The Pass Off-Broadway Reviews

Audiences looking for a bit of eye candy won’t be disappointed by this sincere yet somewhat dated look at the travails of closeted athletes in the early part of this century. The Pass is an unsentimental look at what one must give up in order to ob...

Audiences looking for a bit of eye candy won’t be disappointed by this sincere yet somewhat dated look at the travails of closeted athletes in the early part of this century. The Pass is an unsentimental look at what one must give up in order to obtain fame and fortune in professional sports—a bet plenty are still willing to take. It’s not nearly as heartwarming as Heated Rivalry, but it’s a lot more honest.

Under Max Hunter’s sluggish and scattered direction, the actors struggle to maintain our interest over a two-hour, intermissionless running time. The Pass has momentary bursts of action and energy, but ultimately drags on like one of those scoreles...

Under Max Hunter’s sluggish and scattered direction, the actors struggle to maintain our interest over a two-hour, intermissionless running time. The Pass has momentary bursts of action and energy, but ultimately drags on like one of those scoreless matches in a Tier 21 league.

The revival of this 12-year-old English play about a closeted footballer might seem well-timed to take advantage of the heightened interest both in gay athletes (thanks to a certain TV series) and in the world of soccer (coming as it does in the tail...

The revival of this 12-year-old English play about a closeted footballer might seem well-timed to take advantage of the heightened interest both in gay athletes (thanks to a certain TV series) and in the world of soccer (coming as it does in the tailwind of this year’s World Cup.) Jason (Matisse Ratron-Neal) and Ade (Terry Bell) start off as 17-year-old striving strikers on the eve of a career-making or -breaking match. But “The Pass” is something of a tease — sexy, twisty, suspenseful, but also downbeat and misleading. The play takes place over twelve years entirely in hotel rooms, and, although it is full of throwaway allusions to soccer (mentions of Ronaldo or “Becks in the States), it doesn’t ultimately have much compelling to say about the sport. It also doesn’t offer insights about closeted gay life, or about celebrity, that we haven’t seen better expressed elsewhere.