Archives for January 20, 2006

Friday again, and I’m back in The Wall Street Journal, this time with reviews of two shows now playing in Washington, D.C., The Subject Was Roses and Damn Yankees:

Frank D. Gilroy has been in show business for a long time–he goes all the way back to the golden age of live TV drama and, more recently, was a pioneer of independent filmmaking–but it’s a safe bet that when the roll is called up yonder, he’ll be remembered for his play “The Subject Was Roses,” which has just been revived at the Kennedy Center. The sleeper hit of the 1963-64 season, it ran for two years on Broadway and bagged the Triple Crown of theatrical prizes: the best-play Tony, the New York Drama Critics’ Circle Award and the Pulitzer Prize….

Revisiting the hit shows of yesteryear is often illuminating, not least because they sometimes prove on further acquaintance to have been more than merely commercial in their appeal. Such is the case with “The Subject Was Roses.” No, it isn’t a deathless masterpiece, but it’s a solid little job of dramatic work, a period piece that has outlived its period, and if the Kennedy Center revival leaves much to be desired, it’s still good enough to be worth seeing….

“Damn Yankees,” now playing at Washington’s Arena Stage, is one of those second-tier musicals of the ’50s that’s stageworthy enough to be revived with some frequency but whose score is too bland to be truly memorable. Even so, this 1955 tale of a paunchy, middle-aged baseball fan who cuts a deal with the devil to help out his beloved Washington Senators (the team, not the politicians) has its fair share of bright spots, and Molly Smith, the company’s artistic director, has given it an exemplary staging-in-the-round…

No link. To read the whole thing (which I heartily recommend), go to the nearest newsstand and spend a dollar on a copy of the Journal, or go here to subscribe to the Online Journal, which will provide you with instant access to the complete text of my review, together with plenty of other worthy art-related stories.

I’m not really here. I’m on my way back from New Haven, where I saw two plays, visited the Yale Art Gallery and ate pizza (shhh!). Our Girl has kindly posted today’s items for me.

I’ll be flying to Chicago tomorrow afternoon to meet the lady in question, mere hours after my biweekly “Sightings” column is published in the “Pursuits” section of the Saturday Wall Street Journal. Here’s a little taste:

The e-book is back. So are the technophobes who swear it’ll never catch on. They were right last time, and they might be right this time, too. Sooner or later, though, they’ll be wrong–and when they are, your life will change.

The word “e-book” is short for “electronic book.” The concept isn’t new–the complete texts of countless classics have long been available on the Web in digitized form. (Seventeen thousand of them can be downloaded for free at www.gutenberg.org.) The catch is that until now, there hasn’t been a user-friendly way to read e-books. Few people enjoy reading book-length documents on a conventional computer screen, and though hand-held e-book readers went on the market six years ago, they were insufficiently convenient to use and failed to interest the book-buying public.

Now Sony has announced plans to market a paperback-sized e-book reader that makes use of E Ink, a new display technology…

As always, there’s lots more where that came from. See for yourself–buy a copy of tomorrow’s Journal and look me up.

Terry returns to New York tomorrow, but he’s asked me to warn all and sundry that his computer is out of commission and he’s not receiving his email. Speaking of which, I owe some of you email of my own, though I have no such excuse. You’ll hear from me tonight if I can keep the old eyes open, otherwise over the weekend.

We who are

your closest friends

feel the time

has come to tell you

that every Thursday

we have been meeting,

as a group,

to devise ways

to keep you

in perpetual uncertainty

frustration

discontent and

torture

by neither loving you

as much as you want

nor cutting you adrift.

Your analyst is

in on it,

plus your boyfriend

and your ex-husband;

and we have pledged

to disappoint you

as long as you need us.

In announcing our

association

we realize we have

placed in your hands

a possible antidote

against uncertainty

indeed against ourselves.

But since our Thursday nights

have brought us

to a community

of purpose

rare in itself

with you as

the natural center,

we feel hopeful you

will continue to make unreasonable

demands for affection

if not as a consequence

of your disastrous personality

then for the good of the collective.

Philip Lopate, “We Who Are Your Closest Friends” (courtesy of Ms. Pratie Place)