Kushner’s strength always has been proclamation — bold and at times preachy in its ambition, epic in its spectacle and sprawl. In this milieu, his operatic cacophony at times skates precipitously close to the razor’s edge of incoherence. The wash of recitative becomes more of an irritant than a revelatory acid.
Oh, fucking A, seriously? I expect better from you, Mr. Royce. Did Kushner write that himself and give to you as a gift? Because it makes as much sense as any of his plays.
