Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.

Cast as a theatrical metaphor, the line suggests that much of life can feel engaging, even satisfying, yet its later phase often seems clumsily structured—marked by decline, loss, or anticlimax rather than a well-shaped resolution. The “third act” evokes the final portion of a play, when plots should tighten and meaning should crystallize; calling it “badly written” implies that endings in real life rarely deliver the coherence, justice, or catharsis we expect from art. The remark also carries a wry, Capote-like skepticism about narrative neatness: human experience may be vivid and entertaining, but it does not reliably provide a graceful finale.