I usually only keep a Playbill if the show it represents was so rotten it will become legendary.
And that happens a lot, apparently.
I just looked through my poignant and/or diverse collection and came up with these Playbills to cherish and vomit from:
The one for Moose Murders, a mystery show, the mystery being why they put it on;
Lolita, a failed Nabokov adaptation by Edward Albee that made you want to call the pedophile police;
Prymate, a heart-tugger about a speech therapist who jerks off an ape;
In My Life, a terrible musical about Tourette’s syndrome by that “You Light Up My Life” guy who’s been accused of serially harassing women. (His son did much worse; he’s charged with murder. But this musical was the worst crime of all.);
And Raggedy Ann, which was bound to flop the second they decided to include a number for a group of doctors called “Diagnosis.”
Meanwhile, be afraid. I have lots more where these came from.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on January 12, 2011