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The Pillowman revels a bit too much in its own brilliance and repulsiveness.

Here the chief concern is what I’ll call the Cold Peace, whereby the West, including ophthalmologists, is blind to Third World genocide.

You can practically see the deep-fried halos appearing over the six exemplars of southern womanhood as they wash each other’s hair, gossip viciously, and have meaningful conversations about life.

Miscast and misdirected, Denzel Washington is a poor Brutus in a worse 'Julius Caesar.'

All that’s missing is a carny out in front of the Public Theater screaming, �Mothers, shield your children! Gentlemen, if you have a heart condition, leave now!�

How many more overrated British directors are we going to import to become serial killers of American theater?

John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt, a nearly flawless work, suffers not a bit in the transfer to Broadway.

If Elvis impersonators had a union, do you suppose this latest incarnation of the "jukebox musical" could have been prevented?

Oddly cast and irritatingly staged, this Glass Menagerie displays a few cracks�but it’s hard to damage such a great play.

It’s liable to appeal to today’s moodier teen far more than Rent.