Arts & Entertainment
Deep in Tennessee
Obscure one acts by gay playwright produced at Shakespeare

Lynn Sharp Spears as Lucretia in ‘Portrait of a Madonna,’ Tennessee Williams’ one act precursor to ‘Streetcar Named Desire.’ (Photo courtesy Washington Shakespeare Company)
‘Tennessee Continuum: Two One-Act Plays by Tennessee Williams’
Through July 3
Washington Shakespeare Company
Artisphere
1101 Wilson Blvd, Arlington, VA.
$25-$35; pay what you can for Saturday matinees
888-841-2787
Like the name suggests, Washington Shakespeare Company is a little Bard-centric, but the Rosslyn-based troupe successfully interprets modern playwrights too, particularly Tennessee Williams. Currently the company is presenting two rarely performed pieces from different phases of the gay playwright’s epic career.
Though ostensibly not a bit alike, “Portrait of a Madonna” and “The Gnädiges Fräulein” (together billed as “Tennessee Continuum: Two One-Act Plays by Tennessee Williams), are both poignant and inhabited by tragic characters. They share some of the inescapable Williams’ themes of unrequited attachments and survival in an unkind world.
Written in 1940, “Madonna” is a precursor to Williams’ later, greater works. Set in a grim apartment in an unnamed city, it’s the story of Lucretia Collins, a kooky maiden lady who is haunted by an ill-fated romance from her genteel, small town southern past. Now poor and alone, the aging preacher’s daughter loses her mind: She believes the man she once loved invades her bedroom nightly to “indulge his senses” as she rather delicately puts it. When she calls the apartment management for help, they summon mental health professionals and not the cops.
Sensitively staged by Lynn Sharp Spears, the one act reeks with the stuff that made the young Williams famous: faded belles, gentleman callers and glimpses into madness — Annetta Dexter Sawyer’s Lucretia is certifiably nuts. Slice Hick’s empathetic, human porter and Bob Sheire as the mocking elevator operator give an idea of the variety of characters that a lady might encounter in the sometimes uncertain outside world.
In “Madonna’s” final scene, a kindly doctor (here played by Christopher Henley sporting a Tyrone Power-inspired haircut) comes to escort an increasingly disconnected Lucretia to a state asylum. Williams would rewrite this same situation a few years concerning another distressed lady — Blanche DuBois in “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Interestingly, after seeing Jessica Tandy play Lucretia in a West Coast production of Madonna in 1947, he cast her as Blanche in the original production of “Streetcar.”
After intermission, it’s “The Gnädiges Fräulein,” a very funny paean to human survival written in 1966 when Williams was no longer the darling of critics. In fact, this one act (which translates from German as “Gracious Young Lady”) originally closed on Broadway in less than a week. Set in Williams’ beloved Florida Keys, the oddball comedy was his first foray into the absurd and, many say, an allegory of his own artistic life.
In search of a scoop, society reporter Polly (Mundy Spears) shows up at an unconventional guest house owned by no-nonsense Molly (Emily Webbe). It’s a strange place: The front porch is dripping with blood and a vicious Cocaloony bird (Karin Abromaitis) is circling the property intimidating everyone it meets. And the tenants are equally unusual. Wearing just a tiny loincloth, pulchritudinous and platinum blond Indian Joe (James Finley) struts about and says very little. The orange-haired title Fraulein (Karin Rosnizeck) was once a performer. Now deaf and blind in one eye, she earns her keep by battling increasingly fearsome Cocaloonies for fisherman’s castoff catch down at the docks. When not trading Williams’ gloriously crafted barbs, frenemies Polly and Molly smoke joints and engage in furious, highly sexualized synchronized rocking.
Gay director Jay Hardee elicits just right performances from an excellent cast. His inspired staging effortlessly coaxes the show’s many aspects — campy humor, menace, and melancholy — to the fore. Elizabeth Jenkins McFadden’s nonintrusive set cleverly morphs from tenement flat to seaside abode with very little fuss.
“Tennessee Continuum” is now running in repertory at Artisphere with a production of “Night and Day” by Tom Stoppard — another of the company’s favorite playwrights.
Drag artists perform for crowds in towns across Virginia. The photographer follows Gerryatrick, Shenandoah, Climaxx, Emerald Envy among others over eight months as they perform at venues in the Virginia towns of Staunton, Harrisonburg and Fredericksburg.
(Washington Blade photos by Landon Shackelford)



















Books
New book explores homosexuality in ancient cultures
‘Queer Thing About Sin’ explains impact of religious credo in Greece, Rome
‘The Queer Thing About Sin’
By Harry Tanner
c.2025, Bloomsbury
$28/259 pages
Nobody likes you very much.
That’s how it seems sometimes, doesn’t it? Nobody wants to see you around, they don’t want to hear your voice, they can’t stand the thought of your existence and they’d really rather you just go away. It’s infuriating, and in the new book “The Queer Thing About Sin” by Harry Tanner, you’ll see how we got to this point.
When he was a teenager, Harry Tanner says that he thought he “was going to hell.”
For years, he’d been attracted to men and he prayed that it would stop. He asked for help from a lay minister who offered Tanner websites meant to repress his urges, but they weren’t the panacea Tanner hoped for. It wasn’t until he went to college that he found the answers he needed and “stopped fearing God’s retribution.”
