WASHINGTON - I was working on a standard sidebar. That was all.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had posted the latest cyclosporiasis numbers: 1,645 confirmed cases across 34 states. One hundred forty-one people hospitalized. More than 5,100 cases still pending laboratory confirmation. Michigan alone had reported 2,640 infections—up from a typical seasonal average of roughly fifty. The intestinal parasite Cyclospora cayetanensis was having a banner year, and my editor wanted three paragraphs on what the Food and Drug Administration was doing about it.
I have made this phone call probably thirty times. The rhythm is always the same. I call the press office, leave a message, get a callback from a spokeswoman who says the agency is "coordinating with CDC and state partners" and "cannot comment on an ongoing investigation." I type it up, attribute it, and file. The whole process takes ten minutes. I expected boilerplate. I expected to be bored.
I did not expect to be transferred four times and hung up on twice.
Call One
I started with the FDA's main press line. Voicemail. I left my name, outlet, and deadline.
Then I tried the general switchboard. A friendly operator asked my name and affiliation, paused while she typed, and said, "Let me connect you to the Center for Food Safety and Applied Nutrition."
The line rang fourteen times. A man answered, annoyed. "Procurement."
I said I was looking for someone who could comment on the cyclosporiasis outbreak response.
"You got transferred to Procurement?" he said. "We're in a completely different building."
I called the switchboard back. The same operator, still friendly, said, "Oh, let me try the Office of Food Policy and Response."
This time the line rang twelve times. A young man answered, slightly breathless. "Office of the Deputy Commissioner, Food Safety."
I identified myself and asked if someone could comment on the agency's response to the ongoing outbreak.
"Oh," he said. There was a long pause. "You mean the... parasite thing?"
I confirmed that I meant the parasite thing.
"Right. Um. We used to have a division that handled that. Let me transfer you."
Hold music. A soft piano cover of a pop song I almost recognized. Then a voicemail: "You have reached the desk of Dr. Ellen M. Faurote. I am no longer with the agency. For media inquiries, please contact..." The recording cut off mid-sentence.
I called the switchboard a third time.
"Hi, me again," I said. "The person you transferred me to doesn't work here anymore."
"Oh," the operator said. Another pause. "Yeah, I think that whole team got reassigned. But hold on. There's someone new handling all the food stuff."
Call Two
She transferred me to a man named Bryson Hale, who answered with the title "Director of the Office of Nutritional Integrity and Chemical Safety."
"Are you calling about the dye initiative?" Hale asked.
I said I was not.
"Oh." He sounded genuinely disappointed. Then his voice brightened. "Well, if you're writing about food safety, you really should be. We are talking about a BAN on Red Dye Number Three. Potentially Number Five too. This is the biggest public health crisis in the American food supply. I have studies. I have press releases."
I told him I was specifically trying to confirm the FDA's protocol for a parasite that had already put 141 people in the hospital.
"I don't have those numbers in front of me," Hale said. "Is that the one from lettuce?"
I said we didn't know if it was from lettuce. That was the problem.
"Right. Well. The old outbreak team used to handle source tracing. I think they were in Building 32. Or maybe they were contractors."
I asked if there was someone else I could speak with about outbreak coordination.
"Honestly?" Hale said. "That used to be under the old structure. We're reorganizing. The Make America Healthy Again agenda is really more about prevention, you know? Eliminating toxins before they enter the body. Did you know Red Dye Number Five is in practically every sports drink? We're talking about children. Bright blue tongues."
I asked if the FDA was currently attempting to identify which food was making people sick.
"I'm sure if you leave your number, someone will get back to you," he said. "But if you change your mind about the dyes, call me anytime. I can send you the press kit."
Call Three
He transferred me to Ashford Greaves, whose title, he told me twice, was "Acting Senior Principal Deputy Advisor for Food Systems Innovation and External Partnerships." Greaves answered like a man late for a meeting.
I started over from the top. CDC numbers. Thirty-four states. Michigan's spike.
Greaves sighed. "I'm actually just getting back from a trip. I was in Aspen with some folks from the transition team—flew back last night on a private jet, no commercial delays—so I'm still catching up on what's in the queue."
I asked what protocol the agency was following to coordinate with the CDC on source tracing.
"We follow all applicable protocols," Greaves said. "Obviously. I'm sure someone has a handle on that."
