Here in my little world we go to the theatre. We drink. We smoke. We eat. We take cabs and subways. We go to museums. The list is endless. In my world I review everything that happens to me on the day that I go to the theatre. Nothing is sacrosanct and everything is subject to my contempt or acclamation. Give me the hook or the ovation but remember it's my world and you're just living in it! Welcome to my world...

On Sunday we charged our tickets using the Playbill on-line discount. Let me tell you, the people at TeleCharge are complete morons. Using Stephanie's credit card to charge our tickets, I was asked for her middle initial, so I told the man "S." He responded, "As in Michael?" Genius, right? It gets worse, he told us he had two seats, ninth row center on the first mezzanine. He also told us they were good seats. NEWSFLASH! There are only eleven rows in the only mezzanine, and guess where we were? Aisle seats against the back wall, the furthest seats from the stage. Needless to say, someone is getting a phone call today.

Out in the driving rain we were lucky to catch a cab as quickly as we did. Arriving at the theatre, I kindly instructed our be-turbaned driver to pull over to the left and drop us off in front of the Royale Theatre. Well, as much as I insisted that he let us off on the left side of the street, he pulled over on the right. Then he began to laugh saying that he was confused as to which left I was referring. What we have here is a failure to communicate. I should have gotten his medallion number.

Ignoring the omens we tramped into the theatre, only to be accosted by Heidi Ettinger's golden "jiffy-pop" curtain that covered and draped the stage. I have an aversion to gold lame... scares me. The curtain rises to reveal a verdant courtyard of shrubbery and topiaries, with Miss Buckley, resplendent in Catherine Zuber's electric cobalt gown. The heavy color-saturation reminded me of something from Peter Greenaway's "The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover." It was stunning for the first twenty minutes, then grew to tiresome, and later loathsome. By the end of the production I felt I was suffocating in a stagnant green cloud of banality and tautology. And that was just the set!

James Magruder's book, based on the play by Marivaux, is drenched in horticultural/sexual double-entendres that smother the production like a rancid can of creamed corn. Susan Egan plays Princess Leonide who sets out to gain the love of Agis (Christopher Seiber), by disguising herself as a boy. Along the way she deceptively gains the love, of the philosopher Hermocrates (F. Murray Abraham) and his sister, Hesione, portrayed brilliantly by Betty Buckley. She loves him, he thinks she's someone else, he loves her, but she loves him, who's not a "him" at all, the henchmen love her friend, and she loves them, then they find out that they've all been duped, but he can't have her because she loves him, and she can't love "him" because she's not a lesbian. STOP IT! STOP IT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP IT!

Dissection anyone? Susan Egan, in the principle role, is sprightly chirpy and sweet. Her salubrious performance is as wholesome as Wonder Bread, without the wonder. Nancy Opel is vivacious and agile as Leonide's sidekick, Corine. Though she does her best to keep us awake, her best just isn't good enough. It must be difficult to wade through all the insipid puns and struggle to make them amusing... a very daunting task indeed. Perhaps, she's not to blame.

Kevin Chamberlin and Roger Bart play the gardener and harlequin, respectively; their performance with, "Henchmen Are Forgotten," is an enjoyable little vaudeville-styled number scored bouncily by Jeffrey Stock. The duo reminded me of the Grimace and the Hamburgler from those old McDonald's commercials, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Christopher Seiber is a cardboard cut-out of a romantic lead. Though he is handsome, I found him less than desirable, which is due impart to James Magruder's book. F. Murray Abraham is remarkable. I adore this man. Such presence, such virility, such command of the stage. Such a waste of his time. I must admit that I was rather embarrassed for him. Though selfishly, I was thrilled he was in the production.

Betty Buckley. Delicious! Her clarion voice slices through the platitudes with razor sharp precision. Not only is she in consummate voice, her comedic timing is perfection. Her performance is tender and fragile and lends dignity to a less than dignified production. Though as glorious as she is, she cannot single-handedly turn this sow's ear into a silk purse.

Triumph Of Love is a monotonous rollick through syrupy clichis and preposterous innuendoes. In essence, it is a yawn of a yarn that attempts a cerebral dirty froth and flounders. The only triumph is that we stayed awake.

