The Enticing Themes of Desire

At the heart of The Blue Room lies the unmistakable theme of sexuality, revealing itself in a myriad of forms. The narrative entwines encounters between a prostitute and her client, a student and his mature, wedded lover, a politician with his spouse, an artist with his muse, and an actress with a scribe, among others. Yet, the real spark ignites not during the act itself, which remains unseen, but in the thrilling anticipation preceding it. Each character yearns for satisfaction, perhaps even meaningful connections. However, their ceaseless carousel of partners dashes any hope of finding profound human connections.

Illusions of Innocence and Yearnings

In their most earnest moments, characters in The Blue Room appear naive and sincere. The Girl, a fledgling in the world of prostitution, confides in The Cab Driver, "The kiss is the best bit," preferring affection over the sexual transaction. Initially, she doesn't even request payment for her favors. Fred, The Cab Driver, despite his initial brusqueness towards The Girl, later shows genuine affection at a dance with the Au Pair. Although he struggles with articulating his emotions meaningfully, he still attempts to show tenderness, lingering briefly after their intimacy.

The Unrelenting Cycle

In this play's universe, even the most insolent or indomitable characters are destined to encounter an equal counterpart in the next vignette, underscoring how our sexual attitudes render us both conquerors and jesters. The play proposes that sex is a carousel we have crafted ourselves, a validation of humanity's innate proclivity for indulgence, whether we embrace it or not. This realization torments the Aristocrat, who cries, "How do we change? How do we change who we are?" upon awakening in a tawdry room above a sex shop after a night of inebriated debauchery. As dawn breaks and he parts from The Girl, the implication lingers that come nightfall, the dance will resume once more.

In the tangled web of amorous adventures and shattered romances, the play introduces a fascinating concept—masks that cloak and transform our deepest selves. For instance, with the Au Pair, The Student exudes confidence and authority, reveling in his role as the lord of the manor, with her as his subordinate. Yet, when he finds himself in the intimate confines of his room with the more seasoned Married Woman, his demeanor crumbles into one of uncertainty, impotence, and youthful romantic naïveté. Is this vulnerable side his true self? Similarly, The Married Woman, though anxious about being caught, commands the situation with her young lover with the same confidence he had with the Au Pair. Yet, the power dynamics shift when she is at home, subjugated by her affections for her domineering husband, The Politician, who seems to no longer ignite her passion.

The fluidity of these masks echoes the ephemeral nature of their sexual liaisons, as faces and roles morph with each new encounter. The Cab Driver, for example, transitions from being a brash, faceless patron on a riverside tryst to a tender, albeit clumsy, suitor at a formal dance. Meanwhile, The Playwright struts with self-importance and patronizes The Model, yet becomes awkward and subdued, falling under The Actress's influence. This paradox is encapsulated by The Aristocrat, who muses the play's most revealing line: "Do you think any of us is ever just one person?" he inquires of The Actress post-tryst in her dressing room. "Don’t you think we all change, all the time? With one person we’re one person, and with another we’re another." True to this theme, the refined gentleman later finds himself disheveled in a prostitute's chamber, his memory lost to the night's indulgences. In this narrative, just as in life, no one remains who they appear to be for long.