Don't Make Me Say Things That Will Hurt You

Pete Hilton may or may not be "the last faggot alive," living in his wicker-furnished, fuchsia-toned boudoir in a dismal junkie neighborhood, but he never goes outside or even answers the door, so how would he know? "Here in my enclosure, in my supreme seclusion," he plans dinner parties, does his nails, and plays dolls with his dildos. He also complains to imaginary TV interviewers about his ex-boyfriend, with an imaginary audience applauding his catty remarks and histrionic rants. Don't Make Me Say Things That Will Hurt You is not as bad as the Examiner said it was: Doug Holsclaw's alter ego may be an indulgent, feckless, moist-pink, melodramatic queen, but this is precisely the point. Pete Hilton talks about everything except what hurts him. Holsclaw premiered this one-man show 10 years ago, in the context of AIDS; now it doesn't reverberate with grief or suggest an epidemic raging outside the apartment door. Still, it's a witty idyll of an ego trapped in its own cloying juice.