(Charles Isherwood’s article appeared in The New York Times, 5/14.)
Just about the last thing you would expect to see on a New York stage today — or maybe want to see on a New York stage today — is a juicy romantic melodrama set during World War II. The musty attractions of the genre are best savored in the wee hours of the night, surely, when sleeplessness torments and Turner Classic Movies beckons. Or maybe in a downtown drag bar, where the plucky heroine is portrayed by a biological male outfitted with Joan Crawford shoulder pads.
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