Transparent Falsehood, Gil Kofman's apocalyptic biography of Donald J. Trump, probably deserves one of those trendy trigger warnings, and the play knows it — but the play isn't genteel enough to let you know what's coming down the pike. Neither is life. Hence: 45.
Before the show, a woman next to me felt me out to make sure I wasn't a Trump supporter before telling me she'd recently been asked by a vacationing family how to kill a few hours around Lincoln Center before taking in a music program. She said she'd given them ideas, then urged them to avoid Columbus Circle, which may be filled with a Trump protest. She then asked the mom if Trump were her president, to which the mom replied, Yes, and we'll agree to disagree. My seatmate wasn't having it, instead telling their teens that the music program they were going to see was federally funded and urging them to have a chat with their parents later.
That's one way to address the international horror that is Donald Trump, and Transparent Falsehood is another.