Man, I hope I’ve missed something along the way. Getting to the theatre less than once a week – when one is, ostensibly, in the business of the theatre – is shameful.

I said I’d say more about Shrek: the Musical and never did.

Shrek is going to make it whether or not it got good reviews. I’ve only read the Times’s, and I was thoroughly befuddled by it: Brantley liked best in the show the first thing I’d’ve cut: the tap-dancing rat number might as well have a show-curtain that reads, “This number exists because Sutton can tap dance.” I mean, Sutton Foster is one of the seven marvels of the world, but this number is thoroughly unnecessary.

The show’s too long – or, at least, it takes too long getting started. I don’t feel the need for as much backstory as we get about Fiona’s and Shrek’s childhoods. The score is a little of this, a little of that – Celtic-pop-rock-soul-showtune (and I’m sure I’m leaving something out). Either the lyrics strain against the musical form or the composer uses the music to rein in formless lyrics, but my ear kept getting slapped around by rhyme schemes. The book and lyrics are chock full of in-jokes and lines that would bump the piece out of a G rating, lines that made me pray, over and over, “Please don’t let my 7-year-old niece ask me why the grown-ups are laughing.”

That said, wow. You see every penny you spend: the entire design team scores. The cast is terrifically talented. You hear every penny you spend. It’s a big orchestra, and it sounds great.

Would I go again, at full price? Hell, no.

Was it a really good first Broadway experience for my 14- and 7-year-old nieces? Ay-yup.