Dear reader, I am sorry. This is a cringe-worthy review. I will qualify all the blatant, ugly misanthropy herein with the following statements: This play has been a critical success when rendered by people other than Jim Tommaney and Frank Rodriguez, and might be worth looking into at another time. Tommaney has balls of steel for even trying to pull it off, and the punk-rock attitude evidenced by casting an untried actor like Frank Rodriguez is unimpeachable. And Frank himself is not without talent. He has boundless energy and an obvious willingness to push himself he simply hasn't been acting very long. This is his third production, and he is hopelessly out of his depth. You cannot roll out of bed one morning and declare yourself a brilliant dramatic actor, any more than you can roll out of bed and declare yourself a brilliant violinist. Whether it's intended or not, such a notion shows contempt for all the men and women who've worked hard to learn this or any trade, and demonstrates a dangerous indifference to the wishes of the paying public. Nobody shells out cash for two hours of hambone operatics and amateur mugging, no matter how enthusiastically executed. Keep up with the acting classes, Frank. We'll meet on friendlier terms in a few years.