Brittani Samuel

While it makes sense for these creators to go big (the story is concerned with millions-of-years-old earthen enigmas, after all), “Picnic at Hanging Rock” struggles to move us through its points of action with enough nuance. Its bevy of female roles still make it an exciting accomplishment, one that seems destined to live on in future productions or school stages. But in the show’s effort to tell a vast mystery, it forgets the importance of clarity.

As guides through this history lesson, Quijada and Robinson are charming, musically dexterous and rap at the speed of light. (They would undoubtedly medal in the linguistic Olympics.) They also sing like sirens and expertly play the overflow of instruments scattered across Riw Rakkulchon’s quasi-barn set that also resembles a shipping container, a rickety trove of concealed treasures.

The new musical “Saturday Church,” playing at New York Theater Workshop, defends this idea. Though somewhat predictable in narrative, the show offers a bounty of infectious music and electric performances. It reminds audiences that theater is an act of liturgy.

Faults in the sometimes wooden acting from principal cast members (some of whom, to be fair, come from the music world) are eclipsed by the sonic brilliance of it all. Co-choreographers Justin Peck and Patricia Delgado match that brightness. Their exuberant movement melts into the musical numbers. Some phrases of choreography repeat, as do Ali’s stage pictures, but the energy, like this production overall, is electric from start to finish.

“Purpose” toggles between the old and new — be it in discussions about political sacrifice, queerness or parenthood. This tension is so essential that designer Todd Rosenthal builds it into his set: a nod to classic architecture and proverbial Afrocentric homeyness accented with contemporary touches of recessed lighting and a trendy bouclé couch. This production has officially mastered the balance of distilling complex, intergenerational conflict into accessible, modern drama. And though many are the plays that have tried, it is “Purpose” that prevails. Brittani Samuel March 18, 2025 . 12:46 AM 9 min read Share on Twitter Share on Facebook Share on LinkedIn Share via Email

On the surface, this salacious cross-pollination might sound entertaining, but without enough exploration of these people or enough time to invest in the mess of their affairs, “Grief Hotel” feels more like a vague social experiment about impulse and desire than a provocative, character-driven piece of theater.

In their new musical “Teeth,” making its world premiere at off-Broadway’s Playwrights Horizons, writers Anna K. Jacobs and Michael R. Jackson plunge right into this dark world, especially the shame and insidious secrets that preside over it. The show explicitly presents acts of rape and assault that may be difficult to watch (or even read about) for some. But “Teeth” is a brazen, unique, cackle-worthy slice of musical theater, even if, at times, it stumbles from grace.

Once Upon a One More Time is certainly not the first piece of media interested in putting a modern, empowering spin on fairytales — even the notion of the 'strong independent princess' has become a tale as old as time. But it certainly is the most fun. Spears's hits and impeccable dancing from director/choreographers Keone and Mari Madrid make Once Upon a One More Time an irresistible party. And quite frankly, that's what I want from a Britney Spears musical more than anything else.

Filling up all that empty space, however, are some of the American theater’s finest talents. Burnap and Soo are crisp conductors of Lerner and Loewe’s vocal score. Donica as Sir Lancelot is a revelation; Sher architects for him one of the sexiest Broadway entrances I’ve seen all year. Lancelot’s devout zeal for serving the king is complicated by his attraction to Guenevere, sparking a love triangle that earths the fantastical tale in the most human of impulses: desire, jealousy, lust. Lancelot, restrained by his allegiance to the throne, sings “If Ever I Would Leave You” — an aching aria of yearning — to Guenevere, conjuring a level of heat matched only by the balmy, 75-degree weather outside Lincoln Center’s doors. It helps that this song, and the remainder of them, is in the prodigious hands of music director/conductor Kimberly Grigsby and her 30-piece pit orchestra. Grigsby keeps firm control over the spritely percussive swells and thunderous drum rumbles driving the action of “Camelot” forward.

The riotous new work, with a book by Robert Horn, nabs acoustic inspiration from country music and tonal humor from shows like “The Book of Mormon” and “Tootsie” (the latter of which Horn adapted for stage) to form a delirious production that treats a seasonal crop — corn — more like the second coming. And while it’s nearly guaranteed that you will exit the Nederlander Theatre with no recollection of Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally’s banjo-slinging score or Horn’s tepid excuse for an empowering message, you will leave lighter — levied by this production’s astute self-awareness, hilarious cast and relentless commitment to the corn.

Webber’s limp score does little to help the production’s case. He stuffs it with sweet songs that tickle the ears, but never latch on to the heart. Genao and Dobson are great vocalists — but need time or meatier material to morph into memorable ones. Director Laurence Connor instructs his bubblegum ensemble to deliver lines with such rabid zeal (really clench your fist here, keep those lips pursed there) that actors appear to be mocking their own material. Carmello and McLean — both veterans — are the only players that sit in the ridiculousness of their characters’ hubris as if intrinsically motivated by it. They deliver sublime comedic performances, especially in the shade-throwing number “I Know You.”

Kennedy’s script extends beyond institutional racism and delves into the depths of systemic savagery. It exposes the insidious nature of supremacy on Black and white people — neither race spared from madness. But these gargantuan concepts exhaust audiences because of Leon’s unheightened direction. To be fair, “Ohio” is more a play of reactions than action — a challenge to stage effectively. The other characters that populate Suzanne’s memory of the Midwest — roommate Iris Ann (Abigail Stephenson), eventual husband David Alexander (Mister Fitzgerald), landlord Mrs. Tyler (Lizan Mitchell) — only enter to cry, play violin or gaze into the wings. But Leon hardly has McDonald touch her silent scene mates, limiting the potential for onstage intimacy between characters. Instead, his rigid blocking of these extra characters is tiresome. In fact, McDonald’s greatest emotional connection is with two pink scarves meant to symbolize Suzanne’s twin girls.

