practicing it today under arguably the most favorable conditions offered by our American society: the prizes awarded by the boss for the highest monthly earnings, for example. Or the top-price diva whose profits provide homes for her siblings. And then there's the no-nonsense achiever drawing up plans for an employee-owned sex-for-hire start-up (such as now exist in parts of California).
The sturdy cast assembled by director Meghan Beals McCarthy lend their by-the-numbers dialogue a welcome freshness and humor to render the play a pleasant, if uninspiring, two hours. And no theater ever lost money on the promise of nubile chicks dressed in scanty undies. But so rigidly does Lathrop adhere to her mission of presenting the negative aspects of her play's universe that what could have been an enlightening study of an alternative culture ultimately emerges as simplistic watch-and-ward propaganda. Is the author afraid that we will embark on a career in the skin trade at the slightest hint of encouragement?