“Mae West and the Trial of Sex” Documents a Forgotten—But Familiar—Chapter in American Censorship

 

On a rainy Thursday evening in Minneapolis, I joined a near-sold out crowd at the cozy Crane Theater for a journey into the exuberant world of 1927 Broadway through the lens of one of its greatest stars: Mae West. It was a glimpse into the birth of the censorship movement, which would limit sexual expression and queer representation in American theater for four decades.

Long before she became a Hollywood icon, West was making waves in New York as a theater provocateur with flair. As Walking Shadow Theater Company’s Mae West and the Trial of Sex opens, West is ringing in the new year of 1927 as the star and writer (under the pseudonym Jane Mast) of the Broadway smash-hit Sex. There are family tensions, pesky plagiarism lawsuits, and the usual shenanigans of theater to reckon with, but things are pretty good. That won’t last.

1927 would see Sex and other “lewd” Broadway productions raided by police. West and her collaborators were put on trial and given 10-day prison sentences for moral corruption. As Trial of Sex details, this chain of events would ultimately increase West’s personal mystique and send her on the road to Hollywood — but its consequences for American theater would be much more dire.

Trial of Sex’s depiction of the swing towards censorship is comprehensive. The play’s talented ensemble cast (only Emily A. Grozdik, as Mae West, sticks to a single role) play a dizzying array of greedy politicians, ambitious journalists, incompetent bureaucrats, fearful thespians, and small-minded laymen — slowly but surely pushing the cultural and political needle towards conservatism. Several extended trial sequences especially highlight the role of judicial bias and legal dysfunction.

Despite the period costuming, audience members could be forgiven for thinking they were watching a present-day documentary, especially after the censorship advocates start talking about how queer visibility will corrupt the children.

One of Trial of Sex’s strongest pulls is how its themes resonate today.

For example, a particularly trenchant area explored in the play is self-censorship. As political sharks close in, Trial of Sex depicts the (unsuccessful) attempts of top Broadway producers to self-censor as a way to stave off binding censorship legislation. It brings to mind the present year, when corporations are rushing to walk back or rename DEI policies.

Of course, such capitulations are fruitless. The play depicts the ultimate passage of the Wales Padlock Law which, ironically, formalized self-censorship. Until the law’s repeal by a U.S. Supreme Court decision in 1967, New York theaters were forced to limit the works they showed or face up to one year of closure. Given New York’s prominence in American theater, the law effectively banned queer representation or sexually frank storytelling on stage for 40 years.

It would have been easy for Trial of Sex to paint its heroine as a wholly commendable figure. The play resists this temptation, even if West’s resistance to self-censorship always positions her firmly on the side of the angels. (In addition to the defiance showcased in the play, West would go on to file the first legal challenge to the Wales Padlock Law in 1930). West is shown in complex glory, including her incorrigible ambition and somewhat complex relationship with the queer community.

This later element is explored most memorably in a sub-plot about The Drag, a play West was preparing to launch in 1927; it was stymied in its journey to Broadway by the events depicted in Trial of Sex. Focusing on Greenwich Village queer culture, and exclusively starring gay performers from Greenwich Village, The Drag is as over-the-top and kitschy as West’s other works — and as slyly progressive. It is a tantalizing what-if of theater history, and a fascinating creative window into West’s allyship.

Trial of Sex complicates the narrative through the relationship between West and The Drag’s lead performer, played by standout ensemble member Neal Beckman. As her friend poignantly notes, West — who pulled artistic ideas from queer and Black performers throughout her career — always had access to more success and was shielded from more consequences compared to less privileged colleagues. By  celebrating West’s allyship, and acknowledging the occasionally extractive relationships she had with marginalized communities, Trial of Sex showcases a rare level of care and complexity.

Trial of Sex is an ambitious production that aims to cover a lot of ground. The play feels light and buoyant thanks to its deft mix of humor and heart, plus strong physical comedy and one-liners. Still, it ran nearly three hours on the night I attended (including a 15-minute intermission), a runtime that can be fatiguing.

However, the meticulous research by playwright John Heimbuch, the crafty and effective staging from director Allison Vincent and the production team, and the commitment and joy exuded from each performer was evident.

Trial of Sex is a labor of love with an important story about American’s past and its connections to our present. As disheartening as it might be to watch familiar patterns play out on-stage, Trial of Sex’s ultimate moral isn’t that we’re doomed to repeat the same mistakes. The message is that no matter how intimidating the opposition, freedom of expression cannot be chained for long.

In an era of theater and film censorship, Mae West rose to the top. In the wake of the Wales Padlock Law’s repeal, American theater saw an explosion of queer storytelling that continues to define the best of Broadway. In our own moment, resistance can ensure that all stories continue to be told, loud and proud.

Mae West and the Trial of Sex: Running May 31 – June 22 at the Crane Theater

Learn more