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...

Sunday morning Stephanie and I perused The New York Times as usual. This Sunday we read everything we could about the showdown with Iraq. The most frightening aspect of the whole scenario is the threat of biological warfare. Can you guess what their first target would be? That's right. Manhattan.

Needless to say, we were a little depressed. I'm thinking, "Damnit, I didn't even get to see Ragtime!" We came up with many plans of action which would include stocking up on canned goods, masks, latex gloves and the like. We thought we'd duct tape the windows and doors and just stay inside until it was safe to leave. Laugh now, it could happen. Ironically, we decided to see In Celebration of Life 6,a performance of new songs celebrating life, sung by over twenty-five Broadway stars. All the proceeds go to Broadway Cares, Equity Fights AIDS, but I'm thinking that the money would be best spent on gas masks. Morose? Perhaps.

We decided to walk over to The Church of Saint Paul the Apostle where the performance was being held, and find a restaurant en route. We were freezing and finally decided to stop in Le Bar Bat on Fifty-Seventh. It's a little touristy but the decor is rather interesting, with it's huge blue glass bodied, iron winged bats suspended from the ceiling, and Chinese red lacquered table tops set amid a decaying gothic church. Think Anne Rice meets Ming Dynasty and you'll get the drift. We ordered the calamari and Maine crab cakes, which were good but we didn't have much of an appetite. We sipped on our Stoli Raspberries while the d.j. played everyone from Harry Connick Jr. to Billie Holliday. It was most enjoyable.

As we neared the church, I recognized a fellow forumer, Joseph, waiting outside. He then introduced me to fellow Talkin' Broadway columnist, Ed Feldman, who was delightful. We went inside and took our seats in the pews. I was not at all impressed by the church, which by Catholic standards was rather plain.

Act One began with dancers running up the aisles and meeting on the stage, contorting themselves in some form of prosaic dance. Their performance was something even Lawrence Welk would have been ashamed to witness. Personally, I'd have rather watched the Solid Gold dancers. The rest of the three hour performance was packed with wonderful talent singing often less than mediocre tunes. There were exceptions, however. Brian d'Arcy James, Titanic, was the highlight of the evening as he sang a beautifully moving ballad, "The Man." Mr. James was in perfect voice, and his interpretation of the tune moved us to tears. Brian Batt, Forbidden Broadway, sang a hilarious number, "Inward Bound," about a Wall Street man who goes to a cabaret camp. He was a complete scream! Billy Stritch introduced a number from a musical comedy he and Mark Waldrop are currently working on. "None Of 'em Did It For Me," is a little ditty about an old movie star who slept with almost every star in Hollywood. It was a riot! Although I enjoyed all of the performers, especially Deborah Monk, Brent Barrett, Karen Mason, Judy Kuhn and Alice Ripley, I must admit that sitting on a pew for three hours was most tiresome. The show should have been in a cabaret setting and cut in half. The up side is that the money went to a wonderful charity; the down side is that my ass hurt and I was falling asleep.

Afterwards, we went downstairs to the reception. It was nice enough and we spoke to Brian Batt for a while. He was goofy and pleasant at the same time. Call me a snob, but I've always found that a wine's bouquet just isn't very appealing while being sipped in a plastic cup. I know, I'm really spoiled. The brownies were so good I thought they'd be good for breakfast, so I shoved one in my purse.

The evening was more exhausting than uplifting. Fatigued, we headed back home.

Monday afternoon I got a call from Stephanie at work, asking if I wanted to go to the theatre. Oh God yes, we didn't get our "theatre fix" yet for the week. I got on-line to see what was available. Considering the dearth of possibilities, we chose David Mamet's The Old Neighborhood. I was thrilled. I loved Mamet's Oleanna and have been very excited to see this production since I first heard it was headed to Broadway.

After we charged our tickets, I headed out for some pre-apocalyptic shopping. You think we're insane, don't you? I first went over to the hardware store and picked up some latex gloves, and some dust masks. While looking at the masks, a boy came over and asked why I'd be needing them. Befuddled, I replied, nonchalantly, "Oh they're for Armageddon." No need to explain, I thought. I mean, wasn't everybody buying supplies to combat biological warfare? Makes sense to me. I don't know what the hell I'll ever wear those yellow gloves with again. I look dreadful in yellow, gives me a rather jaundiced complexion. Now it was time to stock up on canned goods. I went over to Dominicks on First Avenue and Fifty-Third and started loading up on non-perishables. I bought several gallons of water, peas, carrots, soups, lots of cookies. Then I'm thinking, Oh good lord, what about cigarettes and liqueur? That's what we'll be wanting!

