(I like Ibsen - wished I could retroactively have replaced Mary Louise Parker in that awful Hedda Gabler the other year with Lindsay Duncan, who would surely have been spectacular.)
The play slightly falls apart in its conclusion, I think, but I found it extremely compelling (hard not to think of the Madoffs, too), and they've also got a gorgeous set. Very good stuff.
(And a nice brunch-type meal beforehand at Scopello; I had the potato and onion frittata, which came with small sides of potato wedges, bacon and salad, and my dad had the eggs benedict with similar sides and an extra side of smoked salmon!)
And this is not related to the preceding in any way, shape or form, but here's a snippet from Deborah Eisenberg's early story "Broken Glass" that I was struck by the other day when I was dipping into her collected stories:
I judged him to be in his late fifties, and he would have been quite good-looking, I thought, except that his face seemed to have been stamped by a habit of geniality and then left unattended.