Critic Undergoes Sex Change!

I would like to attribute this to the remarkable performance of Sally Bondi, an actress who outclasses everybody in a room every time she gets on a stage (why have I never seen her at Palm Beach Dramaworks? At GableStage? At Mad Cat? What is wrong with people?!), but it's not her. It's the bloodthirsty cabal of feminists under the floor. There's no other way to explain it. The actresses' effusions/confessions about Vietnam, infidelity, abuse, the cost of patriotism, children out of wedlock, and racism actually become affecting in spite of their improbability and silliness.

Truly. And even if it's not the cabal of feminists, the sudden transformation certainly has nothing to do with Baggs' hyper-earnest writing nor with the overlabored performances of all but two of Heroes' actors. All of this was patently, ostentatiously bad. Still, I cried a little. And then, when I left the theater, I felt like I'd been had. You cried, B? Why on Earth?!

Go for yourself. Watch. It's remarkable. Not good — definitely not that — but it feels profound. I don't know if that's all women are after in their theater, but in some essential and totally illogical way, I guess it's enough.