Tim Miller states in the first five minutes that a "glory box" isn't what you're thinking. It's not just the object which sets up the riveting story Miller relays to us, but the show itself, more a cause for the celebration of gay voices in the theater since maybe Tony Kushner's Angels In America. A devastating monologue which intercuts Miller's gay awakenings as a youngster with his more current, urgent tale of trying to get his Australian lover Alistair safely into America as a citizen so they may continue their life together. This tale is presented with more open-hearted fervor than I've seen on a stage lately, and Miller is one of the rare actors who never seems to be performing despite his theatricality. You hang on his every word, stunned that he can find essential human truth in virtually anything he says. Despite his passionate politics, you never see a rant taking place, though in this case you just may want to. Instead, it's a sensitive and multi-leveled piece. Most importantly, it's perfectly appropriate for any audience. The ads for the show present Miller in "full monty" mode, which does happen early on. But unlike the reprehensible Naked Boys Singing, which uses its nudity as a cheap ploy to fill seats with horny old men who like schlongs waved in their face, Miller has another motive: to convey childhood discovery. He examines his mother's hope chest and becomes fascinated by it, which spirals into deeper discovery. Miller's lover Alistair explains that in Australia, the hope chest is known as a "glory box," which triggers Miller's desire to have one of his very own, but in a more mystical sense, one that would eliminate the horrors of everyday injustices. One has to see Miller in action to fully appreciate his unique talent. He has a brilliant command of language, making Glory Box one of the more poetic offerings of the season. To Miller's credit, he is one of the few performers who can make leap-of-faith observations without turning them into Oprah fodder. His analogies can be beautifully vivid, like one that recounts his awkward post-coital conversation with Alistair, where they discuss his upcoming customs debacle, not yet knowing what lies ahead. It results in a lovely realization of their requited love, as both begin kissing and holding each other while crushing the maps of the world they had previously looked at underneath them. Miller finds a way of making this exchange sexy and thought-provoking, not to mention ethereal. There is a gorgeous sense of romanticism in this new work, and Miller gives you the impression that you're crawling into his thoughts and living them as he does. Also refreshing is Glory Box's take on monogamy and sexuality; it's so reassuring to see a work that doesn't resort to smut or dick jokes in its attempt to make you respond in some way. This is not a comedy, though it is often funny, and Miller lets you feel the sting of his life experiences. You realize with a shiver that they could very well be your own, no matter how you choose to define yourself. Love happens every day, but that love can be taken away, which is the heart of this wrenching tale. As the fate of Tim and Alistair is determined, the show develops an unreal urgency, almost like you already know them. It is this unexpected suspense that separates Glory Box from shows of its type. An unapologetically gay show, Miller never tries to wink at his audience, instead relating his story into a cautionary tale but one for all Americans, the ultimate irony considering Miller's obvious distaste for this country's double standards and gonzo politics. Still, Glory Box is not a work of rage or anti-American sentiment but one of the lasting effects of love and how it can truly transform the soul, even in the midst of chaos. I'll take that over boys in their underwear any day of the week.