I mentioned that the person I'd been transferred to first no longer worked at the agency, and that the second person seemed to think outbreak response was handled by contractors in another building.
"Right, the old team had a certain... institutional knowledge," Greaves said. "But they were really locked into a legacy deep-state mindset. No more 'traceability' obsession. We're bringing fresh eyes. I actually just got bumped to Acting Senior Principal Deputy—did I say that already? I need to update my LinkedIn before lunch because the old headline said 'Senior Fellow' and this is way bigger."
I asked if he knew the name of anyone currently overseeing the cyclosporiasis investigation.
"The investigation," Greaves repeated, as if testing the word. "You know, I think that's probably with the outbreak people. But the outbreak people rolled up into a different workstream. Or they might have been part of the rehire. I'm not sure which batch."
I asked if he could connect me to whoever was in charge of food safety.
"I am in charge of food safety," Greaves said. Then he paused. "Well, I'm in charge of a food safety portfolio. There's a difference. Look, if you want the official line, write that we're monitoring the situation. That's always true."
Call Four
I hung up and called a former FDA staffer I knew from a previous story, someone who had left before the current administration. I asked, off the record, where the food safety expertise had gone.
"You know Jim Jones resigned in February of last year," he said. "Deputy Commissioner. Protested the cuts. They slashed HHS-wide by about a quarter. The FDA scrambled to rehire maybe three hundred people, but they didn't always rehire the ones who knew what they were doing."
What about the advisory panels? The National Advisory Committee on Microbiological Criteria for Foods? The National Advisory Committee on Meat and Poultry Inspection?
"Terminated," he said. "Both panels. Gone. Replaced with nothing."
What about the Food Traceability Rule?
"Delayed thirty months," he said. "Which, in outbreak years, is about three epidemics from now. The USDA Salmonella poultry rule got withdrawn entirely. And they revoked or proposed revoking fifty-two food standards. Just... gone."
I asked who was currently running outbreak response.
He laughed, but it didn't sound happy. "Last I heard, the Acting Commissioner is Kyle Diamantas. Lawyer. Ag economist. Not a doctor. The deputy for food safety is Donald Prater. Veterinarian. Good man, but not an epidemiologist. Dr. Marty Makary resigned in May. The expertise left, and the titles got longer."
I looked at my notes. I had spoken to three people with impressive-sounding job titles. None of them could tell me whether the FDA had identified a source. None of them knew the case count. One wanted to talk about candy. One wanted to talk about his career. One didn't know why I had been transferred to Procurement.
I called the FDA switchboard one last time. I asked for the Office of Food Policy and Response.
"We don't have that office anymore," the operator said, still friendly. "Can I transfer you to Strategic Health Communications?"
"Do they handle cyclosporiasis?" I asked.
"Let me check," she said.
Hold music again. I listened to the whole piano cover. No one picked up.
I hung up. I looked at the CDC numbers one more time. 1,645 confirmed. 5,100 pending. A parasite spreading through the food supply, and no one I had spoken to at the FDA could tell me where it came from.
I filed the sidebar. I used the only quote I had been given that resembled a statement: "We follow all applicable protocols." I attributed it to Ashford Greaves, Acting Senior Principal Deputy Advisor for Food Systems Innovation and External Partnerships. Then I opened the CDC dashboard and refreshed it.
MESQUITE, Texas — A Department of Defense ammunition plant in this Dallas suburb has completed 24 months of operation without producing a single defective artillery component that failed to meet military specifications, according to an Inspector General audit released Tuesday.
"This is, in effect, quite a standalone achievement," said Colonel Douglas P. Whitfield, spokesperson for Army Materiel Command, in a written statement that arrived two hours after the requested response deadline. "In fact, the plant has consistently placed in the top 10 of DoD's cleanest military production facilities, and in 2025 placed number one."
Whitfield added, after a pause, that the facility has produced no actual, physical artillery shells.
The $469.3 million facility, constructed under a cost-plus contract with Atlantic Munitions Systems LLC, has recorded zero defects across all tracked production categories since achieving operational release status in March 2024. According to the 94-page DoD IG report, the plant's quality record stands as follows: zero defective shell bodies, zero defective propellant loads, zero defective finished rounds, and zero units rejected by Army quality assurance representatives. The IG noted that DoD's quality benchmarking framework does not currently include a metric for total output volume, and that the plant's scores across all measured categories are, therefore, perfect.
