Angels in America! This damn show completely fucked my brain apart. (Yes, THAT'S what did it.) Imagine it: my very first night in Seattle ever, reading the script cover-to-cover while listening to Diamanda Galás's Plague Mass, quivering and whimpering and clutching my wineglass like the last lifeboat out of hell. That is some serious psychological self-fuckery right there, gurl. It is of course an absurdly dramatic and very weird story that follows several seriously messed-up characters in New York City in the early days of AIDS, and it's got it all: buttsex, terror, pathos, lesions, vomit, evil Republicans, Mormons, a little more terror and vomit and lesions, serendipitous dream communication (this was long before iPhones, you understand, and that's how people used to talk in ye olden times—in dreams), lawyers, hotties, and history, all bound up together in some sort of crazy cosmic conspiracy involving angels and ghosts. Um, hullo? No self-respecting 'mo should ever miss this show. Intiman Theatre, 7:30 pm, $45–$56, all ages, through Sept 21.
