Bob Verini

The process by which the scales drop from Leo’s eyes is told by Brown in song, and beautifully executed here. Platt’s insistent vibrato, so ubiquitous in his signature Dear Evan Hansen power ballads, serves him well in transitioning from passionate self-righteousness to the recognition that this woman means everything to him. And Diamond evokes all the delicacy and strength needed for the bitter, despairing “Do It Alone, Leo” down to the Franks’ climactic discovery of missed opportunity in “All the Wasted Time.” Barbara Cook was our premier interpreter of character in song, and I can’t help but think she would be proud of Diamond’s continuing in that tradition.

Since Some Like It Hot begins brash from its opening moments – a big-band intro to a sprawling nightclub dance caught in mid-debauch – I’ll kick off by brashly asserting that it’s a freakin’ joy, one of the most confident of Broadway musicals since… well, since Hairspray, with a score by the same gifted team of Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman. Like Hairspray, the new show is filled top to bottom with skilled pros, many of whom deserve to become instant headliners with this appearance. None of them ever doubts their own ability to dazzle, and they all barrel on through to do just that. If you’re a sucker for fast-paced glamour executed in high style, this is the one for you.

A Zoom reading of the play during the pandemic immersed McDonald in the material, and director Kenny Leon has planted her amidst a first-rate physical production. Beowulf Boritt’s set incorporates reality and fancy much as Kennedy does. Suzanne is surrounded by law library volumes, for instance, but the shelves are overhead and askew like cards thrown into the air in Alice in Wonderland. It’s a snowy day in Columbus, but we see the constant flakes through a gaping gash in the black back wall, the shavings of a consciousness being deconstructed before our eyes. Allen Lee Hughes’ lighting subtly ushers us through mists of pain and memory, with Jeff Sugg’s deftly chosen projections illustrating historical moments.

This show is, in a word, a honey. How refreshing to get an unabashedly good-hearted musical that again and again affirms two simple truths: that we're all more alike than we are different, and that we flourish, rather than wither, in the presence of our differences.

Usher’s a people-person in another sense. He has six strands of “golden braid” working on him at all times: an ensemble of “Thoughts,” who alternately hector, insult, question, and discourage him. I see them as the Self-Sabotage Sextet, or in Jackson’s lexicon, “Usher’s perceptions of reality, inside and out.” Now hilariously, later terrifyingly, they represent all the negativity we battle, often transforming into the fantasies that never come to good, or the real-life friends and families who often as not disappoint. What a marvelous ensemble director Stephen Brackett has marshalled, choreographed smoothly by Raja Feather Kelly in his Broadway bow. Each Thought/reality perception is a distinct type and master of accents, and they meld like an improv company that’s been working together for ages.

Lincoln Center takes its one intermission here, with time to reflect on the excellences thus far: the puppetry for sure, credited to James Ortiz; Adam Rigg's flashy yet seedy boardwalk setting; spectacular sound effects from Palmer Hefferan; and the sturdy performances by the principals, notably Gabby Beans as Sabina. That part has to carry both acts on her slim shoulders, and in 1943 the larger-than-life diva Tallulah Bankhead triumphed, director Elia Kazan having cast her famously against type. Beans, in her Broadway debut, is an Eartha Kitt rather than a Tallulah: seductive and sensible by turns, a tiger who can turn pussycat at will. I don't know whether a leading role in a Lincoln Center revival can carry the oomph necessary to be a star-maker, but I have a hunch Beans' future star status is pretty secure.

In bringing back Funny Girl, Beanie Feldstein and director Michael Mayer seem admirably determined to make us forget both Barbra Streisand and the 1968 film of her 1964 Broadway hit. (Streisand turns 80 today on opening night, as it happens, which may not be the surest way to put her out of mind.) Granted, Feldstein is a less than stellar singer. She's a careful singer, which is to say, a dutifully trained one who's straining not to flub, hoping we'll tolerate the lack of brio needed to sell the likes of 'People' and 'The Music That Makes Me Dance.' Well, Fanny Brice, the now-largely-forgotten subject of this musical bio, was no belter either. When she took on a ballad she got by with sincerity, and when Feldstein taps into the emotion of Jule Styne's melodies and Bob Merrill's lyrics, she does just fine.

Ellis places most of the play's gut punches - notably the two act breaks, though the second intermission is omitted - in the capably Expressionist fists of set designer David Rockwell and lighting designer Kenneth Posner. The momentary effects are achieved but curiously seem unearned, out of scale somehow to the human confrontations. More seamless is Mikaal Sulaiman's stellar sound design, layering cheers and gasps so you can't separate the recorded ones from the live. And isn't that how it should be? Ellis and Greenberg evidently share the belief that baseball is the most democratic of pastimes, perhaps even more so than theater, where a commonality of values often reigns. At the stadium, wealthy and strapped, left and right, white-collar and blue- come together in a celebration of teamwork and individual skill, and this play exploring individual identity knows that the group identity of 'fan' unites us. It almost makes a trip to the Helen Hayes a requirement in these polarized times.

The most effective touch by far is the casting of two young actors with cerebral palsy, Sebastian Ortiz (at the performance I caught) and Jai Ram Srinivasan, in alternation as Tiny Tim. It's no stunt. Tootling along in his little walker to investigate Scrooge's bounty the next morning-sorry, can't reveal anything about that either-Ortiz placidly works within his body's limits with fortitude and grace, more movingly than any ordinarily-abled moppet ever could in that role. His encounters with Scrooge bring tears to Scott's eyes and to ours: not tears of pity, but of recognition that there are people all around us who merit our help and at the very least, our respect, and yet look how often we deny both.

With material this personal, it's hard not to wonder what it must be like for standups to make their way through life knowing that every moment is potential fodder for material. How do they react and cope in the now, while storing up future impressions and maintaining aesthetic distance? This Pirandellian balancing act, known to all creative types but especially tricky for the comic, might well be the subject of another incisive play. Take it away, Mike.

There's also no doubt about anyone's frame of mind, since the country-tinged pop numbers consistently announce each singer's subtext. Though the lyrics teem with cliche, the cast gives its all to sell them, starting with the vocally confident Barks and Karl. Orfeh's Kit - all gospel-worthy pipes and Jersey Shore attitude - is utterly tangential to the story but welcome in every appearance...An iconic movie bids to become 'My Fair Lady of the Evening,' but isn't quite so loverly.

Rarely in American drama have the gaps between what one wants to say, how one says it and what one really feels been as hilariously explored for dramatic effect as Norris is able to pull off here. There are secrets in this house and surprises, too, expertly managed by helmer Pam MacKinnon on Daniel Ostling's thematically expressive set, in the hands of a brilliant and versatile company. All are united in the task of peeling back society's veneer to confront the terrors lurking below the surface. 'Clybourne Park' has no easy answers for the questions it raises about the historical roots and present-day dimensions of racial disharmony. But it sharpens the viewer's antennae for the obfuscation in which we timidly traffic when trying to discuss those questions, and that's a public service right there.