Yesterday we learned Times movie critic A.O. Scott doesn't watch the Oscars; in the same long weekend, it turns out, we also learned that Vanity Fair's resident cultural curmudgeon, James Wolcott, can't sit through a two-hour play. From his VF.com blog:
More and more, I see shows described as "intermissionless," and I hear the rattle of leg irons.
It isn't that I'm incapable of "holding it in." It isn't that I'm likely to pull a Costanza and trample any senior blocking the aisle to make a beeline to the bathroom while the cast takes its bow.
It's that I don't like feeling trapped, stuck for the duration … Moreover, intermissions are so civilized. You retire to the lobby, order an overpriced drink, compare notes and discreetly eavesdrop, step outside to take the air, or, if the first act was dire, flee. ("I count it as one of the great moments of my life when I first realized one could actually walk out of a theatre. I don't mean offensively — but go to the bar at the interval and not come back. I first did it at Oxford: I was watching …")
Oh, sorry. Drifted off there. But don't worry: There's lots more. We can't wait for it. Really. We'll just nip out to the lobby first for a second, and —
Exit Ramp Closed [James Wolcott's Blog/VF.com]