Author: Kathleen Campion


The Metromaniacs relies on every theatrical conceit,  thespian cliché, and theater convention. No, I could not quite smell the grease paint, but almost. So unless some of that appeals to you, don’t go.  Otherwise, get a gang together and get over there.  It’s a short run.

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No one is more surprised than I!  Mean Girls—a big, noisy musical (not my thing), based on a hit teen movie (not my thing since…well, never), awash in stereotypes like the dumb girl, the hot boy, the powerful high-school clique, and the outsider desperate to belong—turns out to be one of those feel-good nights on Broadway when you unabashedly jump to your feet applauding because you’ve had such a good time. 

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Presumably a lot of people came to see Chris Evans — Captain America — with his shirt on and his Boy Scout halo a little dinged.  Evans plays a cop on the make in every sense.  He’s a terrific bastard.  You can’t like him, but you’ve met him.  (So, apparently, some movie stars can do Broadway in a small cast of pros, play against type and — you know — do it well.)

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Bee is a woman on a mission.  She is running as fast as she can, to escape the crowded, grim, rent-stabilized life she and her husband Hal have devolved to.  She gives us flashes of their young selves — protests, drugs, running from the police. You can almost smell the patchouli! 

Hal is a man in retreat.  He is hiding and collapsing as fast as he can, stoned 24/7, escaping his crowded, grim, rent-stabilized life with video games, a pointless blog, and awash in narcissistic regret.  You just want to smack him into next week.

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