The Upstairs Theatre Company's 'Jeffrey' Is A Warm-Hearted Look At The Human Predicament. By Margaret Regan JEFFREY IS A guy who loves sex, just loves it. He thinks sex is "one of those really good ideas," so good, in fact, that it almost makes him believe in a benevolent God. But only almost, because Jeffrey has a problem. He's a gay man in the age of AIDS, and sex has become his surest route to an early death. Not only does the modern plague make him question God's goodness, worse, it makes him swear off sex. He sets out to find a nice substitute for the old ecstasy, something he imagines as "sex-lite! sex-helper! I-can't-believe-it's-not-sex!" This engaging fellow is the gay Everyman in a play simply called Jeffrey. The latest offering by the young Upstairs Theatre Company, Paul Rudnick's 1993 play is an hilarious sendup of contemporary gay life in Manhattan. Bristling with about 40 characters, played by eight actors, it lurches from stud gyms ("get it up, get it up, ooh, yes, great set") and gay-pride parades to the inevitable AIDS clinics and memorial services. Along with its delicious insider's humor (a New York Times reviewer likened Rudnick to an Oscar Wilde for our times), the play delivers a heartfelt commentary on the best way to live life, even when death is cruelly snatching up the young. Early on, it's clear that Jeffrey's renunciation, of both sex and love, is not the way to go. As played by Albert Teran, Jeffrey is befuddled but likeable. Teran had a bit of trouble on opening night with the demanding part, which requires him to be in nearly every scene of the two-acter. At first he spoke too quietly and too quickly. But he gradually warmed up, turning out a believable Jeffrey almost anyone could identify with. After all, this guy's basic ambition, like anybody's, is to stay alive and be happy. Jeffrey launches his quest for non-sexual fulfillment after a funny opening scene in which six men and a woman one by one quickly pop in and out of his bed. His problem is that he can't think of what to use for sublimation. The gym is too arousing, the masturbation club too kinky. His acting career is not destined for greatness: its highlight was two lines as the Gay Neighbor on a cop show ("Karen, I have the same problem with Gary.") His parents haven't a clue about his life, and God's not much help either--a Broadway-besotted priest gooses him when he seeks solace at St. Patrick's. Jeffrey's best friends, a committed couple named Sterling (Michael J. Shoel) and Darius (Dean Mauel), think he just needs a boyfriend. Like any well-meaning married couple, they work to set him up with someone. Trouble is, the dreamboat they come up with, Steven (Stephen Estrada), is HIV-positive. Jeffrey flees in terror. Hip and naughty as this play is, it's fashioned on a very old model. Jeffrey is really your basic quest story, with a hero on an earnest search for truth. Like a medieval knight, Jeffrey travels though his world making inquiries and weighing the answers. It just so happens that his world is gay Manhattan and what he's asking is whether he ought to take the risk of loving an infected man. What makes the play so fun is that the characters he runs into skewer every gay stereotype, and the surreal situations he finds himself in lampoon everything on the pop-culture landscape from TV game shows to the self-help movement. Director Cori Brackett does a good job guiding her players through these tricky thickets. The actors, mostly locals who have worked elsewhere in Tucson's small theatres, by and large are up to the challenge. Especially notable are Matt Orosco, a hoot as the host of the It's Just Sex game show, and Dean Mauel, who makes the dim-witted but loving Darius a moving character. Sometimes Rudnick's humor falls flat. A scene about a fundamentalist self-help guru is bizarre and almost incomprehensible. This charlatan is a woman, played by Tiffany Staten, who handles all eight of the female parts. The other women include Mother Teresa, an airhead TV game-show gal and a vain New York mother, stereotypes all, some of them bothersome. But this is a playwright who hasn't worried much about whether he's offending his audience. He's tough on gay culture too. And beneath the brittle shell of his wit lies a warm-hearted play unafraid to declare that without love there can be no real life. Jeffrey continues through November 24 at the Tucson Center for the Performing Arts, 408 S. Sixth Ave. Showtimes are 8 p.m. Thursday, Friday and Saturday, 2 p.m. Sunday. A discussion with the director and cast follows Thursday's performance. Tickets are $9 general, $5 for students. For information or for reservations call 791-2263.

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