Dirty Tricks, indeed

So last night, after a couple of large glasses of Italian red, a nice rich Barbera D’Asti and fruity Dolcetto d'Alba with the Bruner I tripped my way to Dirty Tricks at the Public Theater. Arriving late, the usher made a big fuss, claiming that the sight of me had rendered him speechless. Fuck I though, I really must tweeze those hairs out of that mole on my nose. He flapped and escorted me to my seat at the front and on the corner next to two old crones. “Miss Maccers,” he said handing me back my ticket and a programme, “we really want to make sure that you have a wonderful evening.” The crones eyed me with intense curiosity and then loudly continued a conversation for my obviously sacred ears on how they were patronnes des arts and very important. I took out a notepad and watched, craftily out of the corner of my eye, as the scrawny monster next to me wet herself.

Dirty Tricks is a two hour monologue with Judith Ivey as Martha Mitchell, the wife of the Attorney General John Mitchell and details her involvement with the Watergate scandal set on August 8, 1974. It’s thirty minutes too long. Granted the median age of the audience was about 55, but I saw at least 10 snorers during the performance and that had nothing to do with the fabulous performance by Ms Ivey. It’s just too long without an intermission even though the use of other recorded media did keep the tempo up somewhat. What really disappointed me was the end, which just petered out. No bang. I understand that it took John Jeter five years to bring it to production but there was no relevance to the events of today, just when this is what could have given it a sharper edge. Dirty Tricks is of historical relevance only. Unless of course I am pigshit thick and missed it. Possibly, I was rather fuzzy headed.

Anyway, crone next door certainly wasn’t concentrating on the play. She was far too busy straining her myopia to get a glimpse of what ever I was writing down – crap I can’t read today actually. I tormented her for about an hour by covering most of it with spread fingers and then I decided to liven up her night and wrote on one page: PENIS VAGINA FISTING and left it uncovered. She jumped up in her seat in utter shock and spent the rest of the play staring at me directly and unabashed. Or maybe it was my hairy mole.