Aramide Timubu

“Bug” is as intimate as it is intense. The set, designed by Takeshi Kata, drops the audience right into this specific place and time. The lightning, helmed by Heather Gilbert, and the sound, spearheaded by Josh Schmidt, also keep the play tightly grounded, though the production may have worked even better in a smaller theater. Additionally, midway through Act II, there is a shocking set change that reveals just how deep into their psychosis Agnes and Peter have sunk. Moreover, amid Agnes and Peter’s continued descent toward insanity, the story remains convincing because of the characters’ obvious affection and mutual obsession. It’s pretty apparent they are causing each other immense harm. However, their actions stem from a place of love, companionship, humor and understanding, which makes the tale especially heartbreaking.

the play’s positive components do not make up for its faults. Broadway is the wrong medium for this story. Musicalizing the story does little to ground the audience in Jackie’s world and instead pulls and stretches the tale, when the themes alone could speak for themselves. The narrative would actually soar if it were given feature-film treatment. Additionally, adding the musical element further bastardizes this tale. Except for “Caviar Dreams,” the third song in Act One, none of the other selections are particularly memorable. Though the opening act is fairly intriguing, by the second act, the nearly three-hour-long performance began to drag, especially as the show’s tone shifted drastically.

It can be challenging to deliver something fresh and unique to the memory play genre. However, in writer Bess Wohl‘s new Broadway show, “Liberation,” she manages to do just that.

A whirlwind of a play, the cast delivers incredible performances and seems at ease in this world cultivated by Jacobs-Jenkins and structured by Rashad. The play acknowledges how much our families and our places within them shape, define and break us. ‘Purpose’ is a brilliant and profound narrative about legacies, ambition, mental illness and who you may become if you were never allowed to know yourself.

The story of “A Streetcar Named Desire” remains timeless in this rendition, aided by the powerful performances. The barebone scenic construction (designed by Madeleine Girling) enables the story to stand alone without the extra frills usually found on more traditional sets. Specialized water effects by Water Sculptures are also beautifully effective, allowing audiences a window into Blanche’s increasingly fractured mind."

Sixty-five years after it first premiered on Broadway, “Gypsy” is still known as one of the greatest theater masterpieces of the 20th century. There have been stellar productions of the play from New York to London, led by icons including Angela Lansbury and Imelda Staunton. However, the latest revival, shepherded by legendary director and playwright George C. Wolfe and starring Tony Award winner Audra McDonald, is an electric and truly unique production that will undoubtedly become a crowning jewel in the canon of “Gypsy.”

With a script by Aurin Squire for a show conceived by Christopher Renshaw and Andrew Delaplaine and co-directed by Renshaw, James Monroe Iglehart and Christina Sajous, “A Wonderful World: The Louis Armstrong Musical” is a majestic spectacle, paying homage to a towering figure and his distinctive legacy.

Though “Our Town” runs just 105 minutes, much shorter than the original two hours and 35 minutes, the last act does drag a bit. This final chapter centers on death and what we miss out on when we’re not truly present. However, these scenes lean toward melodrama, removing some of the sharpness constructed in the play’s first two acts. Still, Leon masters the core of Wilder’s message. Life is fragile and fleeting, and love is all that matters.

“McNeal” falters because it doesn’t know what it wants to say. Moreover, the narrative felt confusing and meaningless, with a mix of genres and no actual theme or climax. Jacob is a writer, but viewers can never penetrate who he is beyond the surface. Instead, the play becomes an illustration of a self-absorbed man who treats the people around him like accessories for his own gain.

While most of the production works flawlessly, there are two major missteps. Because viewers are well aware of the time periods (Martha calls out the years throughout the show’s 105-minute run time), some of the major plot points are highly predictable, taking away the story’s emotional power. Moreover, one particular scene of Phyllis at home alone simply doesn’t work. The segment is supposed to depict her loneliness and isolation, but the wordless 10 minutes is overlong and dull, belaboring a point that could have been made in less than half the time. Still, despite its imperfections, “Mother Play” is a genuinely engaging examination of a family trying to find equilibrium.