"We are very proud of what the team here has built," said Whitfield. "A culture of quality does not happen overnight. It happens over 24 months."
The Army established a target in February 2023 of increasing domestic 155mm production from 14,000 to 100,000 rounds per month by October 2025. The Mesquite plant, designated in planning documents as a "center of excellence" for artillery body forging and propellant loading, contributed zero rounds to the objective. Whitfield described this figure as "a production metric" and noted that the Army "does not evaluate facility excellence on a single dimension."
The plant's fiscal 2026 budget request, submitted to Congress in February, seeks $34.2 million in additional equipment funding and $12.4 million for "operational tempo adjustments" and workforce retention incentives. Reviewed by the House Armed Services Committee on March 3, the request cites the plant's "unmatched quality performance" as primary justification and describes the facility as "on track" to begin low-rate initial production in the third quarter of fiscal 2027, 58 months after construction began and 33 months past the Army's original production deadline.
The quality distinction extends beyond the production floor. The 340-space employee parking lot was resurfaced in September 2025 at a cost of $847,000, three weeks ahead of schedule. The propellant handling ventilation system passed its initial environmental inspection in November 2024 with zero deficiencies. A ribbon-cutting ceremony was held January 17, 2025, attended by three members of Congress, the mayor of Mesquite, and a representative of the Mesquite Chamber of Commerce. Boxed lunches were provided.
The plant's inventory management system has similarly distinguished itself. A default testing entry of 14,000 "theoretical" shell bodies, entered by Atlantic Munitions Systems during software commissioning in 2023, appeared in Joint Munitions Command readiness reports as physically existing inventory for seven months between June 2024 and January 2025. The discrepancy was identified and corrected in February 2025. Whitfield described the episode as evidence of a "self-correcting quality culture" and noted that the system has recorded no further inventory discrepancies since the correction.
The Department of Government Efficiency, established by executive order in February 2025 to identify and eliminate wasteful federal expenditure, conducted a review of DoD facilities during its initial 90-day operational phase, including the Mesquite munitions plant. DOGE found no issues, as production volume is not a current DOGE assessment metric.
During the review period, DOGE focused instead on structural inefficiencies in military compensation. Analysts determined that active-duty service members and their qualifying dependents receiving Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program benefits constituted wasteful expenditure. The department initiated benefit recalibrations affecting approximately 22,000 households with at least one active-duty member.
"DOGE has delivered $47 million in projected annual savings through SNAP eligibility recalibrations affecting military households," said Randall T. Hodge, Deputy Director of Efficiency Communications, in a March 14 press conference that ran 23 minutes. "These are exactly the kinds of structural corrections that restore fiscal discipline at the Department of Defense. When a junior enlisted mechanic's spouse qualifies for nutritional assistance, that indicates a compensation misalignment that DOGE is prepared to address."
Asked afterward whether a $469.3 million plant with 24 months of no output met DOGE's threshold for wasteful expenditure, Hodge referred the question to Army Materiel Command. Army Materiel Command referred it to the Office of the Inspector General. The Inspector General said the matter was under review and that a response would be provided in accordance with "standard correspondence timelines."
"The non-conformance of output has been noted in our findings," said a representative of the Inspector General's office, speaking on condition of anonymity because the office's media policy does not authorize interviews for ongoing assessments or to "the press." "Remedial actions are being considered by appropriate authorities. The timeline for such considerations is itself under review, and a review of that review timeline is pending."
The Pentagon's 155mm high-explosive inventory has declined from approximately 4.2 million rounds in February 2022 to approximately 600,000 as of this month. Of the 3.6 million rounds expended from stockpiles, 3.03 million were transferred to Ukraine, 218,000 were sold to allied nations, and 112,000 were consumed in domestic training and testing. The Mesquite plant's net contribution to replenishment of those stocks was not among the audit's quality findings.
The plant's current status on the Joint Munitions Command procurement readiness dashboard is listed as "green," indicating full mission capability.
Gus Costner | IRREVERENT Newz Wire
PYONGYANG — The 65th anniversary of the Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance between the Democratic People's Republic of Korea and the People's Republic of China was observed Monday at the Yanggakdo International Hotel, Ballroom C, with a two-day facilitated alignment summit attended by 34 delegates, three interpreters, and one Beijing-based HR consultant who requested her exact employer not be named in official materials.
