Your play Art was vapid bullshit. God of Carnage (currently playing at Seattle Rep) is the same. I don't care if they give you 1,000 Tony awards—you're a menace to your profession.

You can read my full, spitting-mad review of Carnage (plus comments ranging from "atta boy" to "please go find a new career") here, if you like.

But the play can be entirely summed up in an old joke that's popular among the Southern women in my family. Two debutantes, Nancy and Debbie, are talking (imagine the following in soft, almost breathy Southern accents):

Nancy: "My daddy gave me a Cadillac for Christmas." Debbie: "Thaaas nice." Nancy: "My daddy is taking me to Paris for vacation." Debbie: "Thaaas nice." Nancy: "My daddy bought me the most expensive dress for my coming-out party." Debbie: "Thaaas nice." Nancy: "What'd your daddy get you?" Debbie: "My daddy sent me to finishing school." Nancy: "Finishing school? What's that?" Debbie: "Finishing school is where you learn to say 'Thaaas nice' instead of 'Fuck you.'"

Bam. Done. I just saved you 90 minutes and tens of dollars.

The most profound mystery about Yasmina Reza isn't how empty her work is—it's how much people like it. They love it.

Then again, people also love Two and a Half Men...