Being gay wasn’t a sin. Not ever, but he “still wanted to know why Western culture believed it was for so long.”
Historically, many believe that older men were sexual “mentors” for teenage boys, but Tanner says that in ancient Greece and Rome, same-sex relationships were common between male partners of equal age and between differently-aged pairs, alike. Clarity comes by understanding relationships between husbands and wives then, and careful translation of the word “boy,” to show that age wasn’t a factor, but superiority and inferiority were.
In ancient Athens, queer love was considered to be “noble” but after the Persians sacked Athens, sex between men instead became an acceptable act of aggression aimed at conquered enemies. Raping a male prisoner was encouraged but, “Gay men became symbols of a depraved lack of self-control and abstinence.”
Later Greeks believed that men could turn into women “if they weren’t sufficiently virile.” Biblical interpretations point to more conflict; Leviticus specifically bans queer sex but “the Sumerians actively encouraged it.” The Egyptians hated it, but “there are sporadic clues that same-sex partners lived together in ancient Egypt.”
Says Tanner, “all is not what it seems.”
So you say you’re not really into ancient history. If it’s not your thing, then “The Queer Thing About Sin” won’t be, either.
Just know that if you skip this book, you’re missing out on the kind of excitement you get from reading mythology, but what’s here is true, and a much wider view than mere folklore. Author Harry Tanner invites readers to go deep inside philosophy, religion, and ancient culture, but the information he brings is not dry. No, there are major battles brought to life here, vanquished enemies and death – but also love, acceptance, even encouragement that the citizens of yore in many societies embraced and enjoyed. Tanner explains carefully how religious credo tied in with homosexuality (or didn’t) and he brings readers up to speed through recent times.
While this is not a breezy vacation read or a curl-up-with-a-blanket kind of book, “The Queer Thing About Sin” is absolutely worth spending time with. If you’re a thinking person and can give yourself a chance to ponder, you’ll like it very much.
Theater
‘Octet’ explores the depths of digital addiction
Habits not easily shaken in Studio Theatre chamber musical
‘Octet’
Through Feb. 26
Studio Theatre
1501 14th Street, N.W.
Tickets start at $55
Studiotheatre.org
David Malloy’s “Octet” delves deep into the depths of digital addiction.
Featuring a person ensemble, this extraordinary a capella chamber musical explores the lives of recovering internet addicts whose lives have been devastated by digital dependency; sharing what’s happened and how things have changed.
Dressed in casual street clothes, the “Friends of Saul” trickle into a church all-purpose room, check their cell phones in a basket, put away the bingo tables, and arrange folding chairs into a circle. Some may stop by a side table offering cookies, tea, and coffee before taking a seat.
The show opens with “The Forest,” a haunting hymn harking back to the good old days of an analog existence before glowing screens, incessant pings and texts.
“The forest was beautiful/ My head was clean and clear/Alone without fear/ The forest was safe/ I danced like a beautiful fool / One time some time.”
Mimicking an actual step meeting, there’s a preamble. And then the honest sharing begins, complete with accounts of sober time and slips.
Eager to share, Jessica (Chelsea Williams) painfully recalls being cancelled after the video of her public meltdown went viral. Henry (Angelo Harrington II) is a gay gamer with a Candy Crush problem. Toby (Adrian Joyce) a nihilist who needs to stay off the internet sings “So anyway/ I’m doing good/ Mostly/ Limiting my time/ Mostly.”
The group’s unseen founder Saul is absent, per usual.
In his stead Paula, a welcoming woman played with quiet compassion by Tracy Lynn Olivera, leads. She and her husband no longer connect. They bring screens to bed. In a love-lost ballad, she explains: “We don’t sleep well/ My husband I/ Our circadian rhythms corrupted/ By the sallow blue glow of a screen/ Sucking souls and melatonin/ All of my dreams have been stolen.”
After too much time spent arguing with strangers on the internet, Marvin, a brainy young father played by David Toshiro Crane, encounters the voice of a God.
Ed (Jimmy Kieffer) deals with a porn addiction. Karly (Ana Marcu) avoids dating apps, a compulsion compared to her mother’s addiction to slot machines.
Malloy, who not only wrote the music but also the smart lyrics, book, and inventive vocal arrangements, brilliantly joins isolation with live harmony. It’s really something.
And helmed by David Muse, “Octet” is a precisely, quietly, yet powerfully staged production, featuring a topnotch cast who (when not taking their moment in the spotlight) use their voices to make sounds and act as a sort of Greek chorus. Mostly on stage throughout all of the 100-minute one act, they demonstrate impressive stamina and concentration.
An immersive production, “Octet” invites audience members to feel a part of the meeting. Studio’s Shargai Theatre is configured, for the first, in the round. And like the characters, patrons must also unplug. Everyone is required to have their phones locked in a small pouch (that only ushers are able to open and close), so be prepared for a wee bit of separation anxiety.
At the end of the meeting, the group surrenders somnambulantly. They know they are powerless against internet addiction. But group newbie Velma (Amelia Aguilar) isn’t entirely convinced. She remembers the good tech times.
In a bittersweet moment, she shares of an online friendship with “a girl in Sainte Marie / Just like me.”
Habits aren’t easily shaken.
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