Here; I will mend thy feast

Returning from tonight's performance by the Actors' Shakespeare Project, I have come to the conclusion that I would like to point Bill Barclay in the direction of Pericles, Prince of Tyre, because he took the problematic, half-structured, textually ramshackle script for Timon of Athens and turned it into a Brecht-black satire and a genuine tragedy whose first act should have been filmed by Fellini and whose second subtitled itself in my head as Samuel Beckett Eats a Parsnip and it was astonishing. Eight actors, three ladders, two songs, and a sandbox. A piece of sky stuck up in a tree. The best spit-take in the history of theater. I don't know why I'm always reviewing shows two nights before they close, but this one is a must-catch if you have the option—if nothing else, it shows the difference that performance (and a good eye with the scissors and tape) makes from text. Frankly, I hope someone filmed it. I have no idea when I'll see the play staged again. I doubt very much I could see it staged better.