Sure, “Dixie’s Tupperware Party” keeps its audience amused. The show also educates, teaching us a bit about the history of Tupperware and the woman, Brownie Wise, who invented the Tupperware party.
But mostly, at least if you’re interested in comedy as an art form, this solo show is mighty impressive, in production at Kirk Douglas Theatre through Dec. 30.
Tupperware, developed in the 1940s, is plastic containers of various shapes and colors that uses a “burp seal” to keep foods fresh. In the 1950s, Wise turned the industry into a combined social event and means of self-employment for women across the nation, via parties through which only the guests could purchase the items.
Dixie Longate was introduced to Tupperware by her parole officer. Dixie takes questions during the show. Tempting as it might be to ask what crime she had committed, Dixie is probably taller than anyone in the audience, and her tone can instantly chill, and her gaze can swiftly wither, the inquisitive guest.
Dixie’s height is enhanced by red gingham platform heels to match her red-striped and red-checked party dress. And, despite the old saw that redheads shouldn’t wear red, Dixie’s bouffant hairdo of big bouncy curls tops the look, held in place with a red and white-polka-dotted headband.
Dixie hails from Mobile, Ala., so of course she pronounces “air” as “urr” and “orange” as “urnge.” She has envy-inducing legs, not only toned but also apparently recently simonized.
However, some of us might instead be examining the artistry onstage. What makes us laugh, and why are those things that make us laugh as old as humankind?
First and foremost, there’s something comical about a man playing a woman (not to even hint that Dixie is in reality her writer, Kris Andersson). But this grows less comical as one begins to appreciate the craft with which the woman, and this gal in particular, is created (also credit director Patrick Richwood).
We laugh at truth, at things we thought only we did but that we’re suddenly finding out are other people’s secrets, too. (Do you keep ketchup packets and camera film in the refrigerator compartment meant for butter?)
The evening’s sexual innuendos involve both end-os. And rather than being merely sprinkled throughout, they’re laid on with the lid of a cupcake carrier (Dixie calculates room for 12 cupcakes or 34 Jell-o shots). Just say Dixie’s first and last name, slowly, to yourself, and you’ll see where the show is headed.
So, remember the Tupperware? Dixie instructs us in its methodology and its uses, sometimes teaching as warmly as a kindergarten aide, sometimes as icily as a disdainful college prof. Everything is for sale, and catalogs are perched on the theater seats when we enter so we can fill out our orders before the night’s inebriation takes over.
Bowls (“bo-wulls”), corkscrews (“so easy even a child can use it”) and measuring cups (“with metric measurements so you can make foreign foods”) are given catalog numbers for our shopping ease.
The show includes audience participation, though the participants, at least on the night reviewed, seemed quite willing to be called on. One poor sap got inveigled into demonstrating the ease of the Tupperware can opener. Dixie’s hilariously mumbled instructions didn’t help him, nor did her looks of scorn. But wowza, that can opener does a great job without creating sharp edges.
It’s not quite a Christmas show, though Dixie pays cursory homage to it, as well as Hanukah, Kwanza and Ramadan, none of which she cares to pronounce remotely accurately. But the feeling promoted by Dixie, and her colleague Kris, is one of communal humor and an appreciation for what makes us human. And that’s a worthy gift this holiday season.
Dany Margolies is a Los Angeles-based writer.
‘Dixie’s Tupperware Party’
Rating: ****
When: 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Fridays, 2 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, 1 and 6:30 p.m. Sundays, through Dec. 30 (see website for holiday schedules)
Where: Kirk Douglas Theatre, 9820 Washington Blvd., Culver City (free three-hour covered parking at City Hall, with validation available in the Kirk Douglas Theatre lobby)
Tickets: $35-$75
Length: 1 hr. and 50 mins., no intermission.
Suitability: Recommended for ages 16 and up, based on inescapable sexual references.
Information: 213-628-2772, www.CenterTheatreGroup.org
