At one time or another, nearly every college sophomore has clapped his roommate on the shoulder and said: "C'mon, Oedipus, she's old enough to be your mother." Or greeted a sleepy-eyed coed at a 9 a.m. classics lecture with a cheery "Morning doesn't become you, Electra"." Jejune jests, to be sure, but they reflect post-Freudian man's easy familiarity with once intricate Sophoclean themes. If familiarity does not always breed contempt, it often produces apathy.
That is precisely the reaction provoked by / Never Sang tot My Father, Author Robert Anderson's self-indulgent adaptation of his...
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