Brian Scott Lipton — Theater Critic

Although many people may recall the opulence of the original Broadway production, this more minimalist version is frankly more effective, allowing one to focus on the plot and the performances. David Korins' set is decidedly but intelligently spare, relying primarily on two large stepladders and a few well-chosen set pieces (including a Model T Ford). Linda Cho’s period costumes are quite impressive. Adam Honore’s lighting design and 59 Studio’s projection designs both help fill the vast Beaumont stage. Finally, Ellenore Scott’s spot-on choreography is thoughtful and often makes up for the lack of scenery. Yes, it's sad that 2025 proves to be the right time for “Ragtime,” but that doesn’t mean you should pass up the chance to witness this truly unforgettable production.

Whether running around the stage with kinetic, barely pent-up energy or cowering on the floor, seemingly terrified of having to find the rights words to explain himself, Will Harrison makes one of the most impressive Broadway debuts in recent history as the troubled Jacob Dunne in James Graham’s new play, “Punch,” now at Manhattan Theatre Club’s Samuel J. Friedman Theatre. Commanding a mostly bleak stage for almost all of the play’s two-and-a-half hours, shifting colors with the quicksilver ability of a chameleon, Harrison is (pardon the pun) a knockout – and well worth your time and money to see him!

Unquestionably, Reeves and Winter have the necessary chemistry to play these men who have spent countless years together, barely separated for more than a few hours at a time. We believe they are unable to leave each other, more out of familiar comfort than actual fear. In fact, they won’t even commit suicide unless they’re sure both can succeed at the task. The duo brilliantly captures the pair’s codependence, if little else. That said, “Godot” Is essentially a vaudevillian exercise that requires two actors who can transform Beckett’s verbal exercises, such as when they take turns calling each other horrible names (including “critic”), into laugh-inducing comedy routines. Sadly, you’re more likely to hear chuckles (if not silence) during these exchanges.

Sure, the set is even more basic than it was, the cast has completely changed (in some cases for the better), and the audience seems even younger. But the infectious music of Swedish supergroup ABBA can still make you sing and dance in your seat, bringing an almost-constant smile to your face even as you remember (or, for first timers, realize) just how inanely some of their two dozen mega-hits have been shoehorned into Catherine Johnson’s relatively ridiculous book.

What’s your damage? After a Monday evening performance of the Off-Broadway musical “Heathers,” now at New World Stages under Andy Fickman’s clever direction, I was afraid my damage was shattered eardrums from the excessive shouting by an audience who seemed to think they were watching a Taylor Swift concert. Somehow, this offbeat show – based on a quirky 1989 movie about a high school run by a trio of bullying girls and previously seen Off-Broadway in 2014 (and then revised for numerous runs in London) – has become a cult-like phenomenon. Which leads to the question: Is there something to shout about? Fortunately, the answer is yes.

Ultimately, as well, I left perplexed why this tale really needs to be told, especially to Broadway audiences in 2025. I admit some women (and a few men) in the audience will find “Call Me Izzy” to be inspirational or perhaps even motivational, while many other theatergoers will simply be content to be in Smart’s presence and hear her talk the talk. To me, however, the entire enterprise simply feels like a case of wrong place, wrong time, and wrong theater. (Studio 54 is way too vast for such an intimate piece, no matter how hard scenic designer Mikiko Suzuki MacAdams tries to convince us otherwise.) Call me cynical, if you must.

Despite the unmatched skill of Birney and Emery, who both infuse Margulies’ words and his silences with layers of meaning, the ultimately too-slight “Lunar Eclipse” feels as inconsequential as its titular subject. Just as George is disappointed that the clouds muted his chance to the view the eclipse’s colorful “Japanese Lantern” effect, audiences may leave the theater feeling that the play was also a missed opportunity for something more spectacular.

Despite the show’s occasional frivolity, the piece can be terrifying as Cole lets loose with his anger through a letter Davis “encourages” him to write or as he is forced (alongside a teenaged Natalie, who was actually seven at the time) to recite the copy of a potential commercial that is downright racist and condescending. “Madison Avenue is afraid of the dark,” Cole is told repeatedly. Even “Mad Men” wasn’t this damning.

While it might take some viewers a little time to realize the double meaning of the title of Caitlin Saylor Stephens’ new play, “Five Models in Ruins, 1981,” now premiering at Lincoln Center Theater under the focused direction of Morgan Green, other audience members may need to ruminate on this sharply funny and deeply disturbing play to understand it’s designed as both an over-the-top satire of the fashion industry and a damning exploration of a male-dominated culture (that still exists five decades later) that treats women as objects rather than people.

I wish the show had something more revelatory to say about America’s fascination with the macabre, it’s obsession with minor celebrities, or the fact that greedy bastards lurk in and around every corner than it actually does. Perhaps if it did, I would have found “Dead Outlaw” significantly more rewarding.

But the show’s raison d’etre is Groff, who could earn back-to-back Tony Awards with this tour-de-force performance, Moreover, should he ever do a cabaret show, perhaps he should borrow a page from his real-life bestie, Lea Michele, and belt out “I’m the Greatest Star.” I doubt his many fans – old and new – would disagree.

