Hey, at least it's short, in both senses. And it's funny. If there aren't too many major guffaws, there's a steady supply of rib-ticklers. You've got to love Martin Short—he throws himself into everything with such fervor that if you didn't, he'd probably come and threaten you. Or at least plead with you until you gave in. And in his frenetic way, Short is lovable: With his edge-of-caricature face—he looks like a nice-guy version of Batman's archenemy the Joker—and his slightly too large head topping his gangly-gamin body, he's built for speed and for comedy. Why hasn't anybody ever thought of casting him as Puck, or Feste, or Tony Lumpkin, or any of the thousand mischief-makers who inhabit—and electrify—the great plays of the past? For that matter, why haven't any of our living playwrights sat down to dream up a role for this gifted and charming artist to embody? Along with vision and ambition, our theater lacks common sense; it doesn't think up practical ways to make the best use of its... More >>>