Autobiographical one-man shows are perhaps the easiest form of
theater to produce, and the hardest to do well. It’s a genre that
requires the performer to have a screwed-up, dysfunctional childhood
that can somehow be rendered in an upbeat, jokey way. The challenge,
then, is to tell one’s story in an un-solipsistic way, and elicit
audience sympathy without veering into melodrama. Don Reed walked that
fine line in East 14th: Tales of a Reluctant Player, and Joe
Orrach came close with In My Corner. Now, Korean-American
comedian Kenny Yun has entered the fray with Lettucetown Lies,
a play about growing up gay in Salinas, California, at San Francisco’s
Marsh Theatre. It’s a decent, well-crafted show that could become a
great show, once Yun matures as an actor.
At present, Yun’s childhood is the best thing he has going for him.
It’s a story that lends itself to the stage: After his family moves to
a mostly white neighborhood in Salinas (aka Lettucetown, aka “John
Steinbeck territory”), young Kenny had to contend with being both
Korean American and gay in an area dominated by white bigots. He
cruised around on a skateboard blasting Donna Summers on his
headphones, smoked Marlboro Ultra Light 100s, and used his mom’s
curling iron to mold his hair into something that recalled “Connie
Chung with an Adam’s Apple.” Despite having all the cards stacked
against him, Yun tried as best he could in to fit in, acting genuinely
surprised when he got picked last for basketball, or accused of walking
like a girl. His life became a funny and painful game of deception.
The best thing about Lettucetown Lies is the writing. Yun
revels in all the cute, girly details of growing up gay in Hicksville:
The Easy-Bake Oven catalog he stowed under his mattress, the disco 45s
he bought from an “underground dealer,” his crushes on the boy’s
basketball team, all of whom resembled the Greek God Perseus. Some
parts are hilarious, particularly when Yun has to grapple with
stereotypes: He responds to one kid’s racial slurs with a pretty harsh
slur of his own (“Hee haw honky anorexic donkey face”) and poked fun at
teachers who categorized all Asians as being whizzes in math and
science. (“Of course I got good grades in algebra … by copying off
the Chinese kid.”) Yun also takes obvious pleasure in imitating the
various people who populated his insular world: The English teacher who
lectured on iambic pentameter, the fag-hag girlfriend who said “like”
about every third word, the enticing but unreadable friend Scotty, with
whom he shared many a homoerotic moment.
In fact, the least-developed character in Lettucetown Lies
is Yun himself. He has no distinct mannerisms, other than a tendency to
overuse his hands (an excess body movement characteristic of fledgling
actors). He’s overly trusting of a gay camp counselor who becomes an
instant spiritual guide. He relies on crude priapic metaphors, and
makes continual references to Greek and Korean myths that don’t really
fit with the story. Eighty minutes with no intermission is quite a long
time to spend with a single actor, and you expect to emerge with a very
clear sense of that person’s story and that person’s persona. In this
case you get one without the other — a guy with a lot of inner
turmoil who seems less charismatic than the people who victimize him.
Lettucetown Lies draws back the curtain on Yun’s interior
world, but doesn’t allow much access to Kenny Yun the character.
Meanwhile, another rising comedian will bring his brand of sardonic,
self-deprecating humor to San Francisco’s Punch Line. Oakland’s Moshe
Kasher, who left the bay last fall to launch his career in Los Angeles,
will return on Tuesday, July 7, for a hometown CD release party.
Kasher’s new album has a big, clunky mouthful of a title: Everyone
You Know Is Going to Die and Then You Are! * Unless You Die First.
It’s designed as a posthumous release, with Kasher doing bits from the
crypt. (Don’t worry, he’s not actually dead.) Fellow comedians Emily
Heller and Eric Cash play his widow and bastard son, respectively; Greg
Edwards and Brent Weinbach also make cameos. Like the rest of Kasher’s
material, it’s best characterized as “highbrow concept, lowbrow
execution.”
Kasher will feature his album guests at the release party, but he
promises not to repurpose any CD material during his live sets. That
might in fact be the best reason to check out the show. “My thing is
that I’ve always been really reluctant to sell people the set that
they’ve just watched me do at a club,” he said. “It’s like, ‘Thank you
for your money, now listen to me do the whole thing again.'” Such
forethought is much appreciated.
