All of us have seen bad theater. Awful theater, even. But usually that is Off-Broadway. When something makes it to the big leagues of Broadway, even when it is bad, it has a sheen of professional spectacle about it. Take, for example, the Tim Rice-Elton John “Aida” that ran for many years. When my mother had an extra ticket and I went I soon recognized I was in for three hours of lameness. But it was consistently lame. And, in a way, it worked. This new production of “Threepenny Opera” is an absolute disaster. Is it an avant-garde experimental piece? Is it high camp? Is it a dark and atmospheric tale concerning man’s criminal instinct? It tries to be all of this, but achieves none of it. All it is is a god-awful incomprehensible bore. And Cindi Lauper kept forgetting her lines. There was a drag queen who showed up for one or two scenes — she was very funny. We’d’ve been a lot better off checking this act out down at the Duplex or somethin’.
