Phone Whore

Artpoint Gallery

August 1, 2010

Cameryn Moore isn’t the scantily clad young woman you see on your TV late at night, beckoning you to call the long phone number underneath. There are no soft-lit candles in her room, and no, she is definitely nowhere near the bed. But she is here to tell you her stories.

Her stories are laid back, to the point, not looking to shock but simply to inform. She speaks casually, lighting a cigarette, pouring a drink, even taking a pee break. It’s an eye-opening glimpse into what truly is just a business that offers a service. The call durations, the client cards with transaction history and preferences, and the clinical precision of the calls themselves.

And the calls get more graphic, more taboo, and eventually just jaw-droppingly wrong. Soon, your thoughts go from wondering what else she’ll say, to praying she doesn’t go where you think she goes. But most importantly, she doesn’t judge, and neither should you. It’s human nature. And no, none of the play can be quoted here.

Phone Whore is essentially a one-woman monologue, a running confessional, a series of anecdotes that add up to a powerful whole. In the end, it’s the details that stick. The fine line between an innocent fantasy and the repressed and morally wrong is what sneaks up on you. What’s most squirm inducing is how far people go, as the play begins with wholehearted laughter but closes to stunned silence.