Saw a play at Princeton's McCarter Theater last night, and did it ever upset me. An all but pornographic portrayal of entertwined relationships, with absolutely no moral content. Love presented as something you want, then get, and then lose, with lots of fist-pounding, door-slamming, and china-throwing angst thrown in, to the point that Amy actually thought they were making fun of the principle. Amy's probably right in her opinion, but by that point, it was too late. It was too late for me after the scene where I thought there might finally be some morally redeeming content when the husband says to his wife that life is more than just pursuing sex, that faithfulness is a requirement for a full life, and then his male lover comes in to complain about his lack of fidelity in their homosexual relationship (followed by apologies, hugging, and a man-to-man kiss).
I left at the intermission, it was so awful. Amy's mom, who works as an usher there, tells me the second act wasn't any better, with the actors mooning the audience (literally), and the play culminating in everyone settling in with their illicit lovers, everyone that is, except the husband mentioned above, who apparently must be punished by the modern playwright for his sin of moral thinking, even though he had no moral character to back it up.
More and more, I get the impression that the art elites in Princeton are shoving garbage out, calling it art, and expecting people to like it because it's advertised as being art. Am I close-minded? By their standards, yes; but they have no respect for the value of my life either. They just expect unintelligent people to bow down before the altar of art. I refuse to do that. My mind and body belong to some One greater than this.