Starving, we walked over to "La Stanza Verde" on Restaurant Row. The place is rather attractive, though a little too well lit. We started off with the calamari, which even "Shoney's Big Boy" would have sent back. Thanks, but no thanks. We sent it back. While we waited for our dinner to arrive we looked at the Tallulah Bankhead book that was propped against the wall behind us. Don't you just love Tallulah? She's just genius in Life Boat! For dinner, I chose the linguine with salmon in a spicy tomato cream sauce. It was so delicious! Stephanie had the pumpkin ravioli. Lord, how I love pumpkin ravioli. The smell of pumpkins warms your heart, don't you think? Makes you think of Thanksgiving and family; falling jewel-toned leaves in Central Park; your grandmother bringing out the turkey with the steam rising and everybody sitting around in their cashmere blend sweaters. Then Aunt Tish, slices you a piece of her homemade pumpkin pie, and you all sit by the fireplace laughing and sipping Nana's hot chocolate. Enough! It's just ravioli for Chissakes!

After dinner, we tipped over to "Joe Allen's" and cozied up to the bar for some coffee. The bartender, Chris, was less than gregarious and rather discourteous. We would have stayed longer for a glass of port, but we felt that our presence was upsetting the contemptuous little snot. They can be expecting a phone call.

En route to "57/57" I asked the driver to go straight ahead to Park Avenue. No response. I asked him very nicely if he heard me and he barked back, "YES!" Insolence! We just had to laugh! As we exited the cab we noticed that we'd left our umbrella at the restaurant. I was thinking this evening was beginning to look like a scene from the film, The Out-of-Towners. If I didn't have such a fine sense of humour, I surely would have killed someone. But wait, the hits just keep on comin'.

As you know we often frequent the bar at "The Four Seasons" hotel. The hostess, always gets us a lovely table and allows me to put my feet up in the chair next to me. Well, it seems there has been a change in the chain of command at "57/57". A portly gentleman approached me and very condescendingly told me, "Excuse me, but we try to discourage people's feet on the chairs." Well, I never! I told him I was sorry, but that I had asked before and was told I was free to do so. He then informed me that they'd just re-upholstered the chairs. Yeah, right! Later, he was walking by and I asked if we could please have two glasses of water. Well, after watching him walk all around the bar and talk to people for fifteen minutes, I was fuming. Either he was completely ignoring us or he was an imbecile. I'm inclined to believe the latter. When I went up to bar and smiled at him with a raised eyebrow, he looked horrified and befuddled. We got our glasses of water. Can you guess who's getting a phone call today?

In closing, always specify which left side of the street you want to be dropped off. When dealing with TeleCharge, remember these people are unfamiliar with our alphabet and spelling things out for them will only complicate matters further. "La Stanza Verde" is a nice little Italian eatery on Forty-Sixth between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. Remember, the calamari there is nasty, but the pastas are wonderful. "Joe Allen's" is my favourite spot on Restaurant Row where Chris serves up a one Hell of an acrid attitude. I should have wopped him with my umbrella, just out of spite. Whatever you do, don't put your feet on the furniture at "57/57," or a buffalo of man with a memory to match will chastise you. Simpleton! If you want to pop your head back, yawning like a broken Pez dispenser, then see Triumph Of Love. I wish I could say you should see Betty Buckley and F. Murray Abraham, but it's simply not worth it. I suggest you buy Miss Buckley's new CD and rent Amadeus for Mr. Abraham's stunning performance as Salieri.

Denouement. Always make phone calls. I called Telecharge and they gave me an address to send in my complaint. I'll be penning them a little note tonight. The manager was nice enough on the phone. I also rang up "Joe Allen" and told the very charming Mick about our encounter with the hateful Chris. Mick the manager, was ever so pleasant. He asked for my address and said I should be expecting something in the mail. He was completely delightful and I thanked him for listening and bid him a good evening. I called "57/57" at the "Four Seasons" hotel and a gentleman took my number and said he'd call me back. We shall see.

Now, you're probably thinking, "Wow, what an awful evening." Au contraire, We still had a great time. We'll be cracking jokes about that night for weeks! What doesn't kill you gives you something to laugh about!

See you next Thursday,

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