It’s not often I’m lost for words, but after witnessing the eyeball-popping spectacle that is Philosophy In The Bedroom, I’m not sure where to start. There’s a lot I’d like to say about this lascivious show but am barred on the grounds of moral decency. Please excuse the bowdlerised review that follows.While all theatre, by its nature, is subjective, the measure of this show’s appeal can be summated as follows: Think of your favourite perversion. Now imagine indulging in it with your closest family member (assuming they weren’t already in the mix). Multiply the depravity by ten, add every bodily fluid imaginable, toss in a few dildos and you’re still not even close to envisaging the utter feculence that is Philosophy In The Bedroom. If you don’t feel compelled to take a long, cold shower after watching this show, you should report to the nearest police station immediately. Let’s get this straight: this is filth of the highest order. No depravity is left unsated and no orifice unfilled - even armpits get defiled. Welcome to codpiece philosophy in the bedroom.Amidst all the bare breasts, prosthetic phalluses and gimp masks, one might feel compelled to consider whether all of this has any artistic merit. I can’t answer that question, other than to point out that your average white van man would rather ogle page three than stare at the Mona Lisa. Your average white van man however would regurgitate his Greggs sausage roll if forced to watch PITB.The story, incidentally, is from an erotic 18th century book by that renowned deviant, the Marquis de Sade. To this day it is banned in Singapore, proving that there are worse evils than chewing gum. The premise - like it matters - is that the only moral system to reinforce the French revolution is libertinism, a concept that must be embraced to avoid returning to a monarchistic state. How this relates to a 15-year-old girl being denuded of all her virtues before raping her own mother is anyone’s guess, but it’s all highly entertaining. Provided you like that kind of thing.What ostensibly starts off as a period drama swiftly degenerates into an Enlightenment-era Human Centipede, with our interlinked cast simultaneously committing sodomy, incest, homosexuality and pegging. This is the sort of stuff that would give Joseph Fritzl nightmares. If you want to know what happens with the sewing needle and a syphilitic servant, incidentally, I suggest you consult Wikipedia. Or better still, go and see the spectacle for yourself.I’m somewhat loath to admit to having enjoyed Philosophy In The Bedroom on the grounds of being labelled a deviant. I’ll be honest though: it was great. Not for the titillation, for there are any number of ways to witness bare breasts should one so desire, but for the sheer depravity of it all. That any human being could have conceived such lubricity is a testament to man’s moral bankruptcy.The Marquis de Sade then: sure, he was a bit of a wrong ‘un, but he knew how to throw a good party. If you think you can handle it, go and see Philosophy In The Bedroom. A word of advice though: unless you enjoy tasting the same meal twice, I suggest you leave your inhibitions at the door and your dinner in the fridge.
