In the Next Room, or the vibrator play, Cleveland Play House

The idea of men trying to ignore and, failing that, to control women’s sexual urges is not only a quaint historical artifact—it’s a current trend. What with Rush Limbaugh and other right wing nuts bloviating about contraception-using women as prostitutes, the war on women and their sexuality is now fully engaged.

Back at the end of the 19^th century, when In the Next Room, the vibrator play is set, the issue was agreed upon by both genders: women didn’t have sexual urges or needs, they had “hysteria.”  This roiling disturbance in the female nether regions came to be treated with a newly electrified, vibrating instrument that brought calmness, satisfaction and a whole new view of what women really wanted.

This elegant production at the Cleveland Play House fairly glitters, thanks to the splendid work of scenic designer Michael B. Raiford. And it is a frequently laugh-out-loud experience, crafted by playwright Sarah Ruhl’s clever and quite restrained script. It’s only in the second act, and then at the very conclusion, when “the vibrator play” loses its tingle and eventually shorts out.

Dr. Givings is an up-to-date physician who has discovered the above-cited treatment for hysterical women. And his ministrations prove to be the solution for a galaxy of female ailments ranging from excessive nervousness to sensitive eyesight.

Indeed, when the afflicted Mrs. Daldry first enters Givings’ “surgical” suite, the room next to his family’s parlor, the poor woman can barely hobble in on her husband’s arm. But once the good doc manages to convince Mrs. D to lift her petticoats and allow him to massage her much-neglected pudenda, she can suddenly smile, walk a straight line, and even play the piano as she did long before.

Meanwhile, Givings’ wife Catherine is dealing with her own female problem, as it seems she can’t produce sufficient milk to nurse her newborn child. As a result, she is seeking a young woman who has recently given birth to a baby who is now dead (a more common occurrence back then), so the Givings can secure her services as a wet nurse.

After some discussion, the Daldry’s African-American housekeeper Elizabeth is secured for the position, since she had recently lost her baby.

Ruhl fashions an effective tension between the sexual release going on in one room (although none of the participants see it as such) and the maternal conflict going on in the other. In this way, the first part of the play’s title takes on a deft double meaning.

In a first act marked by much crotch-centered hilarity, director Laura Kepley and her excellent cast keep the pace lively. Of course, it’s comfortable for us to laugh at the profound lack of information that leads these characters to view natural female needs as a medical issue. The jokes may be easy, but that doesn’t make them any less amusing.

And at the beginning of the second act, Ruhl doubles down by introducing a young gentleman, Leo Irving, who is suffering from female-like distress. Dr. Givings then unveils his solution for males—the deliciously-named Chattanooga vibrator, that is a pole-mounted electrified dildo. Applied to his posterior, Irving is at first jolted and eventually abraded into a state of relative bliss.

As Dr. Givings, Jeremiah Wiggins hits just the right note of professional distance and masculine cluelessness. (To relax Mrs. Daldry during the procedure, he regales her with an anecdote about Ben Franklin.) Birgit Huppuch, as Mrs. Daldry, nicely negotiates her character’s progress from twitchy and distracted to confident and self-contained.

Turning the smaller role of Leo into a small gem, Zach Hoogendyk is entertaining without being buffoonish. And Gail Rastorfer, as the doctor’s nurse/assistant Annie, is both cool and a tad sensual when called upon to manipulate Mrs. Daldry manually after a fuse is blown.

In the central role of Catherine, Nisi Sturgis is often adorably tormented by both her own supposed physical shortcomings and the mystery of what is happening in the next room, from whence all the moaning emanates. It is only in the second act when Sturgis begins forcing her reactions, relying on some exaggerated Lucille Ball-style facial expressions.

But the second act has more problems than that. It runs 50% longer than the hour-long first act and features some of Ruhl’s worst writing decisions. For instance, she burdens the play with a long, overly didactic speech by Elizabeth that Rachel Leslie can’t quite bring to life.

And then, playwriting overreach meets staging excess in a concluding scene that is so wrong on so many levels. Suffice to say that one of the Givings gets totally naked and they decide to bump uglies outside in the snow until they are, evidently, beamed up to the mother ship.

However, before that bizarre ending, In the Next Room will get your juices flowing in all the right directions.

In the Next Room, or the vibrator play

Through May 13 at the Cleveland Play House, Second Stage, 1407 Euclid Avenue, 216-241-6000