What particularly distinguishes Yes, Prime Minister is that it's topical humor served hot from a theater oven. That's a dish not often available these days.
Roth tells a story about the summer of 1944 when a virulent polio epidemic struck his city. The hero is devastatingly thwarted when the boys he's coaching baseball begin dropping.
Everything about Puss in Boots registers as so utterly charming that any adults viewing it without a child next to them will want desperately to bring one to the very next showing.
Curiously and hilariously, the protagonist, Julian Treslove is not Jewish. Julian only wishes he were Jewish and for most of the narrative's duration set outs to do everything in his power to embrace Judaism.
Ralph Lauren just built the first mansion on the Upper East Side since 1918 and reached the zenith he's aimed for since the '60s when he started hawking wide ties.
To call Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson "sophomoric" is to flatter it. "Freshmanic" might be closer to describing its juvenile quality. Or maybe just plain "manic."
Angels in America remains superlative theater-going and a spectacular achievement.
