Brian Scott Lipton — Theater Critic

Sadly, the most interesting person on the Friedman stage is the energetic DJ who spins a Studio 54-worthy 1980s playlist before each act. I’m not sure I’ve ever recommended this plan before, but if you can, “second act” the intermission and leave before the play resumes. It’s the only way you’ll leave the theater satisfied.

And while Circle in the Square proves to be an excellent space for the show’s mostly concert-like format – indeed, the last 15 minutes of the show is nothing but a concert – “KPOP” would have benefitted by being in a space that allowed the audience to get up, dance or otherwise feel more involved in the onstage goings-on. Indeed, director Teddy Bergman too often places the numbers towards the back of the thrust stage, which seems doubly foolish given the natural intimacy of the theater. Still, the exuberance of that final section will leave almost everyone to wonder why the show needed a book, and not just a quick set-up. Moreover, if it had to have a book, couldn’t one have been created that was less hackneyed, dull and even preposterous than the one penned by Jason Kim?

Unlike the 2019 Broadway production of “A Christmas Carol” or the long-running production many years ago at the Theater at Madison Square Garden, both of which were enlivened by music, this version (adapted by Mays, his wife Susan Lyons, and Arden) is pure, serious storytelling. As a result, the show often feels like Mays is reading the book to us, which can occasionally have the unintended effect of lulling one to sleep -- especially given how dark the theater often is.

Director Jeremy Herrin, best known for his work with grand epics like “Wolf Hall” and Shakespearean dramas, is out of his league here; too many scenes are just a muddle of movement with no center – helped none by Sarah O’Gleby’s almost amateurish choreography. Most shocking of all, the production even defeats the great set designer Derek McLane, who fills a butt-ugly steel cage with cheap-looking furniture and cardboard cutouts, and resorts to giant maps or huge photos to give us a sense of place. Still, the filmmaker, who wrote the musical’s book and lyrics, is primarily to blame. Not only is the script too cinematic in nature to work well on stage, but Crowe also simply fails to understand that great theater is about story, not atmosphere (which was the film’s strongest suit). What we should getting is a deeply moving coming-of-age story more firmly focused on William’s hard-earned life lessons about the dangers of meeting your heroes (even if one turns out to be nice in the end), the actual rigors of professional journalism, and the pain of young love.

Parks' use of this particular card game as metaphor, in which the dealer has to be really quick to fool his customers - some of whom lose their life savings on a bet -- is rather brilliant. If nothing else, 'Topdog/Underdog' is a show about life's winners and losers. Moreover, Hawkins and Abdul-Mateen, giving two of the best performances I've seen this season (or any season), manage the remarkable feat of making their repetitive practice rounds of three-card monte nothing short of hypnotic. Equally stunning is how the pair precisely captures the dynamic of their sibling relationship, which has been gorgeously laid out by Parks. Despite towering over Hawkins (which is especially noticeable in the scenes in which he wears boxer shorts and his ultra-long legs are displayed) Abdul-Mateen is (until he's not) the adoring, 'smaller' younger brother, constantly looking up to his older sibling for advice and affirmation.

It may be true that those who fail to learn history are doomed to repeat it, but what about those who know it and choose to ignore it? What fate befalls them? That question looms large in August Wilson's Pulitzer Prize-winning drama, 'The Piano Lesson' - the fourth play in his 'Pittsburgh Cycle' -- which is now receiving a high-octane Broadway revival at the Barrymore Theatre.

Whether it's the right casting, aside from the peerless Clarke in stand-by-your-man mode, is another matter entirely. Pierce overplays Willy's almost-constant anger - at life, at Linda, at his 'disappointing' sons, Biff (Khris Davis) and Happy (an almost too-charismatic McKenley Belcher III) - making him less-than-sympathetic and, at times, almost insufferable. There's some subtext in his physical portrayal that suggests this Willy may be suffering from a brain tumor or dementia, which would explain a lot of his behavior. And one can certainly argue that a Black man in 1949 Brooklyn has a lot to be angry about. But all in all, Pierce's Willy seems to have far too much fighting spirit left for his ultimate decision to make sense.

One can quibble about many other things in this production - can anyone adequately explain the meaning of set designer Scott Pask's final image - but there's no question that '1776' speaks loudly and clearly to audiences in 2022.

Somewhat oddly, Majok seems to have given the physically disabled characters less emotional dimension - and basic likeability -- than their caretakers. Indeed, Ani and John can be so unpleasant that, after a while, you almost wish for them to disappear and for the play to focus solely on Eddie and Jess. Indeed, while it perhaps shouldn't be the case, their challenges end up the ones we most care about. By the play's end, we also realize the prices Jess and Eddie pay for remaining alive are something that can never be solved by the Federal Reserve.

When seeing a Tom Stoppard play, one expects to be intellectually dazzled, if not emotionally devastated. That changes with 'Leopoldstadt,' now getting its U.S. premiere at Broadway's Longacre Theatre, which magnificently succeeds at both challenging the brain and piercing the heart. (So yes, it's worth the sometimes-painful effort to sit for two-plus hours without intermission.)