There’s a frisson of recognition that occurs when great art reflects important truths, but fantasy offers its own superficial pleasures. In between is a space where many of today’s playwrights operate: they have a lot of social commentary to offer about a world of their imagining. In other words, they cheat. Just as conspiracy theorists tend to band together, critics tend to champion work that reinforces their own self-deluding worldview. The ordinary citizen equipped with basic facts scratches his head and wonders why only he sees the obvious.

A case in point is M. Butterfly (at the Cort Theatre), the play by David Henry Hwang that created a sensation upon its Broadway debut in 1988 and went on to capture the Tony award for Best Play. In a revival directed by Julie Taymor, Clive Owen plays Rene Gallimard, a French diplomat based on a real person who,...

 

New to The New Criterion?

Subscribe for one year to receive ten print issues, and gain immediate access to our online archive spanning more than four decades of art and cultural criticism.

Popular Right Now