There is an ecstatic upbeat tempo to “KPOP.” Eighteen of the aforementioned 22-person ensemble makes their Broadway debut here, and even the worst of scripts cannot stop them from having a great time. Too much love and hard work envelops Bergman’s stage to not bop your head to the music or mimic dance moves from your seat. While discrepancies riddle the musical’s book and erase all potential for a transformative time, I’d instead advise to venture out in pursuit of an entertaining one. You’ll find that at “KPOP.”

Arden moves his subject forward through each of Dickens' staves, but the production arrives nowhere. There is no unique point of view or revelation from this solo 'Carol,' which puts Mays' malleability to waste. The production skews gloomier than most modern retellings. A casket taunts us from center stage before the show begins. Then, a loud, booming sound (design by Joshua D. Reid) shocks us into action. Courtesy of lighting designer Ben Stanton, deep shadows envelop the stage - an effect which successfully relays a cinematic-like quality of ominousness, but unsuccessfully keeps its audience awake.

The musical, adapted by Lindsay-Abaire from his 2001 play, premiered to acclaim off-Broadway in 2021 at Atlantic Theater Company. On Broadway, Clark resurrects her quasi-progeric character with such delicate honesty, you believe there may just be a teenage psyche in her older-than-teenage body. A Tony Award winner, Clark is an exceptional actor with a firm grasp on Lindsay-Abaire's throughline. Her singing is equally divine, but rarely on full display here. Her soprano itches to soar, yet it's subdued into a chest voice/head voice/chest voice dance when wrapped around the youthful, electronic score from Tesori (who penned the music and co-wrote the lyrics with book writer Abaire). And yet, that's okay. Whatever we lose in the stereotypically show-stoppy belt of an 11-o'clock number is more than made up for with the emotional depths of songs like 'Before I Go' or the heartwarming 'Hello, Sister.' Director Jessica Stone clearly allowed for sheer play in rehearsal in order for each actor to find the perfect voice lilts, exaggerations or face scrunches to rip both sad and happy tears out of a crowd.

The play - a theatrical adaptation of Byrne's 2020 autobiography - takes a familiar approach: one man tracing the arc of his life, layering universal tragedies such as mental illness, alcoholism and abuse with the specific intricacies of an upbringing in mid-twentieth-century Dublin. In doing so, he reveals existential truths about the human condition, the vulnerability of love and the loneliness of fame. What's never revealed, however, is a unique or functional point of view about it all. Any chance of this production lifting from memoir recitation to illuminating theatrical experience is squashed by Lonny Price's artless direction and the design team's unembellished hand. And when a play's subject is void of any real color, all a spotlight does is wash it out.

For all of the circularness of 'Topdog/Underdog,' Leon does a great job of finding its dramatic points. With only two actors and a room, the play serves up a harsh account of the ills faced by America's underdogs but does so with enough laughter to help the med-sin go down sweet. Gambling, cheating, stealing - you almost forget they are sins in a play this holy.

If we are to heed Lester Bangs’ earlier warning, then “Almost Famous” — like the music it celebrates — defies critique. It does not, however, defy comparison. It is equal parts groovy sexiness of “Hair,” gawky coming-of-ageness of “Dear Evan Hansen” and wild artist fantasy of “Rent.” Unfortunately, when an original musical doesn’t actually have anything original to say, every note falls flat.

As an absurdist meditation on resilience, 'The Skin of Our Teeth' (which premiered on Broadway in 1942) is still relevant today, but its larger life lessons hardly seem revolutionary. We've already spent the past two years in a deeply intimate relationship with endurance. Surely, we will have to again. My advice? Surrender to the creativity of 'Skin' which, in 2022, is best viewed as a theatrical vessel for the many great talents currently working in American theater. A play this long and zany would have a harder time holding attention if not for the 28 cast members' unrelenting commitment to crazy. Gabby Beans, in particular, as the Antrobuses' high-octane housemaid Sabina, gives the best comedic performance I've seen all year. Almost Disney-like in her zealousness, Beans adopts the voice of Yzma from 'The Emperor's New Groove' and spritelyness of Edna Mode from 'The Incredibles,' then drops the act to assure us that she, too, is confused: 'Don't take this play serious. The world's not coming to an end. You know it's not. People exaggerate!'

This revival of 'for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf' is one link in a chain of productions re-introducing the work of our titans - Alice Childress, Adrienne Kennedy and more - to modern audiences. Only Shange's work has been on Broadway before, first premiering at the Booth Theatre, where the revival is currently playing, in 1976. It remains a seminal, sacred text; one I've been able to recite phrases from for the better half of my life. This revival, by director and choreographer Camille A. Brown, is the most essential production of Shange's masterwork to date.

It takes work to stay engaged with this production of 'The Little Prince.' Work that challenged adults (the couple next to me was one of many to leave at intermission), in addition to the children it is targeted towards. This, coming from a critic who went in prepared to 'oohh' and 'aahh.' Never did I imagine that the theatrical adaptation of a childhood favorite would require the most adultlike patience to endure