Apparently—and confirmation was unavailable as of press time—women and men behave differently. From each other, that is. They compliment, fight, clean, lose things, sleep, make love and pick out wedding envelopes differently, and these differences baffle the opposite gender. This is because men are hunters, and women are gatherers. In other words, based on the short video that precedes the Rob Becker-scripted one-man show Defending the Caveman, women are angry yet able to focus their attention (particularly on shopping and nagging their “asshole” significant others). Men, meanwhile, are fat, dumb monkeys who really like television, so much so that they effectively become extensions of the TV set.
It’s a premise as sparse as the set—plant, stone television, stone couch, prehistoric laundry hamper, two cave paintings—and maddeningly familiar to anyone who’s ever watched stand-up comedy or any sitcom at all since the advent of said television. Even some of those titular cavemen probably gathered in half-circles around the fire pit to hear Shecky Flintstone say, “Take cavewife, please! Try the mastodon!”
The 75-minute monologue has been kicking around since 1991 (it broke longevity records on Broadway), written after Becker undertook “an informal study of anthropology, prehistory, psychology, sociology and mythology.” “Informal” being the key word; the script references vision quests held in a sacred “Circle of Underwear” and questionable conclusions about Cro-Magnon emotional states. Sure, the exaggerations are made in the name of humor, but more authentic, truthful humor based on DNA and hormone analyses might have been more effective than double entendres involving the word “spear.”
For his part, star Kevin Burke makes what he can out of the material. With his aw-shucks obesity and Everyman jeans, he’s a cross between a less brazen Jackie Gleason and a less sputtering John Madden, one who sweats, grows red-faced and bellows into his headset microphone with admirable gusto even the most clichéd lines about birds tying ribbons in females’ hair and such observations as, “If I’m reading the paper, Karen will try to talk to me. I have to put my finger down ... that’s why men read in the bathroom.” Or, on the two states of male arousal: “There’s getting your weenie touched ... and waiting to get your weenie touched.”
The long-running Broadway show has been lauded for fostering understanding and bringing couples closer together. Conversely, it could also be accused of making and promoting a multitude of excuses and stereotypes. Though it does promote monogamy and conclude that, well, at least the corresponding puzzle pieces seem to fit well that way, Caveman is also subtly homophobic and dismissive of any artistic, sensitive and/or introspective male traits.
It’s not that the gags themselves are offensive. It’s that saying things are this simple insults intelligence across the board, no matter how fat and dumb some of us are. To be fair, the showroom was packed. The older, predominantly coupled audience laughed throughout and, as Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” played overhead, referenced numerous callbacks as they adjourned to the hallway. Perhaps I’m just too much a victim of my genetic anger to properly focus.
Defending the Caveman
**
Golden Nugget
Wednesday through Monday at 8 p.m.; Saturday and Sunday matinees at 3 p.m.; $34.95. 866-946-5336