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I couldnt help thinking:Its too late.
Its calledThunderbodies, and its a decadent pageant of winking wordplay and distended grotesquerie.
Granted, this feeling of thinness-despite-loudness isnt all down to Tarkers text.
Or, in Tarkers language, a thunderbody.
Imperialists abroad and rampant consumers at home.
Despite her epic weight loss, Grotilde remains a gargantuan force, a woman of great immensity.
That country is a whore.
That country is an intern.
That country is a mistake, and we dont make mistakes.
The enemy is just a widow.
The enemy is just an orphan.
The enemy is just a girl.
Would you hit a girl?
Like much that Blain-Cruz does withThunderbodies, the centering of Grotilde is an understandable if somewhat superficial choice.
Its exciting to see a female character get to embody unapologetic self-aggrandizement and insatiable appetite.
Theres always something to look at inThunderbodies, but theres not always something to think about.
The President flies a real remote-controlled mini-drone with a tiny American flag glued to its top.
Satire is itself a chimera.
Even the most famous political satirists acknowledged their forms weird solipsism, its tendency to become an echo chamber.
Thunderbodiesis at Soho Rep through November 18.
