We went to San Francisco to see two short plays. The less said about them the better, but I will say that the first one concerned an ancient bull and the second, a modern one. Afterwards we went to a Japanese-Chinese restaurant where I ordered beef. The theme continued at home when we watched an episode of Inspector Maigret. The story concerned the murder of a butcher. There were vivid shots of cow carcasses hung on meat hooks.
I'm loathe to say the name of the plays since a friend wrote them. I wanted to like them, but didn't. It's difficult when you respect someone, but don't like their work. Your opinion is not always welcome.
But I will say this: the plays were in the form of one-woman monologues and therefore short on plot, characters, or action. Maybe I've watched too many murder mysteries, but I fidget through lengthy monologues. They're way too static. Besides, I've seen so many of them that I've become monologue-intolerant. In the high-rent Bay Area, theater spaces are usually tiny and it's too expensive to hire more than one actor, thus the deadly monologue.
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