I wish I could say that Snakebit, currently playing at Gorilla Theater, always rises above soap opera in its evocation of the complexity of straight-gay relations in the age of AIDS. After all, there are moments in David Marshall Grant's play when no one is shouting, no one is bursting into tears, and something insightful is actually being said about the necessity of self-expression, or pugnacity, or simple perseverance in a troubled and censorious society. But these moments arrive too seldom. For most of the play's two hours, its three main characters fume, fuss and fall apart without their efforts pointing to anything deeper than their own idiosyncrasies. Certainly nothing much can be learned about heterosexuals-in-general by watching the straight character Jonathan, whose masculinity is all self-love, cold ambition and rage. And gay males are hardly more clarified by the ultra-virtuous Michael, a social worker whose fondest wish is to adopt the little girl he's supposed to be monitoring.

Yes, life in modern times is challenging,

but nervous wreck

Jenifer, the only female character, seems more a victim of a chemical imbalance than of the zeitgeist. And the play's only other character — young, starry-eyed Gary — mixes wisdom and cliche so liberally, it's hard to know which is which. Snakebit does have some resonance: Jenifer's fear that Michael has infected her or her child with the AIDS virus is timely, and Jonathan's acceptance of his friend's sexuality suggests that society may in fact be advancing past the reflex of homophobia.

But finally, it's not enough: Too much of Snakebit plays like an unusually up-to-date Days of Our Lives, shallow and self-referential. One departs, after the final curtain, neither sadder nor wiser.

There's not much plot to Snakebit, which is probably good, considering the hypersensitivity of its characters to any action whatsoever. What we get is situation — for the most part, the situations of Jonathan, Michael and Jenifer. Loose cannon Jonathan is a film actor (featured prominently in Brute Force II) who's come with wife Jenifer to L.A to audition for a top part in Mortal Fusion. He tells us he was brought up to believe two maxims: "Money is the report card of life," and "Let them hate, so long as they fear.

Jonathan and Jenifer are staying with old high school friend Michael, who's just been rejected by his lover Gary and instructed by the courts to stay away from his 11-year-old former charge Mariama (he illegally put her up at his house to protect her from her crack addict mother). Jenifer and Michael share a secret — that they slept together at a time when Michael was bisexual. Jenifer's a mess: She's a former actress who now can't speak a line without stuttering, and she's obsessed with the health of her 6-year-old daughter.

For two relatively fast-moving acts, these characters, along with occasional visitor Gary, talk, shout, indict and confess, with the only real suspense concerning the results of a blood test and of Jonathan's audition. Fortunately, Grant is a talented writer, and even at its least significant, the dialogue in Snakebit is never boring or predictable. But even literate dialogue finally fails if it lacks meaning, and even Jonathan's most articulate tirades can't move us if they never seem more than one character's narcissistic screed.

Just as the dialogue of Snakebit never quite crosses over from eloquence to urgency, neither does most of the acting ever really become persuasive. Best of all is Fred L. Coleman in the relatively small role of Gary; in a very few minutes Coleman radiates a strange naivete and inner peace, as if mental strength might be the natural byproduct of inexperience and credulity. Ned Snell is also effective, for a time at least, as Jonathan, but finally all his bad manners and badmouthing become monotonous, and you can't help but notice that the actor hasn't shown us the least reason why Michael would have become his friend or Jenifer his wife.

As Jenifer, Marylin McGinnis is occasionally appropriate, but the same tendency to over-emotionalize that she showed in Isidora some months ago weakens her hold on the character. And Blake Walton, in the pivotal role of Michael, seldom shows the complexity that might make this character seem more than his dialogue. There's nothing wrong with Michael Staczar's direction, though; the actors move about Richard Sharkey's beautifully detailed living room set as if they lived there year-round. And Roland Guidry's costumes, like Rosie Geier's lights, are subtly enhancing.

Families, love and sex, friendships and rivalries — they're the stuff of great drama and of soap opera both. What distinguishes the one from the other, then, isn't subject matter but the writer's ability to utilize it in the service of a deeper truth. Hedda Gabler isn't about a bad marriage; it's about the desperation of living with an artificially limited horizon. The Glass Menagerie isn't about family dynamics; it's about the way people turn to fantasy when they can't manage an intolerable reality. It's not Snakebit's perfectly usable content that makes it ultimately a disappointment; it's that the content has not been put to use.

To say it a different way: it's all right to start with Jon, Jen, Michael and Gary. But if that's where we end. …

Well, then the play is missing something.

'Blaguards' Staying Around Longer Due to the popularity and critical praise (WP gave it four and a half planets) of American Stage's A Couple of Blaguards, the theater has decided to extend the play's run. New show dates, times and ticket prices are Wednesday, June 6, 7:30 p.m., $24; Thursday, June 7, 7:30 p.m., $24; Friday, June 8, 8 p.m., $28; Saturday, June 9, 3 p.m., $20; Saturday, June 9, 8 p.m., $28; and Sunday, June 10, 3 p.m., $20. Call American Stage at 727-823-PLAY.

This article appears in May 31 – Jun 6, 2001.