F**king Men

Arthur Schnitzler could hardly have imagined that La Ronde, his privately published 1900 play exploring sexual morality, would still captivate audiences over a century later. Officially published in 1903, banned by censors, republished in 1908, and finally staged in 1920, the work has inspired countless adaptations—including nearly 20 films, an opera, and numerous theatrical reinterpretations, especially after it entered the public domain in the 1980s.

Joe DiPietro’s Fucking Men reimagines Schnitzler’s heterosexual roundelay of encounters through an entirely male, homosexual lens. The structure remains familiar: a series of interlinked scenes, each preceding or following a sexual tryst, with roles updated for contemporary times. A soldier picks up a rent boy outside his barracks; the rent boy then sleeps with a middle-aged man cheating on his partner; that partner, in turn, seeks pleasure elsewhere—and so the cycle continues, eventually looping back to where it began.

It’s a testament to Schnitzler’s sharp observation that his commentary on sexual hypocrisy still resonates today, despite greater social and sexual freedom. Yet DiPietro’s all-male adaptation feels less convincing. While the scenarios themselves are plausible, the emotional depth often rings false—characters launch into sudden, therapy-session-like revelations that clash with the otherwise casual nature of their hookups. Worse, the play’s moral undertones frame no-strings sex as inherently unfulfilling or tawdry, a reductive perspective that undermines its potential nuance.

That said, the production itself is strong. A versatile ensemble of four actors brings each character to life with energy and wit, and Steven Kunis’ direction keeps the pacing tight, delivering the entire cycle in a brisk 90 minutes. The dialogue, though occasionally strained, is laced with humour, and the scenarios—even when emotionally uneven—remain intriguing.

Fucking Men may not fully capture the complexity of modern queer intimacy, but as a theatrical experiment, it’s a lively, if flawed, homage to Schnitzler’s enduring vision.

Sonny Waheed