Bogosian his own best audience

Send mirrors. Now. In the short preface to his show An Evening with Eric Bogosian, the self-indulgent actor/writer tells us "I love words and I love performing." So send mirrors. Quick. Show Eric that he need not lure people into theaters to hear his childish whining. He can do it at home, with his ultimate audience, what he obviously wants to see more than anything: five hundred images of himself.

Send lube. Lots. Early in his show Bogosian proudly reveals to us that he prays and masturbates every day. Had he given us two more minutes we could have drawn that exact conclusion. So send lube. Please. Because as much as you may have loathed Eric's masturbatory performance, surely you can find in yourself the compassion he lacks and raise concern, for people who stroke themselves as much as Eric chaff, tear and bleed.

So send band-aids, and notes that instruct Eric to place them over his mouth. And send books, textbooks you used in fifth grade, and calculators, and dictionaries. For God's sake, send the man some alphabet blocks, because in one of his 600 attempts at irony Bogosian pokes fun at television news reporters by imitating them, saying "It hurts to think," and it's very clear that this may be the only shred of honesty we'll get out of the man. Yes, we nod our heads in agreement, softly say "Amen;" it's very hard for Eric Bogosian to think. He hasn't, it seems, for many years.

Is this what became of all of the famous, infamous, thoughtful, outspoken Oberlin students of the 70s? Did they really grow up and fill their baby-boomer shoes, shaking heads and fingers at us? Or did they follow Bogosian's lead, filling the boomer shoes yet grasping for the identities they themselves created for Generation X, the whiners, the lazy addicts who complain but complain constantly, and thoughtlessly, and for nobody really but themselves?

And could the generation gap really be the problem? It could. Bogosian worked so hard to talk about social issues in a flippant, edgy, profane way but failed, crashed like the planes he spoke of, at least in Finney, because in Finney he was among the people he imitated, and like dogs we caught the scent of this intruder and acted on instinct. He felt courageous to tackle the Oklahoma City tragedy but Finney fell silent, not because Oklahoma can't be funny, or, even better, funny and poignant at the same time, but because Bogosian counted on the uncomfortable humor and poignancy to be inherent in the simple decision to raise the issue. Had Bogosian picked on an audience his own age this very well may have worked. The Oberlin College student body, however, needs more than the framework wherein issues might be thoughtful if they were only developed. We know that scratching the surface isn't enough.

Bogosian seemed to want to talk about happiness. His characters ranged from southern preachers and their inner children to Deepak Chopra rip-offs to the perhaps autobiographical rambling drug addict. Among all of these personalities was the ability to say the words "happiness," "greed," "I don't care" and "blow me." In only one, however, did these words actually reach meaning. Bogosian did succeed with his businessman in the airport. Here he created a character that was clearly misled, clearly unhappy, and clearly stuck. He waits in line, his laptop loses its power, he misses his anniversary due to a business trip, yet none of this seems to bother him. Funny, then, how it succeeded to bother us. Or, perhaps it's not funny or quizzical at all. This was the part of the show where Bogosian stopped trying so hard, went on longer, forfeited gratuitous humor and let us watch somebody wait in line. And be unhappy. And stay in line. And be unhappy.

Bogosian had theories on happiness. One of his characters filed the concepts "harmony" and "alienation" down to "money" and "no money." Another simplified happiness as being stoned and having an orgasm. But none of this sticks. For, just as we feel pity for another one of his characters when they pathetically groan "I like you, man. You like me?" it's hard to evoke the reactions Bogosian wants. We don't like him. If his stories weren't shallow and boring, or if we didn't feel like every word out of his mouth was so trite that it insulted our intelligence, perhaps he wouldn't be so easy to hate. Of course, this was not the case.

And maybe Bogosian knows it. In one of his final rants he admits: "I don't have anything to say." What Bogosian unfortunately didn't realize is that none of us needed any convincing.

Eric Bogosian: (photo courtesy Theater and Dance)