(Michael Feingold’s article appeared in the Village Voice, 10/18.)

Looking though they do like conventional realistic comedies, Nicky Silver's plays have, to a critic, a reassuring oddity. Never exactly about what they start out being about, they tend to twist, or more often to hop arbitrarily, away from the straightforward narrative you initially thought they were conveying. Although Silver's plays rarely break the frame of the contemporary reality in which they live, they shift focus to reveal, abruptly, wholly unexpected facets of their characters. With equal unexpectedness, they distribute rewards and punishments. And they cap the entire disorienting display by ending what has mostly consisted of harsh, sardonic satire on a quasi-optimistic tone of quiet, philosophic resolve, like a bagful of quarreling cats that has suddenly voted to live in peace and cautious hopefulness.


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