Still, if you allow yourself to get carried away, you’ll have a delightful time with “Pirates! The Penzance Musical.” And if you bring your own beignets, please eat them after the show.

Still, Floyd Collins is no feel-good entertainment, a rarity in a spring season that has already given us Boop!, Smash, and Operation Mincemeat. But theatergoers seeking more challenging fare are encouraged to dig into Floyd Collins... The sublime Jeremy Jordan is in top form as the overly optimistic Floyd... While film director Billy Wilder was inspired by the ‘media circus,’ Landau and Guettel are more interested in Floyd’s existential dilemma as he realizes he might die, as well as the ever-fracturing relationships above ground that develop during Floyd’s final days.

Just as people may not be who they originally seem, “John Proctor is the Villain” reveals more layers throughout its 100-minute running time as it hurtles to its conclusion. Even if some parts of the play fail to achieve its desired effect, there’s definitely an A for effort on everyone’s part.

This misbegotten, meshugana mess wastes the talent of a top-notch cast and an often-delightful score from Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, not to mention 2 ½ hours of your time.

Warren is a marvel, her powerful voice and expert skills as an actress painting a complete portrait of the defiantly happy, defiantly determined and defiantly angry Cathy. She’s properly mournful in the melancholy “Still Hurting”; hilarious in the vaudevillian “A Summer in Ohio”; and cockeyedly optimistic in “I Can Do Better That.” Jonas (likely cast for his formidable name value) is rather too appealing as Jamie; he simply lacks the character’s formidable egotism and neuroticism.

More importantly, though, it’s a solid evening of theater. Yes, perhaps it’s a less-than-dramatic one -- unless you’ve never seen the movie or don’t know your 1950s history -- but it remains eminently watchable as it recounts Murrow’s crusade to take down Wisconsin’s junior senator, Joseph McCarthy, through his news program 'See It Now.'

Still, one’s viewing pleasure derives largely from the show’s superb five-person cast (three of whom are also its co-creators), whose ability to do quick costume changes and switch genders and characters on a dime – as well as handle the many challenges of Felix Hagan’s accomplished pastiche score -- are truly medal-worthy.

Jacobs-Jenkins is a fantastic storyteller, and it is possible to walk away from Purpose without considering any of the play’s further implications, simply having relished in his almost unparalleled gifts for dialogue and characterization. (It won’t be a surprise if he ends up with back-to-back Tony Awards.)

For nearly two hours, the Tony Award-winning icon -- surrounded by a superlative supporting cast of four – gets to frequently show off her still-breathtaking belt to tremendous effect. Unfortunately, it’s too often in the service of a generic pop-sounding, lyrically banal score by musical theatre newcomer Kate Diaz, with too many songs that simply reinforce emotions that have already been expressed and do little to advance the barely-there plot. Indeed, no matter how strikingly songs like “Great Escape” or “No Repair” are performed, there’s no number here like “Defying Gravity” or “Over the Moon” that Menzel’s admirers will want to hear for years (or decades) to come. Further, librettist and director Tina Landau’s frustrating, oddly structured book basically dares us to sympathize with Menzel’s self-absorbed, self-pitying character.

Sadly, I would not expect a repeat performance (aka a Broadway transfer) from the less-than-ideal “revival” now being presented by City Center Encores! Part parable and part spoof of musical theater, the production, directed with a too-heavy hand by Teddy Bergman, takes its seemingly outlandish plot a bit too seriously, robbing the show of some of its much-needed laughs.

Don’t bother! Harrison makes it clear that such actions would merely be performative. Indeed, one can’t really argue that “The Antiquities” is a cautionary tale. There’s no question that artificial intelligence is here to stay; all that’s left for us to discover is whether Harrison’s dire predictions about the future of the human race – and technology’s part in making it happen -- will come true or turn out to be mere figments of the playwright’s vivid imagination.

A glimpse into theatrical history (although clearly a mix of fact and faction), “Kowalski” is a satisfying combination of drama and melodrama, much like many of Williams’ plays.

Yes, the show may be called “Gypsy,” but it’s Rose who is front and center. Luckily, McDonald offers the kind of fully committed, thoroughly thoughtful and often breathtaking performance people will talk about for decades. Don’t miss it!

Meanwhile, the board, for their part, seems far more worried about the financial health of the school than the physical health of their students, or in the case of Suzanne, furthering her own personal agenda. (Hecht’s brilliant delivery of a small monologue explaining her “reasoning” is heartbreaking and slightly terrifying.) But here’s the biggest problem of all: as Covid still looms, the concept of people resisting and refusing vaccines isn’t likely to engender much sympathy in New York theatergoers (many of whom have started to wear masks again). Worse yet, with the prospect of vaccine-denier Robert F. Kennedy Jr. becoming the next secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services – and asking the FDA to revoke approval of the polio vaccine – the issue no longer feels fit for satire. Ultimately, even in a better production than this one, the day to produce “Eureka Day” has passed.