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by Sally Mitani
posted 11/1/2007
Somehow you don't expect much from a play with pizza in the title. The word itself is so redolent of soggy cardboard, third-rate ingredients, and stale pop culture. And while it's true that large slices of the second act of The Poetry of Pizza (a world premiere at the Purple Rose, by playwright Deborah Brevoort) are a five-buck Little Caesars carried
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