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The Male Intellect
((An Oxymoron) (Met Theatre, Hollywood; 99 seats; $ 10 top))
The play revolves around his persona of Bobby, a man whose fiancee left him two weeks earlier, to his utter confusion. "She says I had a bad memory," he begins, though he can't recall why.
He knows he's weighted down with all the baggage that comes with a penis, including true blindness to the human condition.
Frantically, he tries to cut through his chauvinistic upbringing to understand what women want. He hopes that insight will bring him back together with his girlfriend.
Dubac portrays five other male characters, including a retired war hero who advises him to admit right away that all men are jerks, and Jean-Michel, a French exchange student who believes one must speak French and talk in undecipherable metaphors to women.
There's much for both sides to laugh at -- or with. Women, Dubac says, dance to feel good. Men dance in hopes it'll lead to sex so they can feel good. Men go bald, he suggests, because they're always pulling at their hair in frustration over something they said that came out wrong.
In other words, the jokes are never derogatory, but with a sense of fun (this reviewer's wife says it's truth). With several long playdates across the country under his belt, Dubac's performance comes across as well-honed and personalized. Imagine Tim Allen with some of Woody Allen's angst.
Because the show starts at 9:30, however, the 90 minutes get to feel long, particularly since one can sense where it's going. Even so, show ends with a good twist.
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