Men in Skirts

Willem Dafoe has a great pair of legs. I had never noticed. Last night he slowly hiked up his skirt to reveal the male garter socks he was wearing. The skirt kept going up – dramatically raised until I could see his thighs (which were lovely) – and up and up.

Because I like to watch men’s legs, I like to see men in skirts. They are more flattering than shorts and I wish I got to see more. The sight of a good pair of legs in a kilt always makes my day.

Or my movie. Even if I hadn’t liked the grand battle scenes – though I did – the abundance of kilts would have been enough to keep me interested through a dozen viewings of Braveheart. Without Achilles’ mini, Troy would not be the same. And my only complaint about Gladiator is the length of Russell Crowe’s skirt: it should have been shorter.

Last night’s skirt was long, but it got hiked up often enough to keep me happy and it was my favorite thing about Idiot Savant, which a friend with an extra ticket had invited me to go see.

Playing at the Public Theater, according to the Village Voice it is “a sprawling meditation on the power of language, the perils of desire, and the practice of interspecies golf.” It has no plot and features giant ducks. A booming voice talks to the performers and to the audience in a fatalistic “game over” tone.

I didn’t understand it, but I’m not sure there was anything to understand. It all seemed random: the golf clubs, the spilled fruit, the boats, the mute chorus of men in skirts, the loud noises and blinding lights. In the middle of it all, Willem Dafoe retained a commanding presence on stage, even as he played the idiot, writhed on the floor, shook his butt, or performed stiff puppet-like movements.

It was a very interesting play, but for me the best part was Willem Dafoe’s legs in a skirt.