Fratpigs in Purgatory | Performing Arts Review | Chicago Reader

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Fratpigs in Purgatory

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FRATPIGS IN PURGATORY, Psychobitch Productions, at the Chopin Theatre. When Metraform opened Co-ed Prison Sluts nearly ten years ago, in a world numbed and dumbed down by eight years of Reagan, its potty-mouthed comedy--which left no taboo unchallenged and no gross joke untold--seemed fresh. But now the culture is awash with stupidity and vulgarity, on TV, in the movies, and in the halls of government. We don't need to go to the theater to hear people snicker about oral sex or sperm stains--that's what political talk shows are for.

So why did Sarah Masters write (and codirect with Nate Hershberger) this trite rehashing of every gross bit you can think of: unnaturally large pubes, projectile vomiting, unintentional cannibalism? And why did Masters and Hershberger pay so little attention to the performance, allowing the cast to deliver their lines in a cartoonishly loud manner, telegraphing every joke and ruining even the best shtick? (Masters is sometimes quite funny as a way oversexed sorority sister.) Maybe it was therapeutic for Masters to put every gross thing she could think of into a single two-hour show. Or maybe she just wanted to make a shitload of money, like Torso Theatre did with Cannibal Cheerleaders on Crack. I hope she did it for the money, because it would be truly depressing if someone created a show this witless for artistic reasons.

--Jack Helbig

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