I really can't stand this play. We're supposed to feel sorry for selfish, ridiculous Barney, who says he loves his wife, yet is trying to have a one-afternoon stand in his mother's apartment, and with the most awful women. I actually felt sorry for the women, although I don't think that was Neil Simon's intention. I really don't care about Barney and his midlife crisis. Did he ever think that every single person on this earth who has time to think about it worries about their own mortality and not accomplishing anything in the time they have on the planet. But they don't consider a tacky 2-hour sexfest to be the accomplishment of a lifetime! At least I HOPE not. Never once does Barney consider anything but his need for a little pathetic excuse for excitement. What about his poor wife? What was supposed to happen to the woman he thinks is so wonderful if she finds out he was making it with her best friend? It's disgusting, Barney is a horrible character, and I can't believe this play worked for anybody even in the 1970's. The female characters are stereotypes, not real people (maneating Mrs. Robinson, flaky hippy chick and depressed Jewish lady). They're right out of "Love, American Style" except that was less bitter and funnier.