How's this for weird… On Sunday night I saw a show where a straight guy spoke for an hour and fifteen minutes about how people mistake him for gay because of his interests and not once did he mention anything about musical theatre.
Though Tennessee Williams' Cat On A Hot Tin Roof certainly has its share of humor, mostly of the tragicomedy variety, you wouldn't expect a revival of the play to be the laff riot of the Broadway season.
Anton Chekhov's The Seagull, as anyone who has ever committed suicide will tell you, is a comedy.
'We are not here to tell the life story of Cole Porter,' Mark Nadler advised the Town Hall audience last Monday night.
Though I hadn't seen Passing Strange during its earlier stint Off-Broadway, I took my seat well aware that writers and critics and audience members alike have been grasping for the words that best describe the type of theatrical entertainment that has now settled into the Belasco Theatre.
Though The Metropolitan Room's fine martini selection always suits my refreshment needs very nicely, on Monday night I was feeling a severe hankering for something their bar doesn't stock, PBR in a can.
I suppose it's too late in our current president's administration to see Conversations In Tusculum, playwright/director Richard Nelson's fact-based prequel to assassination of Julius Caesar, completely as a commentary on George W.
The thing that always strikes me about Euan Morton, from his New York debut in Taboo to his Obie-winning stint in Measure For Pleasure and various other plays, musicals, concerts and cabarets, is that the guy seems incapable of expressing a dishonest emotion.
Never one to refuse a complimentary martini or two at Sardi's (remember that the next time you spot me spreading an extra shmear of that cheddar cheese concoction over crackers at the upstairs bar), I too was invited to attend the presentation of three songs from the upcoming musical version of Shre
I don't know about you, but when I first heard the title of Sarah Ruhl's comic fantasy, Dead Man's Cell Phone, it immediately brought to mind the title of Sister Helen Prejean's book, Dead Man Walking.
1959 was a heck of a good year for Broadway overtures.
The second act of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine's 1984 musical, Sunday In The Park With George is centered on a then-contemporary artist/inventor named George who has created a series of machines called chromolumes, which electronically fill rooms with color and light.
As I write these words the opening night party of Roundabout's revival of Sunday in the Park With George, which I'll be seeing on Saturday, is no doubt in full swing, but despite the sublime glories of that Steven Sondheim/James Lapine creation, there's another musical in town about radical artists
As the 21st Century chugs along toward completing its first decade, perhaps Broadway's new role in American theatre with emerge as the place where talented composers and lyricists with interesting projects will premiere their less-inspired shows while their exciting, adventurous and better-written w
I had to chuckle a bit while reading The Public Theater's Artistic Director Oskar Eustis' program notes for Adrienne Kennedy's Mom, How Did You Meet The Beatles?, which described the play as 'the most accessible' she's ever written.
You would think that Edith Wharton's fizzy little comic novel, The Glimpses Of The Moon, might have been a perfect property for Rodgers & Hart or Kern, Wodehouse & Bolton to musicalize when it was fresh off the presses in 1922.
In the 1979 revival of Oklahoma!, Christine Ebersole insisted that when it comes to men she 'cain't say no,' and this weekend she's showing City Center audiences that when it comes to performing, the same words apply.
There are several reasons I'm looking forward to this week's Encores! concert performance of Charles Strouse (music), Lee Adams (lyrics) and Betty Comden and Adolph Green's (book) 1970 musical version of All About Eve, retiled Applause, this weekend.
William Gibson's The Miracle Worker is one of those rare serious American dramas you can call a real crowd-pleaser, as much as Oklahoma!, Hello, Dolly! or any other musical with an exclamation point at the end of its title.
During a quiet moment midway through Act I of last Saturday night's performance of Come Back, Little Sheba, an annoyed (and annoying) man seated in the orchestra section was loudly heard complaining, 'I'm waiting for something to happen.
