The Revue Review: The Vagina Monologues
What can I say about this show that hasn’t already been said? Hilarious, profound and at times deeply unsettling, The Vagina Monologues challenged my ideas about what it means to be a fully realized human being.
Is it possible for a single evening to fundamentally change the identity of a man? Before seeing The Vagina Monologues, there was an aspect of humanity that I had, until now, written off entirely as one-dimensional and only fit to satisfy. I was shown the error of my ways, and in such a creative and unique format.
Why, in all honesty, my experience at the show was nothing short of religious. I mean, who knew you could teach a vagina to talk like that?!
Of course, a vagina is nothing without the woman within whom it rests, and it goes without saying that these women must be guaranteed a place in the storied history of Puget Sound. Nonetheless, the vaginas really stole the show.
There is nothing like staring face to vagina with a vagina to make you see life the way a vagina sees life: whiling away the hours alone and in the dark with something lacy shoved in your face. Truly, vaginas lead a life of quiet solitude: they are at times downtrodden, but always dignified.
Do yourself a favor and go see those vaginas’ monologues. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to your mother, you owe it to your partner, you owe it to your children. But most of all, you owe it to a great big talking vagina.
Editor’s note: Mr. Dent was sick for the length of the show’s run and did not see it.