Last week Dr. A and I went to Cal Shakes to see a play that was too smart for us: Happy Days by Samuel Beckett. Acting, direction, environment were excellent. Play itself, not so good. The theater is outdoors, and we picnicked there beforehand.
The play is essentially a well-delivered 90-minute monologue given by a woman buried up to her waist (and then her neck) in a 20-foot high pile of dirt.
I guess I'm just not smart enough, Beckett -- is that what you want me to say!? Stupid Nobel laureates. Phttffffttt!!!
5 comments:
Hey, a date's a date. Bad play or not, that still counts.
play seems a lot like a personal blog
Anonymous sure hit the nail on the head.
Though the play was dreadful it was enjoyable because 1. the theather was awesome, with the backdrop being a beautiful sunset 2. my inner commentary on the play was hilarious and 3. it was a date.
If it didn't have Fonzi and Big Al in it, then what's the point?
It's like people only do things because they are smart...and that's just really sad.
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