Forty years later, after shows like "Hair," "Oh, Calcutta!" in the '70s and '80s, and the recent "Naked Boys Singing" and "Puppetry of the Penis," the theater has dropped almost any pretense of sexual modesty.

With Eve Ensler's "The Vagina Monologues," now at the Ridgefield Theater Barn, the stage's handbook on sex is about as complete as it's ever going to be. Or need be.

This provocative show, which has been sneaking in and out of area theaters the past couple of years - using worthy causes as justification for the stagings - is finally, shall we say, "out."

There's no nudity, but the frankness of the dialogue leaves little to the imagination.

"Monologues" is based on interviews with a spectrum of women of all ages, backgrounds and sexual experience. What they had to say about their "down theres," as an older woman described her private parts, has been turned into a rambling evening that is equal parts slumber-party gossip, sexual rebellion, and archly poetic attitudes about the vagina.

There are three women in the cast, dressed in long, formal black dresses, and they move about the platform-filled stage like silken hostesses. Their lines often weave together, but for the most part they ignore each other and deliver their long speeches or stories directly to the audience.

At the heart of Ensler's concept is the idea that the most private part of the female anatomy suffers from a lack of respect, mostly by women themselves. While men have notoriously known the value of what was between their legs, the ladies seem to have had second thoughts about the worthiness of their sexual organs. "Monologues" is out to set that straight.

After the logistical information - did we ask? - that most women can only see the title area by laying down and using a mirror, there's a kind of pep rally in which, after all the many common and slang words for the vagina are enumerated, you can join one of the actresses in shouting out one of the most common but unattractive ones. I demurred.

The show's imagination departs from personal stories to fanciful descriptions of how a vagina might dress itself if it had the choice. If I haven't lost you yet, a demonstration of about a dozen variations on cries emitted during orgasm may be worthy if amusing research but would probably send any virginal male into a pre-relationship panic attack.

It's all meant to be in good fun and a liberating experience-more so for the women in the audience- but the decision to see this show may depend on whether you find listening to intimate sexual details in the company of strangers entertaining. If so, sit back and grin at the funny incidents and maybe flinch at the details.

The finale describes a childbirth and - as miraculous as that event is - describing the physical aftermath of labor as some sort of flowerlike vision is a bit of a reach.

Laurie Brearley, Terry Polvay and Alecia Heidecker are the cast, and they are a convincing sales team. Brearley has a great, almost breathless, comic style, and Heidecker is funny, too, outmoaning Meg Ryan's famous "When Harry Met Sally" moment, as well as depicting a lady dominatrix in charge of a sex class for women. Polvay's material tended to be more subdued.

Ellen Lampros's direction is efficient and subtle.

The show runs for about 90 minutes without intermission so don't look for an opportunity to bolt halfway through if you're feeling squirmy.

For those women to whom this show is a breath of fresh air and not an in-your-face dose of reality - you've come a long way, baby. Relax already.

"The Vagina Monologues" plays Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m. through April 3 at the Ridgefield Theater Barn, 37 Halpin Lane, Ridgefield. Tickets are $15, $12 for seniors and students. Call the box office at (203) 431-9850.

The performance is staged cabaret style and theatergoers are invited to bring food and drink to enjoy before the show. The show contains adult themes and language.