Ah, New Year's. 'Tis the season for remembrance of a year gone. And of course, being Americans, that means that we have to quantify our appreciation in lists of ten. Every critic out there has taken it as his God-given right, responsibility, and privilege to espouse the top ten books, top ten pop albums, top ten movies, top ten top ten lists. Fine . Great. Good way to encourage people to think the way you do and buy more of your yellow journalism. But the one that struck me most was Ben Brantley's Top Ten Plays.
The thing about theater is that, well, you can only enjoy it if you're in New York, which the majority of NY Times reader's aren't. But, fine, this is their little nod to metrosexuality, or whatever. But fully half that list has already closed. So, basically, Mr. Brantley here is just bragging to you about what you missed. And this is what we're supposed to pay for?
Man I wish I'd gotten to see Jumpers...
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