A friend who couldn’t remember the name of this show kept calling it “How I Lost My Shoes.” Oddly enough, that title captures the general tone of the show better than the more pretentious title it actually has. Someone else described it as “The Vagina Monologues for clothes,” and that’s pretty accurate, too (only playwrights Nora and Delia Ephron don’t quite have Eve Ensler’s pungent feminist edge).
To be totally fair, Love, Loss and What I Wore is a notch or two better that the previous paragraph suggests. This is mostly due to the terrific comic timing of the current cast, which features Tyne Daly and Rosie O’Donnell at the top of their form.
I’d venture anything, however, that what’s keeping them in such top form is the example of whippersnapper Katie Finneran, she of the oh-so-natural, scarily precise timing. This quality is what earned her the Tony for Noises Off, and it is on even more generous display here. Why isn’t she some kind of star yet?
This is a chick play through and through, even from the perspective of a gay man. I mean, it’s well written and quite well performed, but it is decidedly what it is. Maybe a student from F.I.T. could get a practical insight here or there, but outside of that I’d suggest dropping off your gal pals at the show and heading to one of the Hell’s Kitchen bars for happy hour.