Patricia Y. Chen, 34, a certified ScrumMaster (Certificate No. 449281) and senior associate at Korn Ferry's Cross-Border Organizational Fun Dynamics unit in Beijing, arrived at 8:15 a.m. carrying a canvas tote, fourteen dry-erase markers, and a laminated agenda she had reprinted after the original shipment was held at customs for "ideological review." The fluorescent lights, which hotel maintenance logs indicate flicker on a 2.8-second cycle, cast a pale wash over folding tables in a horseshoe formation Chen would later describe to this reporter as "aggressively collaborative."
The opening exercise, mandated at the deputy-director level as a "kinetic confidence-building fun protocol," was a trust fall. Xi Jinping, General Secretary of the Communist Party of China, stood with arms extended. Kim Jong Un, Chairman of the State Affairs Commission of the DPRK, mounted a reinforced aluminum stepstool, crossed his arms, and fell backward. Xi caught him at 8:47 a.m. by the wrist, not the torso, in a grip that lasted four seconds.
Xi then produced a triplicate invoice on stationery from the Ministry of Commerce's International Cooperation Division. "Standard consulting rate," he said. "Net 30."
Kim folded the document into quarters without reading it and placed it in the breast pocket of his Mao suit. A source familiar with the transaction, speaking on condition of anonymity because they are "still hoping to make vice minister before the next Five-Year Plan," confirmed that accounts payable has not processed an invoice from Beijing since March 2019. Chen marked the exchange on her clipboard with a check symbol and the initials N/A.
By 10:15 a.m., delegates had advanced to the icebreaker module, "Two Truths and a State-Sponsored Lie." Chen read the rules from a laminated card: each participant would offer three statements; two would be factually accurate, one would not; the group would reach consensus on the falsehood via raised-lanyard voting. Scoring was tracked on a whiteboard using a color-coded system Chen had developed for an ASEAN youth leadership conference in Kuala Lumpur in 2019.
Xi went first.
"One," he said. "The PRC's urban unemployment rate for the second quarter was 5.1 percent. Two, I have personally approved 4,317 separate infrastructure projects in Guangdong Province since 2013. Three, I have never ordered the detention of a family member for purposes of political leverage."
The Chinese delegation raised their lanyards for statement three. The North Koreans abstained. Chen, consulting a scoring rubric in a vinyl folder, ruled the answer "partially correct pending independent verification" and awarded three points to the Chinese team, noting on her whiteboard that "historical context is not a scoring factor."
Kim went next.
"One," he said, counting on his fingers. "The DPRK enjoys comprehensive food autonomy. Two, our missile program is strictly for peaceful satellite deployment. Three, I did not have the previous facilitator reassigned to agricultural labor in Ryanggang Province."
A North Korean foreign ministry official, seated third from the left, raised his lanyard for statement two. A Chinese diplomat beside him raised his for statement three. Chen checked her phone, checked the laminated card, and clicked her pen three times.
"All three are true," Kim said.
"The rules state—" Chen began.
"All three are true," Kim repeated. He sat down. The Chinese delegation did not take notes, but Deputy Trade Minister Huang Wenli adjusted his glasses in a manner that several observers interpreted as data retention. "The rules do allow for a declarative override," Huang said, "if the participant holds a classification of head of state or above." Chen checked her rubric. The rubric did not contain this clause. She wrote "cultural variance" on the whiteboard, circled it, and drew a line through it.
At 11:30 a.m., delegates were issued identical kits containing twelve popsicle sticks, one 36-inch roll of masking tape (3M brand, manufactured in Minnesota, imported via Dandong), and a four-ounce bottle of Elmer's School Glue. The objective, printed on salmon-colored paper, was to "construct a scalable bilateral infrastructure solution capable of supporting a standardized load-bearing test."
The North Korean delegation claimed the tape within eight seconds. The Chinese delegation took the glue. Neither side established a shared-resource framework. For eleven minutes, both teams built identical cylindrical towers. At 11:41, a Chinese diplomat reached for a North Korean popsicle stick and had his hand struck by a DPRK protocol officer using a rolled copy of the treaty's 1961 ratification text.
"We need to be solution-oriented here," Chen said, stepping between the tables with a single popsicle stick she had apparently brought from her personal supply. "Can we agree to a temporary memorandum of understanding on the tape? A phased resource-sharing timeline?"
"We have our own tape," said the protocol officer.
