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It is a shame that the written word often can not convey sarcasm as easily as the spoken one. This being the case, please consider the following statement to be dripping with sarcasm: I can not wait to seet Stage 55's Seven Minutes in Heaven.
Lucky you and I have a theater-going ally who can steer us clear of septuagenarians rubbing their arm pits with hard-boiled eggs.
Robrt L. Pela on Seven Minutes in Heaven:
I liked this show's conceit -- a dozen quick bits of theater lasting seven minutes or less -- better than its execution. What I saw reminded me of a lot of the performance art I saw downtown in the '80s, without the angst or most of the fun. The opening bit, by a maddeningly untalented improv duo called Die Puppet Die, involved a pair of Muppet knock-offs blathering about pineapple pizza and repeating the mantra "God's ass is tropical!" An amusing performance by local musician-of-sorts Tom Tuerff about songs that should never be played on a Japanese autoharp was nearly trumped by its follow-up, in which an annoyingly smug fellow read a poem about the chupacabra and then sang a tunelessly offensive number called "I'm Not Retarded." (When will people stop making fun of the differently abled?)...full story