Last post ever about "Dracula," the Broadway musical I saw last week, hated, and correctly predicted the critics would hate too.

From The Village Voice:

The Frank Wildhorn Dracula is not the worst musical ever written. But that's only because of its truly remarkable failing: It isn't extreme enough to be a worst. It doesn't commit any of the excessive, demented gaffes that make a truly disastrous musical something for the record books. No, what's remarkable about Dracula: The Musical is that, having begun with some of the most powerful source material that popular literature can offer the theater, it achieves absolutely no effect. Nothing is dramatized; nothing is expressed; nothing is frightening or moving or shocking or even campy; everything simply drifts by, pointlessly, from beginning to end.

....Everything fits together with such perfect lack of interest that you can't even tell whom to blame. Can Christopher Hampton's book really be as incoherent as Des McAnuff's staging makes it look, or is McAnuff's problem the steadfast refusal of Heidi Ettinger's endlessly gliding sets to provide any visual focus whatever? Are Don Black's lyrics really such lumpy, concrete-block obstacles to the remorseless, pallid flow of Wildhorn's score, or does the score's characterless whine come from the ineptitude of Acme Sound Partners, making every note rattle like a telegraph key in a buried tin box?

No real point to this post, other than that I like reading bad reviews.