Theater Online - New York Theater Reviews

Truth be told, Puppetry of the Penis-a perverted one-act whirl through the various practical uses of the title member, scrotum and testes-has never really been much of a show. Its creators and first practitioners-the wily (or should it be willy“) Australian duo of Simon Morley and David Friend-discovered the lost art of genital origami and basically set out to show the world via onstage demos in birthday suits with the aid of a strategically placed camera and some fervent imagination. With no story to speak of, they simply delighted in making the audience howl, and it worked. It was a one-joke lark to be certain, but Morley and Friend had such a gleeful wink in their eye, a fun evening was eventually had by all.

In this 2010 incarnation, the average-dude look has been replaced by a more eye candy one. Rich Binning and Gavin Stewart are like the sweet, aw-shucks American cousins of Morey and Friend and that is exactly why the, ahem, piece doesn't take off like it used to. These guys just seem so damn nice. And nice is not what you want in a filthy piece of male nudie burlesque such as this. (Binning, in particular, could guest star on Gossip Girl any day of the week, with his blond, all-American pinup looks and bod.)

The favorites of POTP are still very much in evidence, and in the intimate Green Room of 45 Bleecker, you may find yourself right in the midst of their dick fans (it is exactly what you think it is). The gross-out factor is still there, and the act has some new techniques, such as the Sombrero (where a member is transformed into a Mexican hat), and even some movie characters, like Yoda and E.T. (in which a testicle sac contains a red heartlight). But the classics are still the funniest, like the Brain (using only balls), the Wristwatch (think about it), and the choice food ones too-the Kentucky Fried Chicken and the Hamburger (which no male patron would agree to volunteer for on my press night) are always crowd pleasers.

But even though their act is really only an hour, it still feels padded and mechancial. Now a stand-up comic has been employed as a warm-up act, and mine was Amy Schumer, a Sarah Silverman-like gal whose salty humor actually elicited more honest laughs than the main event (sample quip: “[My boyfriend] looks one of the guys from The Hills....Have Eyes.”). The boys' material is less sharp, at times groaners too (the old s-car-go bit even gets recycled), and while Binning and Stewart are very likable and nice to ogle, you miss the down-and-dirty charisma of their predecessors. One supposes you really can't mistake the charm found Down Under when working...down under.