loosie: words: Berserk Off Broadway

Berserk Off Broadway

The Chinatown performance of Peter S. Petralia's Three Ring is flush with mock crotches.

by Staff | 2003.04.08

The Loosie staff pretty much missed the open bar at Walkerspace. It was only thimble-sized martinis anyway -- our coarse palettes were expecting Stanley Cups-worth of something less refined. There were wide platters of Rice Krispie treats, Gouda cheese and sesame crackers. Grimy cordoned off the salsa and chips while Spec Boogie threw his weight behind the assorted dairy products. Guin silently lurked in the corner clutching a napkinful of leaking grape leaves which left his paws as oily as an Arabic mattress dealer. This is art, after all.

As the house lights dimmed, the Loosies ambled off to their V.I.P. perches to take in Proto-Type Theater’s latest production, Three Rings. Directed by the distinguished Peter S. Petralia and produced in association with One Arm Red, Three Ring traces a “strange tale of five inmates in an insane asylum for circus performers.” Finally, a play that fused Loosie’s two greatest loves: the freakishly deranged and carnie folk.

The simple set consisted of dangling plastic sheets, a gurney and four small stools. All the tools were there for a masterpiece. Three Ring dramatically kicks off with the emergence of a lone figure equipped with an imitation rigid phallus stuffed in his tighty-whiteys. Underneath a hot spotlight pinpointing his mock crotch, he proceeded to balance in a shocking and awesome manner on an assembled stack of the aforementioned stools.

Soon the rest of the cast was introduced. Two women in sport undergarments and two more brief-clad men completed the Pentateuch of Hanes. The plot was unveiled: the asylum doctor had inexplicably died and left the facility in the shivering and clammy hands of the inmates. Guin roared. Spec giggled softly. Grimy sweat.

But all the roaring, giggling and sweating was for naught. Three Ring quickly transgressed into a pool of ear-raping shrieks, homoerotic thrusts and clumbsy dialogue. Fortunately for Three Ring, Petralia’s love for carnie folk provided several moments of mind-bendingly intoxicating entertainment. Just when the stench of boredom approached Canal Street heights, Petralia purified the air by sending his barely-clothed actors scampering up ropes to dangle from the ceilings in astonishing positions. No Fleisher bullshit, this was on some true live monkey trickery. Using ceiling-mounted plastic loops as their apparatus, the acrobats twisted, spun and contorted themselves in imaginative and strikingly athletic positions.

The climatic scene of Three Ring was also the most unbearable. For what seemed like eternity, the stage became host to a whirlwind of bloodcurdling screams, ugly wrestling, and flailing plastic sheets. Perhaps Petralia had envisioned a chaotic finale comparable to the ten-minute montage of brutality found in A Requiem for a Dream. Perhaps the goal was to connect the actors and audience by erecting a bridge of madness that spanned from the stage to the nose bleed seats. Perhaps Petralia is just an asshole. Speaking of assholes, the final scene culminated in a baffling sequence of simulating butt-fucking. Guin roared, Spec giggled, Grimy sweat.

Three Ring runs from April 3-26 at Walkerspace (46 Walker Street, between Broadway and Church); showtime is at 8 PM; tickets are $15 and available at the door or by calling 212-206-1515.