I had them send the groceries to the apartment. You didn't think I'd actually carry them home, did you? Well, I'll be damned, I'm sitting at the computer and Stephanie comes home, and starts eating the cookies! "Girl, you put those damn apocalyptic treats back! You know those are for Armageddon! The biological holocaust will be here soon enough, then you can eat all the cookies you want! I mean, really!

Out in the freezing cold we hailed a cab and headed to Broadway for our theater fix. You know what? The Booth Theatre is hideous. Though it has some beautiful Jacobean wood-work, it's in dire need of some polish. And what's up with the ubiquitous brown trim? What's even more depressing is that some of the wood is painted brown! That's just appalling!

The Old Neighborhood, is a languorous trip to Mamet's Chicago through three one-act plays. It is a cryptic journey through lyrical cadences and tautological rhythmic patterns. It is exhausting, if not impossible to uncover what exactly Mamet is trying to express here, if anything. The play is so wrought with ambiguous plots and non-existent character development that The Booth Theatre is left drenched in a pool of apathy.

The actors, however, are all proficient, particularly Patti LuPone. Her character has the most depth, which is due impart to Miss LuPone's acting ability rather than Mamet's writing. She draws blood from this putrefied turnip as best she can. But I couldn't help wondering, "Why in the hell is she in this?" Poor Patti, her best line is, "That cunt, that cunt, that Carol." Now isn't that just lovely? You know I've only heard one other woman use that word, and she was a filthy whore. I really hate that word. "Fuck," however, is a word that I love, which Mr. Mamet wields with complete abandon. It permeates the entire script, until the effect is lost entirely. The first act is crammed with a plethora of Jewish jokes and commentaries thrown back and forth between Peter Riegert and Vincent Guastaferro. It's like watching a tennis match with two guys who can't even pick up the ball, much less get it across the net. You're thinking, "You're a shickseh, what do you know about Jewish culture?" Enough to know that we've a heard this tripe before, and that this play is as bland as a knish without the mustard. No, thank you.

The most enigmatic of the three acts is "Deeny," which features Mamet's wife, Rebecca Pidgeon. Her character, along with Peter Riegert as Bobby meet in a cafe where she bids him farewell. Why? Who is she? Who is he? Why is she leaving? Why should he care? Why the hell am I still sitting here? Each of these three shorts seem sliced from the middle of three different plays. It's more like watching an acting class, which is odd considering that Mamet so opposes them. In short, this is an attempt at an erudite Rorschach test that everyone will fail, as even it's maker doesn't know what the hell it means.

Drained and half asleep, we walked over to "Sardi's" for a cocktail. Dead, only one person at the bar and two people having dinner. And no music. Nope, none at all. We downed our cocktails and headed where? You guessed it, "57/57".

Remember the buffalo man from last week's episode? Well, he was there and very pleasant this time. The bar area was packed, but there was one table with a reserved sign and buffalo man gave it to us! At this point I was feeling quite magnanimous. Let's let bygones be bygones. We enjoyed our little nightcaps while surveying the room. That damn Tom Arnold was there. Isn't he just obnoxious? That hardly even counts as a celebrity sighting. Not much was happening, so we skipped back home singing patriotic tunes at the top of our lungs.

In closing, if you must eat somewhere on Fifty-Seventh Street, then you should check out "Le Bar Bat." It looks great and it's a fun place to grab a pre-theatre nosh. If you're a little nervous about Armageddon, then start planning now. Get the whole family involved, it doesn't have to be depressing. When is Martha Stewart going to come out with an Armageddon cookbook? I'm waiting. If you want to give money to Broadway Cares, Equity Fights AIDS, then check out their website, but avoid In Celebration of Life, it's just too damn boring. You'd be better off to make a donation and stay home. And to use David Mamet's favourite word in regards to The Old Neighborhood, fucking forget about it!

See you next Thursday,

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