"You don't," Chen said. "I inventoried the kits myself at 6:45 a.m. You have the tape. They have the glue. The exercise is designed to create dependency. That is the entire friendship-treaty framework."
The Chinese delegation looked at the North Koreans. The North Koreans looked at the glue. At 11:52, a single popsicle stick changed hands. Both towers collapsed at 11:53. Chen wrote "partial collaboration (materials exchanged, 1 unit)" on the whiteboard and underlined it twice.
The afternoon session, held in Breakout Room 3, required delegates to co-author a joint vision statement on a single poster board using six shared markers. Within four minutes, all markers had been claimed. One rolled under a radiator and was ignored by both sides on grounds of neutrality.
At 3:15 p.m., a North Korean diplomat uncapped a red marker and drew a vertical line bisecting the poster board. It was not on the agenda. It was not part of the exercise. Chen, standing by the easel with a marker bleeding blue ink through her palm, did not erase it.
For 47 minutes, the board stayed blank except for the line and the words "Our Shared Vision" in Chen's handwriting. A North Korean official suggested "perpetual solidarity." A Chinese official suggested "regional stability." Chen suggested "synergy." Nobody wrote anything down.
By 4:45 p.m., delegates had begun checking watches in synchronized intervals. The open bar in the hotel lobby was scheduled to open at 5:00 p.m. It was the only agenda item that either delegation had requested be duplicated on the following day.
At 5:17 p.m., following the second round of what Zhou Minhai, deputy director of the Heilongjiang Provincial Commerce Bureau's Cross-Border Livestock Division, referred to only as "the people's local grain alcohol," someone mentioned that Article 2 of the treaty contains a mutual defense clause. The room went silent. Someone laughed. It was not a happy sound.
Chen was observed packing her markers into her tote bag at 5:23 p.m. She told this reporter that the treaty auto-renews every twenty years unless one party provides written notice six months in advance. "I checked the language this morning," she said. "Nobody has ever given notice. Nobody ever will."
The summit reconvenes Tuesday at 8:00 a.m. The towers remain on the floor of Ballroom C. Hotel staff have been instructed not to touch them. The line on the poster board has not been erased. The invoice remains in Kim's breast pocket, unprocessed.
Gus Costner | IRREVERENT Newz Wire
Newz Desk, IRREVERENT Magazine
WASHINGTON — Air Force One has retained independent counsel and filed a motion to quash subpoenas issued to New York Times journalists, arguing that the presidential aircraft possesses a reasonable expectation of privacy under the Fourth Amendment and citing decades of invasive coverage as the cause of documented reporter-induced anxiety.
The motion, filed Monday in the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia, marks the first time a federally owned aircraft has asserted constitutional protections against unreasonable search and seizure on its own behalf. Legal scholars say the filing could redefine the boundaries of press freedom, aviation law, and the scope of the Fourth Amendment's guarantee to be "secure in one's person, houses, papers, and effects."
"Air Force One is basically a flying studio apartment," said Marisol DeWitt, a Washington-based aviation privacy attorney who has consulted on the case. "It has sleeping quarters, a conference room, two kitchens, and a medical suite. If a studio apartment in Bethesda has a reasonable expectation of privacy, why shouldn't a Boeing VC-25A at 35,000 feet?"
The subpoenas, first reported by the Associated Press and CBS News, were issued in connection with ongoing federal investigations into leaked communications reportedly obtained during coverage of presidential travel. The Times has vowed to fight the subpoenas on First Amendment grounds. Air Force One, represented by the boutique firm Larkin & Ko, is intervening on separate constitutional grounds.
"My client did not consent to this level of exposure," said attorney Douglas Larkin, speaking to reporters outside the federal courthouse Tuesday morning. "For decades, Air Force One has endured invasive reporting, unauthorized photography, and speculative commentary about its interior layout, fuel consumption, and emotional state during turbulence. That ends today."
Larkin submitted affidavits from three experts attesting to the aircraft's deteriorating mental health. Among them was Dr. Helena Voss, a licensed aviation therapist based in Arlington, Virginia, who has worked with Air Force One since 2019.
"When we first began treatment, the plane was guarded but functional," Voss said in a sworn statement. "Over the past two years, however, I've observed escalating symptoms consistent with severe reporter-induced anxiety: elevated cabin pressure responses, increased hydraulic sensitivity, and a pronounced reluctance to deploy its airstairs when press pools are present on the tarmac."
