Bombs on Broadway

No wonder he cries.

These days just about anyone with an agent can wiggle their way onto a Broadway stage, much to the delight of hapless tourists willing to pay absurd prices to ogle their idols. Take for example that beefy blond, Amy Schumer, whose skyrocketing career stems from how many times she managed to stick the word "cunt" into her self-degrading comedy routine. She is currently starring in a Broadway show written by ex-stand-up comic Steve Martin. Admittedly he's a funny guy -- wild and crazy even -- but hardly a Beckett, Ibsen or O'Neill. (Not even a Sam Shepard.)

Thankfully the play, the title of which I won't mention here so as not to give it any undeserved attention, (sort of like Anderson Cooper after a mass shooting refuses to name the perp), runs a mere 80 minutes -- less time than it takes to elbow through the crowds in Times Square to reach your $150 seat. Despite all the bad reviews from all the savvy critics who know better, it's a sold-out smash.

Meanwhile a few blocks away, film star Uma Thurman is less than stellar in another bad play, but her fans who weren't yet alive back when Broadway was something special are flocking to see her in the flesh. By all reports her wooden performance matters not a whit to modern theatergoers, most of whom just want to be able to go back home and boast that they saw Uma live on Broadway.