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Theater review: Flames fizzle when funny flares in ‘Venus in Fur’

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Vanda Jordan whooshes into the grim space extremely late, extremely damp and seemingly powered by eff-bombs.

She blames the subway system, manhole covers, God.

And she’s just adding anecdotal evidence that confirms writer-director Thomas Novachek’s complaints about actresses these days.

They’re like 6-year-olds who’ve inhaled helium. They can’t pronounce “degradation.”

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