In my adult life, I have attended exactly two plays. I openly admit to this piece of philistinism. I find being acted at a little scary, and I have trouble suspending belief sufficiently to sink into the story.
That's why I found Roberta Smith's review of Red, a play about Mark Rothko currently being staged in New York, rather strange. Smith struggled with the play because although it's set in Rothko's studio, it didn't accord with her 20 years of visiting artists where they work.
As inexperienced as I am, I kind of feel that's a little bit like saying that Broadway Boogie Woogie doesn't look like a live jazz band. Theatre is artifice. That's the point.
For a comparative opinion, take a look at Stephanie Zacharek & Jerry Saltz's review-duet: a theatre and an art critic take on Red.