If there were as much justice and wisdom in the New York theater as there is folly and waste, then some thoughtful, hip, clout-wielding representative from one of the city’s great institutional theaters would take the time to go see what is surely the most captivating and instructive homegrown Shakespeare this town has seen since the death of Joe Papp. It’s Moonwork’s wildly insouciant adaptation of Twelfth Night (at the Connelly Theater, way over on E. 4th St.), which takes such liberties with the idea of “text” that the creators are presenting it under the play’s rarely heard subtitle, What Continue reading

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