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Apr 26 2018
You're Not My Typecast: A Review Of Duvi Stahler's Meditation On Gay Dating Comments (0)

Screen Shot 2018-04-26 at 7.36.20 PMDuvi's Grindr profile pic (Image via

I get invited to a lot of theater, and a lot of it isn't very good.

I try to go anyway because I would want bloggers to come to my not-very-good, best-faith efforts, and because sometimes, the shows surprise me and stay with me.

A friend urged me to check out Duvi Stahler's You're Not My Type: A Comedy About Finding Mr. Right Swipe at The Duplex (61 Christopher St., NYC), so I gave it a shot, dubious as I was that a one-ish-man show (there's a female announcer, Lexie Braverman) about the gay dating scene could offer any new insight or wit. But in the same way people sometimes find love on Tinder, or win a lot of money, even after taxes, on scratch-off tickets, I was pleasantly surprised that Stahler had a few new tricks in his play about tricks, and about the boyfriends we all hope they'll become.


The show opens with a funny projection of some hookup-app conversations, concluding with one so seemingly perfect, and yet ultimately blown off, it perfectly sets the stage for the tough-to-please guy we're about to meet. 

Presented as Stahler's hapless-romantic character speaking to an unseen Screen Shot 2018-04-26 at 7.21.07 PMmatchmaker, the show is a cleverly written exploration of love in the age of sugar daddies and Amazon wish lists, centered on a guy who simply wants to find “a rich, All-American guy with an Australian accent and a private jet” and who isn't willing to settle for perfectly nice guys who do horrendous things like suggest sharing one big bag of popcorn at the movies.

Stahler's not-everyman, a mixture of Stephen Wright on coke and Michael Henry on Ritalin, is quickly established as both loveable and exasperating, and — more often than not — funny. Asked his weight, he allows, “145, last time I checked.” When asked when that was, how could it be anything but high school? That kind of self-sabotaging answer (he's trying to get a boyfriend by paying a matchmaker, then stonewalls?) is balanced with his willingness to tell long, unflattering stories, and a forced photo shoot sans shirt has us firmly along for the ambulance ride. 

I despise audience participation and felt for the stiff member (stop!) of the audience Stahler chose for one such bit the night I went, but even with the patron's terrified reluctance, it was a knee-slapper, and gave Stahler a shot at a bit of improv.

The show, directed by Allen MacLeod, could use more development (many finished shows on Broadway could, too), and Stahler needs to slow down a bit and not swallow any of his excellent one-liners, but check this out when it plays again June 16 at The Duplex. It's an hour-long smile through the there-go-I cringes.