I didn't know what this play was about when my wife dragged me to go see it this past weekend. I guess my praise and criticism of the play are exactly the same: it's a depressing story, and that depression is heightened by great performances from Cynthia Nixon (I now forgive her for all of those times my wife invited her girlfriends over to watch that god-awful show, Sex and the City) and others.

The play itself, however, is a real downer, as it examines life and death through a purely nihilistic perspective. It was just a real buzz kill, man. It was ironic that Nixon's character, Dr. Vivian Bearing, never noted the one thing about poet John Donne that she might have needed while the bell is tolling for her: that he was, in fact, a Christian monk. I'm neither advocating nor discouraging a belief in God, but if I were Vivian Bearing, slowly dying of cancer, I would have been like, "Uhh, hey God? Umm, remember that time I declared that I'm a staunch atheist and argued that you don't exist? I was just wondering it it's too late to take that back?"