My boss may be a spymaster, but he makes his office in an abandoned subway car. He's the kind of guy who leaves copies of "Playbot" on the waiting room table for his robotic secretary to see, and he forces me (in the guise of a hero named Polyblank) to sit on whoopee cushions when I'm called in for one of his little chats. So much slapstick. So many gags. They come at such a relentless pace in the first stage that it seems inconceivable that Jazzpunk can maintain it for the rest of its two or three hours... and thus it hardly comes as a surprise when it doesn't.
How cats see the world.
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