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December 13, 2016

When reviewing, sobriety is rather mandatory. Critics ought to arrive fresh and alert, the better to catch every nuance of story and staging. (Even at Cats, although I would gladly have accepted 10 milligrams of morphine before curtain.) So it was with profound ambivalence that I gulped down the whiskey offered me at the immersive, site-specific The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart. I clutched several drink tickets, and two friendly fellows were lining up free shots along the bar. It would have been rude to refuse such a simple kindness.

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December 13, 2016

In search of merry and bright drinking companions in this dark and sullen winter? You could do a lot worse than raise a shot glass (or two or three) with the rousing band of Scots who’ve encamped in a pub at the McKittrick Hotel in Chelsea. They sing, dance on tables, discuss post-post-structuralist theory, talk in rhyme. And they tell one hell of a tale. Which happens to be about going straight to hell. O.K., maybe “straight” isn’t quite the word for a narrative as twisty as a back road in the hills of the Scottish Borders region, where “The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart” is set. But this gleeful import from the National Theater of Scotland, which opened on Tuesday night, does transport you into infernal eternity. It turns out to be a swell place for a hibernal vacation.

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