So, I went to my usual subscriber tickets at Theatre 3 last night. It was Don't Dress for Dinner, a French farce from the same guy who wrote Boeing Boeing. Lots of sexual misbehaving, lying about one's sexual misbehavior, and trying to keep straight who is misbehaving with and/or lying to whom. And any play that culminates in a guy quivering on top of a chandelier has got a leg up with me.
But.
You know when you make soup? And you take a tiny sip to see if it's soup yet. And it's good. But taste, taste, taste. What is it missing. Sip. Salt? Cumin? Onion? A ham bone?
Well, this play was missing something. Definitely not a ham bone, cause it teetered quite effectively on that hammy precipice. And the show was as tight and well staged as you can expect. The acting was better than just good. But I kept tasting it, trying to figure out what was missing. It's not like they left the chicken out of the chicken soup. It was something tiny and elusive. Bugged the snot out of me. Not enough to ruin the evening. But to this moment, I'm still not sure what more they could have done. But, I was in the minority, cause the crowd was rollin' in the aisles. So, in the end, probably me, not the show.
But I still feel like any minute I'll sit up and think - "Paprika!"
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment