Smash Recap: May the Fringe Be With You

Every show, and indeed, every life, has its breaking point.

Your star director walks out on you. You get your big break, and your leading man is a gibbering baboon who rouges his buttocks because he thinks they’re his face. You have spent six years of your life refining your musical, sustained by little more than pond sludge, forest mead, and co-dependency, and have six hours to tech in a theater with no sounds, lights, or heat. You try to buy a new dress for the launch party of a book you worked on for two goddamn years, and every goddamn thing in every goddamn store is the same goddamn shade of peach, and you lie face down on the floor of the dressing room in Anthropologie and scream: “Peach???? Do I look like some kind of rosy-complexioned fucking Norwegian who is also a Mormon bridesmaid???” Read More...


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