Written shortly after 9/11, this play imagines a house party with a diverse group of people, based on religion and race, anyway. The one thing they have in common is that they are rich and successful. They are living in the shadow of the attacks, and have gotten together for an elegant dinner party which degenerates into chaos. It is difficult to find much in these characters; they are the extreme of stereotypes, with each playing his role to the hilt, but no one who seems to be likeable, or to have a real sense of how real people live. Bombs, helicopters, and fiery holes in the floor create a backdrop to this odd mixture of eccentrics, but that doesn't really help the play much. It is talky, and not in the good way of something like, say, My Dinner With Andre, but instead in a self-important, pretentious way, with the apparent aim of exposing the self-important, pretentiousness of liberal thought. The self-righteousness screams through every line, which diminishes the play intensely, and the constant spouting off of luxury food items that were being presented for consumption by the wealthy hostess for her wealthy guests was, well, just too much. It was overkill. I've read much better from this author. ( )