Unlike Bloody, Bloody Andrew Jackson, which got a lot of hype and a lot of press but, ultimately, wasn’t very satisfying (for me, anyway), here’s a play that isn’t making a lot of noise but delivers the goods.

Mrs. Wife said, “Who are they trying to appeal to? Other than you, I don’t anyone who likes both football and theater.” And that’s a good point. A few years ago they had the boneheaded idea of turning Nick Hornby’a High Fidelity into a musical. It was a disaster. Rob, the protagonist of High Fidelity, is the kind of guy who wouldn’t be caught dead at a Broadway musical. Likewise, someone who watches the Green Bay Packers every Sunday isn’t likely to attend theater. But they’d be missing out on a compelling story that would mean a lot to them.

The play is filled with great performances and it absolutely deserves to be seen. It has a little to do with football and a lot to do with the relationship between legendary ball-busting NFL coach Vince Lombardi and his wife, Marie. Marie is played by Judith Light of Who’s The Boss fame and she nails her character’s sad resignation. Likewise, Dan Lauria, storming about the stage, is a convincing Lombardi. The supporting cast does fine work, especially Keith Nobbs as a young journalist who inserts himself into their lives.

A clippy :90 minutes with no intermission. A great venue with every seat close to the action. The actors leave all their guts on the stage. What more do you want, for cryin’ out loud?

They just announced that one of the many great hopes for Broadway this season, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, is set to close in a few weeks. This is an excellent lesson in how much sway and power critics have and, in some cases, don’t have.

There’s an unusual bumper crop of new musicals this season. There are 11 new musicals that have already opened or are set to open. I tend to NOT see many musicals. If I have a little coin in my pocket for a cheap ticket, I’ll usually opt for a play. But I did see this last month.

It came with a good pedigree. It was born downtown at The Public Theater, which can get kind of avant garde-y at times. I liked the premise; President Andrew Jackson is played as an emo punk rocker. The songs are all rough-edge loud numbers that, supposedly, could have fit into Rent (which I never saw). All this noise is going on while Jackson wipes out the entire Native American population. Excellent fun. I thought I had nothing to lose!

The critics fell all over themselves with praise. The Public is a small theater so, naturally, a ticket was impossible to come by. The producers saw sugar plum dollar signs dancing in front of their eyes and they moved it uptown to a Broadway house. They re-reviewed it when it reopened on Broadway and there was more gushing from the critics about the lead and the score and how it was going to pull the kids into the theater.

Well, guess what? It was really boring. The songs were pretty snappy but there were long stretches—especially after Jackson takes office—where not a hell of a lot happens. Again, someone behind me fell fast asleep and started snoring LOUDLY.

So stuff it, Ben Brantley of the New York Times. It’s closing on January 2nd. And although I’ll never get that evening back, you owe me the cost of the ticket, you dickhead.

I loved the ad campaign. Look at that imagery and tag line on the poster! Fantastic. It didn’t help.

It is said that one of the greatest human fears is speaking in public. Imagine, if you will, walking onto a stage and the only thing standing between you and utter humiliation are your words and this:

That’s the extent of the staging for St. Nicholas, the one-man show at the Irish Repertory Studio Theater (the smallest theater in Manhattan). Man, I love the Irish Rep. If I had some extra money, I’d give it to them. One-man shows are such a crap shoot. The potential for catastrophe is pretty high and I always feel awful when it doesn’t work out. And while this show didn’t quite achieve greatness, it was a pleasant night out.

St. Nicholas was written by Irish fireball Connor McPherson. It’s the story of a drunken, washed-up theater critic (a bit of payback, Mr. McPherson?) who becomes involved with a beautiful young actress. It comes to pass that the actress belongs to a sect of vampires. The vampires give him a new vocation: fetching food for them. There’s a seemingly endless supply of supple, young club kids who are eager to party.

I was seated in the front row and I always find sitting in the front row to be too much of an intrusion into the performance. I prefer some distance between the stage and I. I become too self conscious about keeping my feet off the stage and trying to look lively for the actors. I always try to get lost in a performance but it’s impossible for me if the performance is right in my lap.

The other one-man show I just saw was Long Story Short by Collin Quinn, which is about to open on Broadway at the Helen Hayes (the smallest Broadway house).

