Theater: Catch-23, Skiddoo

The only thing worse than an antiwar play is war. The current mode is for such plays to be written by laughing Cassandras, doomsday seers with quips on their lips. A couple of seasons ago there was Joseph Heller's We Bombed in New Haven; now there is Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s Happy Birthday, Wanda June. There is a strong temptation to say "Catch-23, please skiddoo."

To call these efforts plays is a massive overstatement. They offer nothing more than a two-hour supply of mouth froth, a dentifrice rather than a drama. Vonnegut's cute conceit has...

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