This wasn’t what I had expected. This is a bizarre tale of a charismatic roustabout, think Andy Griffith as Lonesome Roads. He swims in an endless ocean of brandy, his stupor affords him the carnal favors of nearly every woman and a license for some beautiful if nihilistic poetry.

The play is a series of brief episodes which advance Baal through most conventions into a naturalistic denouement which recalls the vision of von Stroheim. The ambiguity of this depravity, draws its motivation into question: does Brecht’s Darwinian vacuum anticipate the Final Solution? I will steer clear of such conjecture. ( )