Steve Barnes — Theater Critic

Even at intermission on Tuesday night, I thought I was seeing something remarkable. “I’m loving this,” reads a text I sent after the first act. But notebook entries from the second half include “mystic hoo-hah” and “mawkish looong monologue about getting older. Utterly uninteresting compared w/Dylan.” As we left the theater, I told my companion, “I did not expect the strange, beautiful bus would drive off a cliff after intermission.”