I'll tell you about grief

I love theatre. I love musical theatre. Heck, I even love most forms of dance. I love going to the art gallery and I most certainly love to read.
I went to see a play last night, which will remain nameless, adapted from a book by renowned writer Joan Didion that explores the grief she goes through after losing her husband and daughter within a year of each other.

I'm thinking of looking into whether I can sue the theatre company for those two hours of my life back.
A two hour monologue was what it was. Now don't get me wrong, I quite like monologues, and the actress must be very talented to memorise two hours of words in one go. But it was like going to a book reading. Without the book. No scene changes, no other actors, nothing but a women talking about dealing with grief. It could have been good if it was an hour long. It could have been great if it explored the writer's raw emotions a little more. It could have been brilliant if it wasn't so self indulgent.
But it was none of these things.