Once a long time ago, on a dampish isle some miles off the coast of France, C. S. Lewis wrote, “Flippancy is the armor against God’s Grace.”

Attending Spettacolo! is like attending any number of Midwestern dinner theaters—the crowd’s mostly composed of silver-maned pensioners, the actors’ accents are comically bad and the plot is full of slapstick, “audience participation,” and a high degree of fuzzy-wuzzyness.

Let me tell you a story—not too many months ago, a creative writing professor gave me some “truth hurts, kiddo,” criticism.

The last time I was in a “gallery” was when, having in my three months in Rome long exhausted all the great venues, I jumped into a cab and decided to take a look-see at the Roman Napoleonic Museum and Modern Art Gallery. How bad can be a Napoleonic Museum and Art Gallery be? Terrible.…

If a really good play goes up in a forest, does anyone care? I stumbled into Matthews Acting Studio last Thursday in my usual state— disheveled, confused, busily muttering banalities to imaginary socialites while bundled in my button-less vintage coat.