I’m overdue to see a good play.

I say this having seen the new show at the National Theatre in London two weeks ago. Beautifully staged and acted and lit… and pointless. It was the sort of play that, with no conflict and no real story, just the trappings of story, lives or dies on each little moment. The funny moments got laughs, at least in Act One. But by Act Two, everyone was tired of it, and I was calculating in my head how much the Uber back to my pub guesthouse would cost. (I came damn close.) The highlight of the evening? Sharing complaints with the woman to my right about how disappointing the play was, she especially, having taken the train in from Essex to see it.

I also say this having seen the two-act one-person show written by and starring a somewhat-acclaimed, or at least noted, or perhaps notorious, playwright whose previous work was far more fun. I genuinely don’t like tearing down others’ work — honest — but in my weekly playwriting workshop we discuss the plays we’ve seen recently, and to my good fortune two others in the group had also seen it and had a lot to say, none of it positive. Except: In fairness, I was impressed with the set change. Seriously.

I say this too having seen earlier in the month a revival of a play by a noted playwright, a writer of at least two plays I revere, that was so poor it called into question everything else this writer had written. Was it just this production, or was his work always his ham-fisted? (I think the former.)

Years ago, my then-wife stopped going to the theatre with me. “It’s always bad,” she said, “and you always say it’s bad.” Not true. And, the final two shows I dragged her to before our split were both terrific and we both had a great time.

No, I don’t think the theatre is always bad.

But I do think it’s frequently bad. After all, it’s hard to do, getting a good play, casting it well, providing the right circumstances for it (the space, the designers and design, having not just a good director but the right director, and so much more) and then… having the right audience for it. And having the elements support it (no rain/snow/terrorist attack).

Early on in dating the woman I’m going to marry in August, a friend suggested that he and his wife double-date with me and my then-girlfriend by seeing a play in Santa Monica starring two ex-TV stars in a play by a well-known playwright. My friend had seen this play before and assured me it’d be great.

It wasn’t.

The two ex-TV stars (the lead from “Northern Exposure” with one of the “Desperate Housewives”) were terrific. If you look down on TV actors, you should know that most of them are incredibly talented, whether or not the material that they’re now known for is any good. Both of these two had a background in theatre, knew what they were doing, and showed it on stage.

But:  The play was dull. It was badly directed. (Leaving me, for one, unsure whether it was supposed to be funny or not. Three young women in the audience clearly had decided it was a comedy and kept goosing it along – tittering here and there and trying to provoke others to laugh, to no avail.) It was slow. And it was badly costumed. When you’re doing a show about a man repeatedly referred to as a clotheshorse, perhaps you should get him a well-cut suit or ask him to provide his own, and for sure don’t outfit him with heavy shoes that he must clop around in, scattering thunderous echoes throughout the space.

The worst part, by far:  Shortly after this expensive little disaster, K. and I got into my car to drive back to her place. She turned to me and said, “You like theatre… why???”

If you have to explain why you like one of the foremost animating passions of your life to your new love, if it’s in no way apparent to her, it’s disappointing to say the least.

But here’s what I told her:

It’s hard to do. SO, when it’s done well, it’s a miracle — and you were there for it. You were there for the miracle. And it feels truly miraculous. You and that audience you shared it with, you all have that frisson, that electrical current through your body, that makes you feel alive. Comedy, drama, it doesn’t matter, you just feel charged when it reaches down your throat and pulls all the related emotions right up and out of you.

And:  A few months ago, I bought tickets to see a show downtown, and I didn’t even tell her. I just told her we were going downtown. We settled in for the show, and as it took off, as it gripped all of us, she started borrowing my glasses so she could see better. At times I heard her suck in her breath or gasp in shock at what was happening. During intermission, she said, “Come on, hurry! I want to go get my glasses out of the car!” We ran down the many levels to where my car was parked and made it back just in time with her eyeglasses clenched in her hand, and Act Two was even more shocking, even better. And then she said:

“How did they do that?!?!?”

And then:

“Is this why you love the theatre?”

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 29th, 2026 at 7:14 pm and is filed under Theatre, Thoughts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.