ABSTRACT
In an ominous coincidence, the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon occurred around the beginning of the Second Millennium, a time traditionally associated with Apocalypse. In a slightly less apocalyptic synchronism, September 11 also coincides with the beginning of every new theater season. Not that Broadway wants to know. Rather than acknowledge the threats and fevers of our times, the terror that now enshrouds our lives, the commercial stage has been conscientiously devoted to manufacturing escapism and obscurantism, through witless entertainments and irrelevant revivals. In September alone, with the war in Iraq in its third year and Hurricane Katrina continuing to dominate the headlines, the New York Times Arts and Leisure section announced new musicals about “trailer trash singing show tunes” (The Great American Trailer Park), about “a single guy looking for sex” (Slut), about a romance between “a musician with Tourette's syndrome and a journalist with an obsessive-compulsive disorder” (In My Life), about “a love triangle involving [Alfred Kinsey], his wife and his lab assistant” (Dr. Sex), plus another edition of Elaine Stritch's favorite show tunes. Revivals of The Fantasticks, The Odd Couple, The Pajama Game, The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial, Carrie, and Peter Pan, among other choice tidbits from our showbiz past, are some of the blockbusters promised in the future.
