Ayanna Prescod

Thornton Wilder's allegorical play 'The Skin of Our Teeth' is bizarre, abstract and convoluted; it's not to be taken seriously. Or so Sabina (Gabby Beans) tells the audience at Lincoln Center Theater's Broadway revival of the 1942 Pulitzer Prize-winning play by Thornton Wilder. But don't listen to her: There are definitely things to take seriously here, as the themes of this 80-year-old work, courageously but unevenly directed by Lileana Blain-Cruz, remain relevant and vital to be reckoned with by contemporary audiences.

Still, Shange's work remains as riveting as it was in 1976. Her words have become more than the unspoken and unrealized accounts of Black women's pain and promise; they have evolved into the gift of permission to heal and the agency to be seen and understood. It has become a memo to Black women to embrace their femaleness (no matter what that looks like) while looking to the rainbow as a sign of hope for the future of the collective, because they alone are enough.

The impressive acting, practical set and tailored direction blend well to tell a story that could easily feel flat and predictable. Vivienne Benesch's direction readily elevates Haidle's script, exploring the emotional and unpredictable time-lapse tale of Ernestine's birthdays over the course of 90 years.

The playwright Dominique Morisseau knows what she is doing. That's clear not only because she says it so convincingly in her Playbill note for Manhattan Theatre Club's production of 'Skeleton Crew,' but because she writes this moving drama with pristine delicacy and develops its characters with rigorous detail and tact. Under the masterful direction of Ruben Santiago-Hudson, 'Skeleton Crew' presents a vibrant cast, poetic dialogue and profoundly layered storytelling that move the audience to audibly engage.

For the single women attending this show, it's impossible not to feel something deeply for this story. I am just like Bobbie, single by choice and moving into my 34th year of living. The pressures of life and family to marry for love, or company, exist. Any time you turn on ABC on a Tuesday evening for an episode of The Bachelorette or log onto any popular dating app you can catch a woman approaching her 30s trying to beat marriage clock she built for herself. This vibrant reinvention is welcome and authentic, but Bobbie needs stronger conviction to make us truly care.

At the center of 'Trouble in Mind' is Wiletta Mayer (LaChanze), a veteran, African American actress who dreams of starring in a role of substance, but has spent her entire career playing stereotypical Black characters. A performer best known for her work in musicals, LaChanze is this production's heartbeat. In her first lead role in a Broadway play, she delicately embodies a middle-aged woman who deeply loves an art form that ignores her. In an instant she transforms from the childlike act Willetta puts on for her white director to the strong façade she projects for her Black castmates.

Caroline's daughter Emmie (Samantha Williams), however, fiercely serves as this story's change agent. She's instrumental in helping her mother revaluate her antiquated beliefs and works to fight the systems that had her mother believing them in the first place. Williams delicately conquers a role that previously secured Anika Noni Rose her first Tony Award, making this role her own with a youthful energy and gentle grace. All of these story elements spun together wrestle with issues that are still urgent today. As one memorable lyric in the show states, there is 'no underground in Louisiana.' But on the surface in New York City, there is an important musical revival on Broadway that is deeply meaningful, crucial to experience and definitely a necessary change.

The cast is dynamic together, making it nearly impossible to single out any one of them. Mizzelle, however, does an extraordinary job at playing the going-on-16-year-old La'Trice Franklin, a character that could easily be portrayed as a Black female caricature. She's loud, she's bold and she says whatever is on her mind; Mizzelle's performance gives nuance to the young Black woman screaming to be seen, included and understood. Urie, who plays Kenny Mabry's white Jewish boyfriend, also does a phenomenal job of conveying how out of place his character feels. At no point does his performance feel forced.