Just say the title, "The Vagina Monologues" and you're already on your way to confronting one of the most misunderstood and vehemently disregarded concepts in human discourse. Simply the thought of a play based on the notorious nether regions of the female body can bring out the latent Victorian in even the most accepting of the liberal mainstream.

Regardless of the initial reaction to this provocative work, the real question at hand is whether or not it accomplishes anything past the shock value of the title, if it rises above the category of guilty pleasure and breaks new ground for the female gender like its looming connotation suggests. After all, such a loaded phrase deserves the charge of duty of legitimizing the female perspective.

On Feb. 26-27, Goucher's own Feminist Majority Leadership, took up the challenge of employing the Monologues for this very purpose.

Posters and flyers were everywhere, inviting students to "Find Your Furby" and even inquiring as to the scent of the female students' namesakes in order to attract a willing and interested audience. They succeeded. I attended Saturday night's showing and was forced to crane my neck above the rows of filled seats, even though I had arrived nearly thirty minutes early.

I have to admit: I didn't know what to think of it then, and, in all honesty, I'm not quite sure what I think of it now. Is it necessary to delve into this taboo topic with such abandon, even at the risk of sounding crude and missing the point? What, exactly, is the point? Will it liberate the topic, or simply push it into outrageousness? Should it matter?

These were the questions that ran through my mind in the days before the performance, but of course I made absolutely sure that I made the time to go see it.

All this in the face of another event that I couldn't help but juxtapose, ironically or not, falling on the same weekend, but for perhaps obvious reasons failing to come to fruition: Goucherdales.

Now, here was a weekend. First, we'll watch the men of Goucher try to strip their way into promiscuity, pay them for it, and then put on a show about female genitalia. I highly anticipated both events and tried to withhold my immediate judgment, hoping they would prove to be highly complementary or striking opposites, in either case certainly saying something about gender on our campus.

Alas, Goucherdales, due to poor levels of interest on the part of willing males, was not to be. Possible objectification of men erased off the checklist. But what would the "Vagina Monologues," still on the agenda, say, now that the floor was open?

The performances, for one, were quite impressive. Each member chose a single monologue, and each with poise and the proper measure of dignity, delivered it convincingly. This was perhaps the most appealing part of the experience.

There was, of course, ample room for humor, and while two of the monologues discussed rape and sexual violation, most had an upbeat side to them without becoming too preachy or unrealistic. The truth of the matter is, Eve Ensler did compile these monologues from real-life women, and it shows. The interesting mechanisms with which each monologue subtly addresses class or ethnic metaphors adds yet another layer to an already complicated idea.

It was not, for the most part, a vulgar display of gradually more provocative imagery or language. To be sure, the subject matter calls for frankness and explicitness, but I was surprised to see that the majority of the monologues were built around leaving much to the imagination. Perhaps this also has to do with FMLA's choices of monologues, which again, is to their credit.

So the question arises again: What did this performance really say about feminism?

It is debatable whether or not an hour's worth of monologues is liberating or effective in removing the stigma of the female sex; this is something we have been working on for years, and which continually evades our culture. It will take a lot more than an edgy theater piece. However, it may be on the right track.

Perhaps this is just art, but to accept it at its face value diminishes what can otherwise be seen as an insistence on our own opening up as a culture, to take away the self-conscious, overwhelming sense of prudence to which we default before we even weigh the real meaning of our discussions about sex. There are so many misrepresentations and indulgences that get us nowhere in this respect. Yet the intelligence and unabashed realism, not the pushing-the-envelope use of language, is where the line can be drawn. If nothing else, "The Vagina Monologues," seeing the division between these two socially inflammatory ways of dealing with women and sex, takes the high road.