A 70 minute monologue, full of digression, bathos and other types of anti-climax; Thom Pain attempts to tell a story, with jokes and other entertainments, but can't. Its spirit reminded me of Beckett, including in its insistence on the human-ness of the entire encounter, but its existentialism is contemporary. I picked it (apart from the good reviews) because Will Eno - of Middletown and The Realistic Jones - wrote it (it was his debut), and it didn't hurt that the performer was Michael C Hall, famous because of Dexter but famous to me because of Six Feet Under.
