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November 7, 2003

The gods who govern the fortunes of playwrights are an arbitrary lot, stroking with one hand, smiting with the other. In the last year, they have mostly been stroking Richard Greenberg, the lyrical, thoughtful dramatist whose wonderful new work, ”The Violet Hour,” opened last night in a less than wonderful production at the Biltmore Theater. It is, not incidentally, a play about the waywardness of destiny and how it tarnishes the golden and the gifted.

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