Voss noted that Air Force One has developed what she termed "anticipatory surveillance stress" — a condition in which the aircraft exhibits physical distress before media events even occur. She documented one episode in February during which the plane refused to start its auxiliary power unit for 22 minutes after a cable news crew set up live shot equipment near its parking position at Joint Base Andrews.
"The tail number was literally trembling," Voss said. "I've never seen anything like it in 14 years of practice."
The legal argument hinges on a novel reading of Fourth Amendment jurisprudence. In the landmark 1967 decision Katz v. United States, the Supreme Court held that the amendment protects "people, not places" — a formulation that Larkin argues extends to any entity capable of hosting private conversations, including a heavily modified 747 with encrypted communications and a classified briefing room.
"The justices in Katz could not have anticipated a world where aircraft are outfitted with 4,000 square feet of functional living space and a presidential bedroom," Larkin wrote in his brief. "But the principle remains: where there is a subjective expectation of privacy that society is prepared to recognize as reasonable, the Fourth Amendment applies. My client meets both prongs."
The Justice Department, in a preliminary response, called the argument "legally unserious and procedurally improper." A spokesperson said the government had not yet determined whether it would file a formal motion to dismiss or simply treat the filing as an administrative error.
Constitutional law professor Edward Hanley of Georgetown University said the government's dismissive posture may be shortsighted.
"Look, I understand why DOJ is laughing this off," Hanley said. "But consider the trajectory. Corporations have speech rights. Ships have legal personhood. If you're a textualist, 'effects' is a capacious term. A $660 million aircraft outfitted as a residence? That's an effect."
Hanley noted that celebrity privacy cases have already established that individuals can be harassed by persistent media attention to the point where courts issue injunctions. He pointed to Galella v. Onassis, the 1973 Second Circuit case in which photographer Ron Galella was ordered to stay 25 feet away from Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and 30 feet away from her children.
"If Jackie O had a 25-foot bubble, why shouldn't a presidential aircraft have a no-fly zone for unauthorized biographers?" Hanley asked. "I'm not saying the argument wins. I'm saying it's not frivolous."
Air Force One is not seeking monetary damages. Its requested relief is narrowly tailored: a prohibition on speculation about its mechanical or emotional state; a permanent injunction barring descriptions of its interior layout based on unnamed sources; and a 50-foot buffer zone for camera crews during refueling stops.
The aircraft also asked that future press pools be limited to "no more than twelve individuals, all of whom must submit to a pre-boarding sensitivity briefing administered by the flight crew."
A spokesman for the White House press office said the administration is reviewing the filing and has no comment at this time. The New York Times, through a spokesperson, said it remains "fully committed to defending the First Amendment rights of our journalists and the Fourth Amendment rights of no flying vehicle, because that is not a thing that applies to airplanes."
Larkin called the Times' statement "disappointing and reductive."
"Journalists love constitutional protections when they shield the press," he said. "They're less enthusiastic when those same protections might inconvenience their coverage. My client simply asks to be left alone in its own fuselage. Is that too much to ask?"
The court has scheduled a preliminary hearing for August 14. Air Force One is expected to attend, though Larkin said his client has requested that media be restricted to the courthouse lobby and that no live photography be permitted within audible range of its engines.
Dr. Voss said she has advised the aircraft to limit its media consumption in the interim.
"We've instituted a strict no-cable-news policy during ground operations," she said. "In the hangar, we run ambient engine sounds and white noise. It's helping. Slowly."
IRREVERENT Newz Wire | Reporting from the margins of organized reality
NEW YORK - The Broadway premiere of Kevin Costner's "Richard III," produced by Hal Minor under the auspices of Minor Inconveniences Productions LLC, ceased operations Friday at 1:15 p.m. EST, approximately 17 hours after its inaugural curtain rose at the Harold P. Finster Memorial Playhouse, a 1,072-seat venue on West 45th Street whose marquee has since been tarped pending structural inspection.
The closure, announced via a two-sentence press release issued from a Midtown Kinko's at 12:47 p.m., follows what industry observers are calling the most rapid post-opening dissolution in the modern Broadway league, eclipsing the 19-hour run of "The Gingham Diaries" in 1987.
"While we are obviously saddened to shutter less than a day after opening," said Minor, reading from a laminated index card in the alley behind the theater, "we must realize that some things are just not meant to be." Minor has filed preliminary paperwork with the Broadway League's Casualty Review Board, a procedural step required of any production closing prior to its first scheduled matinee.
