Musical numbers: “Intro/Dreamtime,” “Come to Me/Sin,” “Reflections,” “Sex on a Train,” “Out in Style,” “The Hole,” “Xtropia,” “The Hole (Continued),” “Swing, ” “Kinda Slow Now,” “Insatiable,” “Go for the Kill,” “Cruel and Unusual,” “Until the Dawn,” “Tantric Trance (Animus),” “I’d Die for You,” “Stand Back,” “Dark Dance,” “I’m So Sorry,” “Compulsive Jane,” “Evil,” “Worship,” “Where Did Love Go.”
Even the trench-coat brigade is likely to steer clear of “Voyeurz,” a putative “Oh, Calcutta!” for the ’90s that is far too dull to generate real controversy. That hasn’t stopped the British press from working itself up into a pre-opening lather over the show, though what there is to get exercised about, only your local leather and rubber dealer knows for sure.
Exercise, in fact, seems the primary raison d’etre for a piece that wants to celebrate the libido — “Satisfy your curiosity,” advises the ad — but is instead guaranteed to have critics whipping out all the expected adjectives: limp, flaccid, etc.
The story begins in bed (where else?) with restless farm girl Jane(Sally Anne Marsh) dreaming of the big city. If only she had seen Howard Korder’s new play “The Lights,” which opened the same evening, Jane would know that the city can be cruel.
But no: Before you can say Sodom or Gomorrah, Jane is on a train — notice the “Voyeurz”-esque rhyme — being chatted up by neighboring passenger Andi (Krysten Cummings). Andi has a prior attachment to urban temptress Eve (geddit?) , which really throws Jane for a loop. We know this because she soon finds herself in a cage seemingly left over from “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” singing, “Where am I? I’m so confused.”
When not riveted to Jane’s plight, the audience gets a concert from the American lesbian rock group Fem 2 Fem, one of whom raises unfulfilled hopes that the show might feature a “Crying Game”-style twist. There’s a fair amount of flesh but no eroticism, with “Tantric Trance (Animus)” the would-be equivalent to the once-shocking first-act finale of “Hair.”
About all one can say is that “Voyeurz” gives women a chance to catch up with men in the stage nudity sweepstakes, though if this show is what it takes, such a competition is hardly worth encouraging.
Fully aware that such is the stuff from which cults are made, producer Michael White and his co-creators and directors, Peter Rafelson and Michael Lewis, encourage the audience to answer back or, at one point, to line the front of the stage with shoes (?). (A passing reference to “multiple orgasm” had the press-night crowd squealing.) “To the tribal chamber bring me Jane” might contain the ingredients for camp, but not as part of a cheesy Madonna video wannabe, lit with enough ultraviolet to cause very real fears of radiation. Some shows are meant for tired businessmen; “Voyeurz” is for dead ones.