Mr. Martin clearly thinks he's being O, So Clever in this absurdist expose of the pretentiousness of evaluating the inherently subjective intrinsic value of art, yet he has hoisted himself on his own petard by creating this piece of art, this play, that is objectively perfect. The rhythms carry the words in perfect syncopation, the characters are perfectly drawn and individuated, the thesis and the treatise are perfectly executed in a perfect series of perfectly structured perfect setups perfectly igniting perfect payoffs. It's all perfect, perfect, perfect. So much for art being subjective...
Mr. Martin clearly thinks he's being O, So Clever in this absurdist expose of the pretentiousness of evaluating the inherently subjective intrinsic value of art, yet he has hoisted himself on his own petard by creating this piece of art, this play, that is objectively perfect. The rhythms carry the words in perfect syncopation, the characters are perfectly drawn and individuated, the thesis and the treatise are perfectly executed in a perfect series of perfectly structured perfect setups perfectly igniting perfect payoffs. It's all perfect, perfect, perfect. So much for art being subjective! Better luck next time, Martin!