Note to self. Start writing these on Sunday rather than thinking you will have the time to write on Monday mornings any more. Free time on Mondays has gone the way of the American auto industry. And for pretty much the same reason.
What's that bad news again? I went out drinking Friday night, and spent the rest of the weekend recuperating. I know that this is because I only do the damage thing about once every couple of weeks now, which means I'm totally out of alcoholic shape. Either that or my engines are finally slowing down from Warp Ten to Impulse.
I Am The Seagull. If they were selling T-shirts with that logo, and maybe the silhouette of a dead bird, at the Walter Kerr, I would have bought one, because this production has the best Nina I've ever seen in Carey Mulligan. She's heartbreaking in the final act, which puts her light years beyond Romola Garai in the Trevor Nunn/RSC production that played BAM last September. Actually, if I was living in the Universe of Perfect Casts, I would take Nunn's Konstantin (Richard Goulding) and swap him out for this production's Mackenzie Crook, who was a suicide victim from the moment he walked onstage, and kept making me mutter "Bozhe moi, get it over with already." Ditto (sorry to say) Peter Sarsgaard, who seemed to be straitjacketed by his Brit accent. But high marks to Zoe Kazan's Masha and Kristin Scott-Thomas as Arkadina, both of whom flare like fearless candles in the darkness.