Since closing in New York amid extracurricular scandal, I Hate Hamlet has played all over the country, even in theaters that haven't yet done Lend Me A Tenor. And why not? Paul Rudnick's satire-and-sentiment play pokes fun at crass Hollywood commercialism and pretentious New York artsiness. It promises fulfilling sex to the young and old, the chaste and unchaste, the living and the dead. And its sparkling repartee tickles us so playfully and genially, only after we've left the theater do we ruminate over the arguments - hidden beneath the laughs -- on early and late 20th-Century theatrical styles. And only long after that does it occur to us that the script leans heavily on one-liners, and that the supporting characters are more interesting than the protagonists. But by then, who cares?
Guaranteeing a long and critic-proof run, director Christopher Ashley teases bravura performances out of an affable, athletic cast. With fights choreographed by the venerable Robin McFarquhar, athletic ability is certainly required.