The decision to suspend operations was preceded by a sustained barrage of negative notices across every major news market, several of which were published before the Thursday evening performance had, by most accounts, concluded.
"Costner's 'Richard' is a trainwreck that had, by intermission, also located the dumpster fire," wrote NYT Arts critic Marjorie P. Delacroix, in a review timestamped 10:47 p.m. Thursday. "One is forced to ponder what on god's earth prompted anyone to put Shakespeare together with Kevin Costner in the first place, and conclude it could only be the inscrutable machinations of extraterrestrials or perhaps demons."
The Village Voice, operating under what remains of its freelance budget, published a single-word headline followed by 900 words of exegesis. "WTF?" read the header. Critic Darnell S. Chu continued: "Costner as Richard is so psychotically conceived it could've been a breakthrough tour de force, but lands closer to a public safety concern. Costner's Richard is limp, anemic, and yet somehow both boring and frenetic at the same time. Such a bizarre stew of artistic choices could still feed the performance a certain kitsch appeal, if it weren't so utterly pathetic and categorically unwatchable."
Variety's senior theater correspondent, Alistair Finch-Bottomley III, filed his notice at 6:12 a.m. Friday from a press club in the Theater District where he had reportedly been drinking since intermission. "Costner's Richard was, frankly, so hard to watch I'm physically enraged," the review stated. "What starts out as an unoriginal interpretation quickly degrades into a freakish, surreal cartoon of Shakespearean theater. I'm not sure what anyone involved with this production had envisioned, nor what hellish nightmare landscape of bad drugs convinced them to proceed with this disaster, but those responsible should be banned from working in professional theater for the remainder of their useless, amortizable lives."
The play's closing cuts short the former "Yellowstone" actor's Broadway ambitions before they, by most accounts, had even started.
A spokesman for the actor, Dennis K. Fallow of Boulder River Talent Management, issued a statement Friday morning from a parking structure near the Port Authority Bus Terminal.
"Kevin is heartbroken that his performance was not better received," Fallow said. "He felt that he had nailed Richard's crippling ailments admirably, and had spent days studying past performances to really get the subtle nuances of the character as authentic feeling as possible. Perhaps his portrayal of advanced dementia, flaming homosexuality, and costume choices were, in retrospect, ill advised."
The "ill advised" elements, according to production sources who spoke on condition of anonymity because they are still owed per diem, included:
- A third-act interpretive dance break set to royalty-free stock music titled "Medieval Tension 4 (Lo-Fi)," during which Costner performed what the Playbill called "a corporeal lament for sovereignty" but which stage management's incident report logged as "unstructured rotation, duration unclear."
- The use of a battery-powered, neon-yellow mobility scooter as Richard's throne, which lost power during the climactic Battle of Bosworth Field, necessitating a 14-minute pause while a stagehand named Gary searched for a 9-volt adapter.
- An Appalachian-by-way-of-Elizabethan dialect coached by Dr. Hiram P. Stossel, a semi-retired movement specialist from Poughkeepsie, rendering the famous opening soliloquy as "Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this here son of York."
- An inflatable hunchback prosthetic, sourced from a seasonal Halloween retailer, which partially, audibly deflated during the Thursday performance and was thereafter patched with gaffer tape visible from the mezzanine and, per at least three written complaints, still audible from the orchestra.
The Finster Memorial Playhouse has advised ticket holders that refund processing will require 6 to 8 weeks and must be initiated via Form AW-17(b), available at the box office between 10:00 a.m. and 10:15 a.m. on Tuesdays. StubHub has categorized the event as "Canceled: Act of God / Other."
Actors' Equity confirmed Friday that Costner's membership remains technically active but has been flagged for "educational review," a designation last applied in 2019 to a regional "Macbeth" in which the title role was played by a Bernese Mountain Dog. The Broadway League has scheduled an emergency hearing for Oct. 3 to determine whether Minor Inconveniences Productions LLC should be permitted to file future applications for theatrical licenses within the Special Theater District Zoning Overlay.
Costner is next scheduled to appear at the National Western Stock Show in Denver, where representatives say he will not be performing Shakespeare.
IRREVERENT Newz Wire is a Category 13 information service. This dispatch has been reviewed for compliance by the Bureau of Satirical Standards and is cleared for distribution in all 14 recognized time zones. We love you Mr. Costner.