We went to see Anne Washburn’s “The Internationalist” at the Studio Theatre last night. A young American goes on a business trip to a foreign country (supposedly Eastern European, although I couldn’t tell that from the play) and finds that, although everyone he meets speaks English (either unaccented, or with assorted accents), he does not speak their language, and that is what they speak most of the time. So, he goes around for two acts wondering what the hell is going on.
Iz forgunz blowpryt z krnov grazn. Iz grumblotz’r ivn ochsenddermurtikhausn k’rumbot med ulkot.
That’s my review of this play. I will sign it not with my usual nom de plum, but with my alternative. Gobble D. Gook.