Talk Show
I saw a show last night. “The Conversation” at the 29th St. Rep. This is off-off Broadway at its offest. A climb up a noisy flight of stairs to a low ceiling uncomfortable cracker box theater located in the fur district. The 29th St. Rep has a proud tradition of producing aggressive, sometimes violent, plays. A few years ago I saw a show there that was a series of vignettes that were based on a book of short stories by Charles Bukowski. That show was quite enjoyable but this one was a fish and could use a trim.
It’s a stage adaptation of the 1974 Francis Ford Coppola movie starring Gene Hackman about a professional wiretapper. It’s a great premise with some great Hitchcockian twists at the end but, Lord, it was long. It wasn’t the actors fault. They were all fine. One girl took off her clothes and that’s always a big treat for me. [I’m always shocked to see nudity in a play. It wakes your ass up, that’s for sure! Last year I saw the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of King Lear and in it, Sir Ian McKellen showed everybody his package. I almost wretched.] Towards the end of the first act, someone in the audience fell asleep and started to snore. That’s never a good sign. The same thing happened to me about a month ago when I saw a show at The Public. It’s so embarrassing! It was pretty dull stuff, but it still beat the hell out of a night in front of the TV.
Beforehand I ate at the Molly Wee on 30th St. and 8th Ave. It is operated and patronized by Irish ex-pats. What a beautiful accent! I had a big bowl of Irish lamb stew that was so delicious I had a dream about it last night. I had a big tumbler of Dewar’s as well and CB told me enviable stories about his trip to Tokyo.
It’s a different crowd on NJ Transit at that hour of the night. Instead of the slow-shuffling-dead-end-job-shoot-me-now-commuting zombies, the train is overrun with drunken animals carrying bags of fast food that stink up my car.
Speaking of…A friend of mine insisted that I try the Angus burger at McDonald’s so I had one for lunch at that filthy McD's on 42nd and Lex. It was meat-a-licious, despite the fact that the restaurant smelled like mop bucket slop. About an hour later I felt like I ate an entire heard of cattle. At this point, most people would throw in the towel and say, “I’ll never eat one of those again!” but not me. I’m no quitter! Line ‘em up, baby. Urp. My poor colon.
It’s a stage adaptation of the 1974 Francis Ford Coppola movie starring Gene Hackman about a professional wiretapper. It’s a great premise with some great Hitchcockian twists at the end but, Lord, it was long. It wasn’t the actors fault. They were all fine. One girl took off her clothes and that’s always a big treat for me. [I’m always shocked to see nudity in a play. It wakes your ass up, that’s for sure! Last year I saw the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of King Lear and in it, Sir Ian McKellen showed everybody his package. I almost wretched.] Towards the end of the first act, someone in the audience fell asleep and started to snore. That’s never a good sign. The same thing happened to me about a month ago when I saw a show at The Public. It’s so embarrassing! It was pretty dull stuff, but it still beat the hell out of a night in front of the TV.
Beforehand I ate at the Molly Wee on 30th St. and 8th Ave. It is operated and patronized by Irish ex-pats. What a beautiful accent! I had a big bowl of Irish lamb stew that was so delicious I had a dream about it last night. I had a big tumbler of Dewar’s as well and CB told me enviable stories about his trip to Tokyo.
It’s a different crowd on NJ Transit at that hour of the night. Instead of the slow-shuffling-dead-end-job-shoot-me-now-commuting zombies, the train is overrun with drunken animals carrying bags of fast food that stink up my car.
Speaking of…A friend of mine insisted that I try the Angus burger at McDonald’s so I had one for lunch at that filthy McD's on 42nd and Lex. It was meat-a-licious, despite the fact that the restaurant smelled like mop bucket slop. About an hour later I felt like I ate an entire heard of cattle. At this point, most people would throw in the towel and say, “I’ll never eat one of those again!” but not me. I’m no quitter! Line ‘em up, baby. Urp. My poor colon.
posted by The Unbearable Banishment at
9:22 AM
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