"When you prick us . . . "
It was with some amusement that I read the three or four reviews (including this paper's [October 21]) of Peter Sellars's production of The Merchant of Venice.
Why, for a moment there, I thought I was reading Hamlet . . . so much handwringing and equivocation in the presence of such an amateurish production. Would that our own local productions receive such outpourings of angst and self-scrutiny. But soft, methinks I sense a double standard.