*Famous first sentence first drafts

That title above is not just the opening line of a famous book — it’s also a pretty spot-on description of how it sometimes feels to launch a brand new play into the world.

Opening weekend of The Fork had both ends of that Dickensian spectrum. I missed opening night — and the second night — due to a flare-up of the chronic illness that keeps rearranging my plans, especially evening plans, when I’m usually at my worst. But by show number three, I was determined to get there come what may. I shaved. I buttoned a shirt, with just the littlest of help. In the car, I looked across at my lovely date. Our first date since the health siege, maybe? We couldn’t say, but we both remembered how good it feels to sit in a dark theater together, waiting for real humans to unfold a story for us.

The house that night? Let’s say as I pulled in, the parking lot was too roomy for comfort. Inside, the size of the audience barely edged out the cast — a little too close for comfort. But those performers? You’d have thought they were playing to a packed house on Drury Lane. They sang and danced and acted their hearts out like the whole town had come.

On the drive home, we were smiling — partly at the story, the songs, the charm of it all — and partly through the ache of knowing how hard it is for new work to find its way, especially reflecting upon the people have poured their hearts into something original, something risky, something with no IP other than the 10-minute version of the play the won festivals from LA to NYC a decade or so ago.

Then came the “best of times” moment.

A review. A real one. Thoughtful. Thorough. By someone who got it. Who heard what we were trying to say between the punchlines and pratfalls.

Here’s what Keolanani Kinghorn wrote in The Rhetorical Review:

“The kind of show that reminds you why we go to the theatre: to laugh, to feel, to feast on the absurd, and to remember that even in fractured timelines, we can find our way back to each other. In a political climate that often feels exhausting, The Fork doesn’t just serve punchlines — it feeds the heart.”

That line alone is enough to get me through a few more sleepless nights of worry and rewrites. It even included a shout out to Breaking Hip.

I know, I know — reviewing a review is a little like clapping for yourself in the mirror. But I’m doing it anyway. Because it’s rare. Because it matters. Because for anyone fighting the uphill battle of original art with no aging BBC star between gigs, this kind of recognition can really help spread the word.

So thank you, Keolanani. And thank you to the fearless cast and creative crew still pouring their souls into The Fork. And if you’re curious what all the fuss is about, read the review here, share it with a friend, and how about the both of you come* see what we’ve cooked up:

👉 https://rhetoricalreview.com/2025/06/22/the-fork-a-music-filled-farcical-feast-with-heart/

#TheForkPlay #SupportNewWorks #TheatreWithHeart #BreakingHip #DateNightMiracles #FeastOnTheAbsurd #SmallHouseBigHeart

*Quick. Check your calendar. If the date is 7/11/25 or sooner, email me at dennisagle@gmail for the secret code to get 50% off while supplies last, which hopefully won’t be very long.