I live nowhere near New York, thank God. And while I still remember a time when Broadway shows were an important factor in the kind of entertainment people could see out in Real America, that time is long past.

In fact, most of the shows filling Broadway over the last twenty years have been imitations of the leading media in America, movies and television. I ended my season subscription to the "Broadway series" in my town when they drudged up a stage version of Singin' in the Rain, which did nothing but imitate the movie as much as possible. The big scene was, of course, a copy of Gene Kelly's dance number, with real rain falling on stage - sponsored by 7-Up, yet! If I wanted to see tech substitute for story and heart, I could always go to see a Jerry Bruckheimer film.

Practically everything I've heard about Broadway has also tried to imitate films. The soundtrack of The Producers on-stage at least showed Mel Brooks was willing to amend some of his less-PC aspects; Oola was sexual but wasn't a moron, and Roger DeBris and the other gays were eccentric but fun. But aside from that, I was better off with my old DVD of the original movie.

The only play I've had a desire to see is Sondheim's Assassins, especially since it throws pop culture (and Broadway) conventions back into the face of the audience, laced with battery acid. But it took three attempts to get a steady run of the show in New York, and the chances of it playing anywhere in Real America in a road show are nil. Audiences apparently prefer imitations of popular films on stage - with rain sponsored by 7-Up - than something challenging.

The two plays Simonson advocates seem like another recent game played on Broadway; pandering to gay audiences. Well, who else shows up to theatres these days? In the 60's they pandered to grey-haired old ladies with Mame and Hello, Dolly! And while it's probable that they'll have a successful run with audiences drawn from the Village and Tribeca, neither of those plays sound like they'll fly anywhere else, not even on film - well, maybe on Bravo.

Yes, Lost is an exercise in audience manipulation. But there's a difference when that manipulation has a dramatic point, say in Hitchcock's thrillers, and when it's audience abuse.

The latter seems to happen with egotistical creators. The first time I really noticed it was with Twin Peaks, when David Lynch decided (much like Heather Havrilesky) that we were all morons who deserved to be screwed over. It was comforting that after his unfunny parody of early TV, On the Air, and the Twin Peaks movie that was a final upraised middle finger to the show's fans, Lynch has dropped below the radar horizon. Nobody seems to care very much what he's done since; check his IMDB filmography.

Lost has been dancing along the edge of viewer-abuse territory for quite a while. All it will take is one serious misstep and its audience will awaken from its codependency and walk away. And a final question: what deranged person decided that releasing a line of dolls (sorry, "collectible action figures") from Lost was a good idea?

First, again I cannot in good conscience attack Havrilesky for this column. Twice in one week, she's done her job properly. I can only conclude that someone in management has finally put the cattle prod to her.

Also, I cannot really comment on The Sopranos. I never found it compelling. There are more sinister and realistic criminals in the Bush Family Evil Empire than in this fictional version. Although nobody's allowed to take pictures of the real corpses resulting from W's dealings.

(Since nobody has mentioned that connection, appropriate as it may be, perhaps it's time for someone who knew the series better than I to examine it. Possible theme: Immorality must spread from the top down. Perhaps all the machinations of Tony Soprano has lead to the deaths of his family and friends, just as a crook at the top of the real world leads a young woman to abuse prisoners at Abu Gareb. People would rather talk about the former than the latter, and that's okay; part of the function of pop culture is for us to talk about things we don't consciously like to consider.)

But I digress. I dropped in to observe that you fans of The Sopranos can't abuse fans of Star Trek, Babylon 5 or Firefly/Serenity any more. The obsession you demonstrate about this show, your intimate knowledge of how many nose hairs Big Pussy has, indicates that you, too, are fanboys.

As of yet, none of you have dressed up in Soprano clothing (the proper term is cosplay, just so you know) probably because normal people with real jobs can't afford Givengy and Robert Hall and those other expensive threads. Give it time, though. Soon you'll have conventions, home-written episodes (again, the term is fanfic), resin-cast replicas of the weapons used, and clamors for HBO to produce The Sopranos: The Next Degeneration.

And you'll now have to take abuse from the normal people you used to count as friends (mundanes) who will consider you retarded and a poor choice for a sex or marriage partner. The moment a prospective date sees the Sopranos poster in your apartment, she'll leave skid marks on the carpet as she retreats. Welcome to the club, folks.