To be or not to be - that is the question. Whether, as initially reported, Shakespeare's most famous speech had been diminished by opening the play - or, by showing Benedict Cumberbatch's Hamlet to be a tormented soul for whom suicide has long been a hovering possibility - Lyndsey Turner's hugely anticipated production had found a new way to explore the Danish prince's state of mind.
Delia Ephron is wearing black. Black trousers and a black T-shirt. "I was probably wearing the same yesterday," she says. Like the other Ephrons in her family, including her late, famous older sister Nora, the creator of When Harry Met Sally, Delia is a writer.
It is 1928 Berlin. Fascism is a mere glimmer in Germany's eye and the mood in the Weimar Republic is one of decadence and decay. No, this musical is not Cabaret, but a 1989 Broadway show set in one of Berlin's finest resting houses. Everyone who stays here is rich.
In the Tel Aviv Museum of Art concert hall, a show is being honed before it arrives in London for its West End premiere. It is provocatively called You Won't Succeed On Broadway If You Don't Have Any Jews, a title many will recognise from one of the more outrageous songs in Monty Python's Spamalot musical. Some Israelis didn't get the joke.
In recent times, plays featuring Israel and Jews have tended to come in clusters and usually in the wake of conflict in Gaza. Some of them are Palestinian, as in the case of The Siege, recently seen at Battersea Arts Centre, others are authored by English playwrights. None is Israeli.
Today is the first performance of this year's only Israeli play at the Edinburgh Fringe. It's an hour-long comical whimsy directed with a skilful, light touch by Ariella Eshed whose Tik-sho-ret theatre company nobly exists to stage Israeli plays in the UK. This can't be easy in a country whose arts establishment often sees Israel as the "anti" cause of choice.
I'm a peace-loving soul but whoever invented the musical medley should be forced to wear padlocked headphones through which a never ending silage of song snippets should be fed until they are, well, dead. Perhaps that's a bit strong.
As a child my mother developed an odd theory about boxing. After 12 rounds in which two men knock seven bells out of each other, the winner was not the one who was judged to fight the best fight, but the one who, before the final bell, managed to land the last punch.