Stripping, Kicking, Wolves and Footballers

As morally confused as I am, two subjects are bound to get my attention in the Fringe brochure: gender politics and striptease. Fortunately, Class Stage Productions are covering both this year: Dances With Wolves, a comedy about strippers (a change from the usual tragic narrative of the innocent who finds herself slowly drawn into the underworld) and On The Bench, an everyday tale of alpha male football celebrities. Faster than that time a bouncer tried to get me to pay the bill for my female host’s champagne in that Soho club, I got in contact with writer and director Kirsty Eyre.

“On the Bench is less about gender identity and more about what Premiership Football has become in England in terms of scandal, sexism, tabloids and the world of celebrity,” Eyre corrects me. “This is football, not from a player's point of view or a fan's point of view but from Joe Public's point of view.”

My mistake was easy enough to make, I plead. Teaming up a play about football – performed by a female cast – with another about strippers – opens up various questions about the gap between expectations on young people. I’m sure I read in The Daily Mail that most preteen girls want to become lap-dancers when they grow up.

“Sure, football is pimped as a man's game and a male subject,” Eyre elaborates. “But the story has not been refigured in anyway for a female cast. It is what it is. The script would work if played by male actors but would provide a different dynamic entirely. I wrote both pieces within the last 12 months without consciously deciding to explore gender identity - it was a later decision to cast On the Bench with an all female cast.”

The connection between the thrill of illicit sexuality – despite its new found social acceptability, stripping remains very much a secret past-time for performers and audience – and premiership footballers could not, however, be more relevant. Eyre is happy to point out how circumstances have conspired to support her play. She observes that “More stories are published in the press about extra-curricular misgivings than what happens on the pitch. Take the superinjuction. Take Giggsy. I could not have wished for a more contemporary backdrop provided by today's tabloids.”

Having been disappointed in my obsession by On The Bench, if not by the ideas behind the play itself, I turned to Dancing With Wolves. Although it turns up in the Theatre Section of the Fringe, it proudly claims burlesque and cabaret credentials. “It has been workshopped and devised throughout rehearsals in order to draw upon the strengths of each actor. As we have some brilliant singers amongst our cast, tongue-in-cheek comedy cabaret was a new ingredient I added to the mixing pot,” Eyre says. “I personally find burlesque a tasteful form of entertainment which can be enjoyed by both men and women. It requires charisma, comedy and an act which enables the performer to have a connection with a male and female audience.”

Last year’s Fringe did see a backlash against burlesque: certain shows were panned for lacking that charisma and taste, and many cabaret nights marginalised burlesque, only a year after it seemed to have conquered variety. The decision of theatre companies to work with its aesthetic might be its best hope of redemption. Dances With Wolves shares burlesque’s humour, setting within a more structured context. It also uses humour to move into dangerous territory.

“Dances for Wolves is set in a sleazy strip joint rather than anything classy and burlesque. I have always found the dynamic of a stripper and her audience fascinating in terms of who is playing who and which gender is in control. I have chosen striptease as a vehicle for comedy and escapism.” Yet Eyre wants to get beneath appearances. “A woman says one thing with her body and something completely different in her mind. What would happen if you could read her mind and her thoughts as she performs a striptease? How would you feel if she was actually doing her shopping list or worrying about an E-bay bid?”

And despite the comedy, Eyre retains a clear moral perspective. “I work in a male dominated environment where city boys regularly boast about ending up in the pound in the pot place down the road. I find the concept of strip joints grotesque, uncomfortable, dated and confusing.” And while the show might end democratically, through a vote on which of the four performers does “dance for the wolves”, it is clear that the comedy does not exclude a clear expression of her original vision.