The character who gets lost here is Sam himself - no surprise there - until he has a bit of good fortune drop into his life and it seems to give him a backbone. Vandevere who seems to have trouble doing two things at once: speaking and touching her hair, to Carolann Rosenstein-Fishburn who would be just as happy chewing the scenery as a good meal. From Sam's Midwestern father who adores his son, to the upper East-Sider Mrs. Ferguson goes from zero to 60 in a nanno-second. It is, however, a sort of grand audition. This is not a particularly great or even good play. So why would we want to watch a guy hooked up to slave labor steam pipes and meet all the asses he has to kiss? Because Ferguson makes it fast and funny. Unless of course you want fries with that. Just swan by Del Frisco's sometime where the steak all on its lonesome goes for $45. And for that they will pay a price of $250-300 just for the food. These are the people who will take a table for four and sit next to one another on the wall side, reducing it to a table for two just so that they can see and be seen. If they wanted to do that they would stay home - even that Foodie Gwyneth Paltrow who, according to her assistant Bryce is all vegan and prefers that no female wait staff grace her table. WHAT is being served, however, is not as important as the people who are dining. It is just before Christmas and Sam is wasting his life and talent being the point person for a restaurant that features "Molecular gastronomy" a la crispy deer lichen atop a slowly deflating scent-filled pillow, dusted with edible dirt. Tucked away in what is supposed to be a suffocating 4×6 closet (and I am afraid this set fails to achieve the desired affect big time) is Sam Callahan. In their puny little brains, yours would be the honor and theirs would be the right to command. Mind you each of these people are of the exact opposite opinion. There are 40 and most of them are not people into whom you would like to bump, never mind deal with as dining guests in any way whatsoever. The anyones you would not want to run into are the characters brilliantly brought into your life by Jessie Tyler Ferguson. Unless they are Al Pacino and have a bodyguard the size of a storage unit. And you can run into almost ANYONE in New York. After the 90 or so minutes of Fully Committed, you feel a teenie bit paranoid swanning out onto the street because this is, after all, New York.
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