They’re making a big deal out of the fact that it’s directed by Jerry Seinfeld. I’m always suspicious of stand-up comics who do one man shows because often times, it’s nothing more than their stand up act with a pricier ticket. But I was willing to gamble on this because I’m a big fan of Herr Quinn. It’s a great premise. Quinn discusses the demise of the various empires throughout civilization. Yes, we’re next.

He came out and seemed hesitant and unsure of the material. This show ran for several weeks Off Broadway, so his performance should have been a lot smoother than it was. I think he actually might have lost his place on one or two occasions. But I laughed and I guess that’s what it’s all about.

Polish it up, Colin.

I’m usually pretty quick to dismiss the most recent efforts of guys like Jack Nicholson, Al Pacino and Robert De Niro. At this point in their careers, they phone in their performances. They’re the same character in every film. Even Clint Eastwood’s angry old man routine is getting kind of stale.

On Thursday I saw Al Pacino play Shylock in The Merchant of Venice. I’m like everybody else. I get sucked into these shows because it’s a thrill to see if a name-brand actor can deliver the goods on stage. Holy Mother of Jesus, this guy has it. I saw Pacino transform. He vanished into his role as Shylock and became a completely new, fully-formed human being—unrecognizable from anything he’s done on film. It was a pretty impressive feat.

This is an emotionally complicated piece to sit through. You find yourself laughing at the comedic aspects but also watching in abject horror as Shylock is, quite unfairly, stripped of his business, his daughter and his faith by what are supposed to be the “good” Christians of Venice. (Every one of them a blatant anti-Semite, which I suppose was all the rage in 1597.) One of his punishments, none of which, it can be argued, he deserved, required that he abandon his Jewish faith and become a Christian. In one of the final scenes, a center section of the stage opens and a pool of calf-deep water rises. He is forcefully dunked three times and baptized by a priest, while his Jewish family looks on in horror.

After that we all had a good laugh at the lighthearted closing scene where Portia’s husband is made to look foolish by her clever manipulations.

During the trial scene, dear Lily Rabe stood her ground and gave as good as she got. An excellent Portia. The play really was just the two of them, though. The other actors were fine, but I don’t think Shakespeare fleshed out their characters very well. There was only so much they could do with the roles.

Have a look at this brief clip. This is how it’s done.

Al Pacino in the Shakespeare in the Park production of The Merchant of Venice.

I designed another marketing piece that’s intended for a high net worth/ultra high net worth audience. It’s a conference invitation. The speakers include representatives from a company called The Institute for Preparing Heirs and another from The Wealth Legacy Group. They do exactly what their names imply; train heirs on how to handle the wealth they’re in line to inherit.

Does that blow your mind just a little bit, as it does mine? That there are companies whose sole purpose it is to train people how to be rich? Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s a fantastic idea. Without proper guidance, an heir could piss away the wealth that previous generations built up on stupid shit like $600 shoes and $150,000 automobiles. But it’s a concept that’s so foreign to me and so far out of my ken, that learning of their existence was a shock. The feeling is no different than if I had just found out there are support groups for space aliens who are stranded on earth.

I spent a goodly chunk of my life worrying about money. (Still do, although less so.) I didn’t grow up dirt poor but we always seemed to be broke. I’m pretty sure my dad died penniless, although I don’t know for certain. [He left when I was 16 and I never heard from him again. Believe me, I was better off for it.] After my mother passed away and her estate settled, there was about $63 left.

Can you imagine gliding through life never, ever worrying about money? Yeah, yeah, money doesn’t buy happiness. I know. It took me years to learn that hard lesson. I had to meet a series of wealthy, miserable New Yorkers to be finally be convinced of it. But it sure can sure ward off a lot angst, don’t you think?

This is as close as I ever want to get to a stroke. Wings is about to open at the Second Stage Theater. In it, a woman awakens from a stroke. The first half of the play is seen through her addled, broken mind. It’s a visual and auditory hallucination. Although the audience can understand her clear, rational thoughts, her medical team cannot. Their dialog, in turn, is babbled nonsense. The script must have been murder to memorize.

It’s a contrivance that could have gone horribly wrong but it holds together remarkably well. Broadway veteran Jan Maxwell is on stage the entire time and produces real tears when the script calls for it. That’s not easy, folks! The running time is a swift :65 minutes and that’s fine with me. It’s a pretty dark stuff but a compelling night out.

Actress Patricia Clarkson sat a few seats down from me. I try to play it cool but, all these years later, I still like spotting the celebs.