The Tony's VS. The Celtics

I was probably one of the few people last night who switched back and forth between the The Tony Awards and the NBA Finals. Winner? Basketball, hands down, even if the Celtics did fail to close the deal. (There's no way Kobe & Co. will take two in Boston.)

Game Five was exciting, but Broadway's Biggest Night turned into Broadway's Biggest Bore. Can't any modern-day composer write a good song anymore? Where are all the showstoppers?

All the songs from the new musicals-- In the Heights, Xanadu, Young Frankenstein-- sounded like filler. In the old days, these tunes may have been used to move the story along, but they just would have been time-killers until the star or starlet took center stage and belted out the classic hit.

Even Sondheim's Sundays In The Park With George was excruciatingly dull. (And when did Mandy Patinkin turn into Grizzly Adams?)

When Patti LuPone sang "Everything's Comin' Up Roses" from the revival of Gyspy all the new composers and actors should have sneaked out the back of the theater, headed for the closest tavern and began drinking prodigious amounts of alcohol.

The modern plays didn't seem much better. The winner for best play, August: Osage County has a plot taken right from the Hack playbook. A drugged-up matriarch? Sisters with secrets? Exposing the dark side of a white Midwestern family? Gosh, I haven't seen these themes explored since the last play... and movie... and television series... and animated sitcom... about screwed up suburban white families.

Either New York is filled with the least hip artsy-types on the planet or I'm just an Old-school curmudgeon who would rather stay home and watch Turner Classic Movies or the finals of a major sporting event.

Sorry Broadway, but it's never a good sign when Whoopi Goldberg is one of the most talented people in the room.

Here's Patti LuPone putting everybody else to shame.