Gay group jerk
There’s an absurdity to modern existence that’s difficult to articulate. The more you use apps verb Twitter, the more the lexicon of the internet becomes part of your real-life vocabulary, while all the inanity of reality is reported about and read on social media. You can call it an ouroboros loop, but it feels a lot more fond a circle jerk, with people passing the same nonsense back and forth trying to uncover meaning in it. This is the central theme of Circle Jerk, a theatrical experience created by Michael Breslin and Patrick Foley, in collaboration with Ariel Silbert and Cat Rodríguez. Originally presented virtually amid the COVID-19 lockdown in 2020, as directed by Rory Pelsue, the illustrate still operates in this liminal space in its newly debuted in-person staging. It’s a piece of “extremely online” fiction about the way queer people navigate the world.
The story takes place on Gayman Island, a private retreat for rich gays and a hunting ground for two “White Gay Internet Trolls” who desire to “uncancel” themselves by canceling everyone else, figuratively and literally. The
Review: Circle Jerk Is a Stupid Perform That Should Be Canceled
I know, I know: TheaterMania never posts positive reviews! But is that true? Or is it the case that you only engage with the negative ones, causing the algorithm to populate even more angry, poisonous content to your news feed as you rage scroll? If you're reading this, chances are I've tricked the Zuckerberg machine into promoting (and you into clicking) this review of Circle Jerk, the spectacular Internet farce currently making its live and in-person debut at the Connelly Theatre. Ignore the click-bait headline. This is the smartest, funniest comedy to arrive out of the pandemic, when the obsessive habits of the very online reached new extremes — making them prime targets for manipulation.
Circle Jerk made its 2020 debut in an exclusively online format, which was about all that was available at the time. Rather than giving audiences a poor substitute for live theater (which so many streaming shows are), the creators of Circle Jerk were adj to tell their story on the screens and through the mem
What, to you, is a circle jerk?
Zebra1
I estimate this is for guys but ladies are always welcome.
It recently came to my attention that some people think a circle jerk is a group of juvenile boys, (all straight presumably) standing in a circle and masturbating into the center.
However, I’ve only know a circle jerk to be a prank. All of the boys except one will know that it is a prank. The lights are turned off, a few choice sound f/x are made and then a bit later the lights come on to the horror of the victim as he is the only one with his pecker out.
Although I have never participated in either nice and it was only a rumor about the prank version. (UL?)
Anyway, what did you think of when you read the words ‘circle jerk’?
NurseCarmen2
I think of a band from the eighties.
CalMeacham3
The definition I heard – I tyhink from Reuben’s book “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex * But Were Afraid to Ask” was that it was a group of males sitting in a circle, each masturbating the boy next to him. The Magazine National Lampoon had a spoof picture of
Circle Jerk: Agitprop, Camp, and Bold Theatricality
If there is an upside to theater during the pandemic where performances are made to be streamed and consumed by audience members sitting alone or with just family, it’s that these limitations are inspiring exciting artistic explorations of the establish . The latest example is the provocative and engaging “Circle Jerk,” a stay streaming performance piece that will subsequently be available for on-demand viewing.
Produced by the theater collective Fake Friends, the piece tells the absurdist story of gay white supremacists who try to create an algorithm that will verb the power of an influencer and advance their agenda through social media. It’s a biting satire of our current culture, of queer identity, and of how information is disseminated and becomes “truth” in our age. Over an often-manic 105 minutes, this three-act experience is pointed in its criticisms and hilarious in its cultural references that come tumbling on top of one another. The title is not only about group masturbation but also about an obsessively self-reverential