Historically, the formula used to produce gay-male-centric theater pieces has gone something like this: Take a swishy heaping of obnoxious drag queen and pour it over a steaming pile of drug-addled bar sluts; toss in a hate crime and an AIDS victim, and mix thoroughly with a handful of intolerable monologues about the insensitivity of the world. Next, get some nonprofit outreach program to throw spare change at it (i.e., "sponsor" it), and voilà! You have a perfect pile of crap. With scant exceptions, scripts penned for queer audiences are embarrassing, cliché schlock that resemble nothing more than sad public service announcements. But Full Blown is almost something different.

Now, I say "almost" because Full Blown did not entirely break away from "the gay play formula." Playwright Dan Dembiczak (who also plays "Charles," the shrewd murderer/Hollywood agent) is a keen and clever writer, but couldn't resist a few old standbys: the shallow dingbat, the AIDS victim, the copious consumption of vodka. But even for that, Full Blown is a strong step in the right direction. It seems designed to tell a story, not "send a message"--and the difference is crucial. It's a smart script, bursting with potential and riddled with serious wit and refreshing surprises.

Sadly, this potential isn't fully realized. A fledgling company, Outcast Productions, did miracles with what they had--a shoestring budget, several casting crises, and the Paradise Garage dance floor for a stage--but this show needs work. The characters, although fun, lack the depth that would make them really engaging. It was entertaining to watch the agent, his dying filmmaker boyfriend, and the actor-wannabe houseboy plot, quip, and generally screw each other over, but I never really committed emotionally to the characters or invested in their struggle. Although Full Blown was far more than I expected, it's still several steps shy of what it could be.