Performances are solid throughout, though McAdams’ projection was muted at a recent performance. Still, it’s the story that truly drives “Mary Jane.” More often than not, the labor of child rearing lies heavily on the mother, who is frequently the primary parent, whether partnered or otherwise. As a single mom caring for a special needs child, the weight of Mary Jane’s existence and her adoration and love for her son are the anchors fortifying this narrative. By the time the final curtain on “Mary Jane” drops, the audience is fully immersed in the titular character’s experiences. McAdams masters her portrayal of a determined caregiver continually sitting in the uncertainty of worry, despite constantly leaning toward positivity. “Mary Jane” stays with viewers long after they leave the theater. It raises worthy questions concerning motherhood, sacrifice, community and lack thereof. It’s a story about how much one person — in this case, one woman — should be expected to endure before bowing under the pressure.

In addition to Moon and Bean’s sensational vocal range, “Hell’s Kitchen” illustrates how tender mother/daughter relationships can be. It also reflects the issues underlying New York City in the ’90s while demonstrating the impact of loss, absentee fathers and over-policing in communities of color. Since the play runs at a lengthy 2 hours and 30 minutes (including an intermission), these themes are often drawn out and sometimes feel cliché, bordering on corny. However, the absolute dynamism of the cast keeps the show from falling into pure melodrama.

Amid David Rockwell’s beautifully built rotating set depicting the church’s windows, a garden and the principal’s office, what’s exceedingly interesting about “Doubt,” aside from Schreiber’s standout performance, has nothing to do with Sister Aloysius’ indication or righteousness or if Father Flynn is or isn’t a pedophile. Instead, the play highlights how easy it is for influential people to prey on the vulnerable and how the systems we revere are complicit in demonizing those with the most to lose, while shielding the powerful from harm and repercussions. Uncomfortable and thought-provoking, the themes of “Doubt” have never been more urgent. Yet, the moral lesson at the story’s center worked best in the 2008 film, when the performances and characters could stretch beyond the limits of one confining act.

Under director Lila Neugebauer, “Appropriate” creates one of the most engaging family dynamics presented on stage. The set, by multi-disciplinary collective dots, is highly effective: Packed full of boxes and trinkets, it’s a breath away from an episode of “Hoarders.” This adds to Toni, Franz and Bo’s feelings of claustrophobia. The intervals between scenes, however, plunge the audience into total darkness, surrounded by the shrill roaring of cicadas, creating an effect that’s more jarring than haunting. Additionally, with a runtime approaching three hours, even the humorous bits that slice through the heaviness of the material can’t save some of the overlong sections and monologues.

With absolute powerhouse vocals from the cast and songs written by Keys with orchestrations and arrangements by Emmy and Grammy winner Adam Blackstone, “Hell’s Kitchen” moves beyond Ali’s teenage experiences. The play also showcases Jersey’s perspective as a single mother determined to get her daughter to make different choices from her own. Though Keys’ iconic music is used throughout, Diaz and Blackstone don’t haphazardly sprinkle the tunes across two acts. Instead, tracks like “You Don’t Know My Name” and “Fallin” come thundering forward from surprising characters at unexpected times.

Despite the raw banter and the actors’ solid performances (especially Abbott), “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea” isn’t exactly riveting. Instead, it feels like a somber, overly long vignette of two deeply tortured people without the means or wherewithal to address the horrors of their circumstances and personal choices. If only for a moment, the duo cling to one another, conceiving of a plan where they might for once grasp onto some semblance of happiness. Though the play should center on the vulnerability of two emotionally troubled souls desperate for connection, it feels instead like an endless and exhausting screaming match that the audience is forced to endure without any hope for respite.

The beauty of “Jaja’s African Hair Braiding” is the play’s ability to bring life to a seemingly mundane space. On the set designed by David Zinn, the salon’s walls are painted a deep, robust pink, with bags of braiding hair hanging along the walls. The television screen propped near the ceiling displays Afrobeats music videos or a Nollywood movie more enticing than anything seen in the theaters recently. Carts full of combs, braiding gel and oil sheen sliding over the floor feel familiar to any Black woman who has spent a good portion of her life in those worn leather chairs. Still, the play moves beyond the intricate hairstyles—though many are displayed here (the hair and wig design is by Nikiya Mathis)—to highlight the women at the heart of these shops. These are women boasting bold laughs and heavy hearts, who twist and manipulate hair until their fingers swell from the effort.

Directed by Kenny Leon, the beauty of the Black vernacular is embedded in the “Purlie Victorious” script. Specificities of Black American life are infused within the jokes as Odom and the cast deftly switch from comedy to drama on a dime. The rapid pacing of the 100-minute show, running without an intermission, means that portions of the audience erupt in laughter at the sharp jokes. In contrast, others sit silently, the countless one-liners soaring above their heads. It presents a stunning contrast.