52 Man Pickup

The idea of someone sharing stories in anatomical detail about every person they have had sex with is the post-watershed equivalent of recounting last night’s kerazy dream. Yet, in 52 Man Pickup, somehow Desiree Burch manages to find poetry amidst the porn.

Dressed like a well-fed saloon Madame, with a corset that threatens to overflow at any time, Burch is a brassy and unapologetic New Yorker. She has slept with 52 people in her life – one for each card in the deck she carries with her.

Over 90 minutes she uses variations of card games such as Go Fish and Mexican Sweat to draw different cards from the pile and tell the story behind each one. Some tales are told with lyricism, others humour, but most just revel in the scuzzy detail. Yet despite the impression that Burch has barely liked, let alone loved, any of the people she has slept with, this is no confessional.

“I am a genius,” she bellows. “I am a masterpiece.” Her overarching point is that if a man had a show boasting about his 52 sexual conquests, he would be a hero. So why not a woman?

This is feminism at its most retrograde. A man who boasts of his 52 sexual partners is still deeply unappealing. So, once more, why not a woman?

Where Burch is more successful is in shaking off Victorian sensibilities to sex. There is a level of audience interaction that could make or break the show. But Burch has charisma and honesty to burn. It is hard not to be seduced.