Charles Isherwood

This beautiful and wrenching musical, lovingly directed by Bill Condon, asks us to step inside their skins and feel what it's like to be celebrated one moment, rejected the next, and to have the strange consolation of a companion who shares it all: the pain, the joy, the hope, the frustration...As portrayed with layered complexity -- and pin-you-to-your-seat vocal chops -- by Erin Davie and Emily Padgett, the Hilton twins embody an essential truth about the human condition: On some level we are forever divided in our desires and, life being what it is, thwarted in at least some of them. Also: It's just a wonderful musical. Imperfect, yes, but most shows are. And in this engrossing showbiz saga, story and song are knit together with liquid finesse, particularly as newly revised by its authors, with the help of Mr. Condon (the films 'Gods and Monsters' and 'Dreamgirls'), whose direction mixes the goth and the glam to flavorful effect...The rich, melodic score and a passionate cast bring alive the tumultuous yearnings in the characters' hearts.

But along with its accomplishments, which include a host of vital performances from its ample cast under the direction of Joe Mantello, 'The Last Ship' also has its share of nagging flaws. The book, by John Logan ('Red') and Brian Yorkey ('Next to Normal'), and inspired in part by Sting's own upbringing in the northeast England town Wallsend, where the show is set, is unfocused and diffuse. It's hamstrung by a division between a David versus Goliath story - of the little folk fighting against the faceless forces of the global economy - and a romantic love triangle.

Mr. Akhtar's play, which was first seen in New York in 2012 and went on to win the Pulitzer Prize, has come roaring back to life on Broadway in a first-rate production directed by Kimberly Senior that features an almost entirely new cast. In the years since it was first produced here, the play's exploration of the conflicts between modern culture and Islamic faith...have become ever more pertinent...Although 'Disgraced' runs under 90 minutes, with no intermission, Mr. Akhtar packs an impressive amount of smart, heated talk -- as well as a few surprising twists, including a shocking burst of violence -- into the play's taut duration. Ms. Senior...continues to find fresh currents of dramatic electricity...Most important, Mr. Dillon, who played Amir in a London production, brings a coiled intensity to his performance that makes Amir's increasing antagonism all the more unsettling. Flickering underneath his cool, crisp exterior is a pilot light of resentment that holds the key to the play's eventually devastating denouement.

I had a suspicion that Mr. Gurney's play, first seen in New York in 1989 and trotted out regularly since then at regional and amateur theaters the world over, might by now feel as dated as the means by which its characters trade their thoughts. I also thought I detected a little cynicism in bringing what is essentially a staged reading to Broadway, sprucing it up with big names, and charging roughly $140 for a top-price ticket. But before long, my qualms began to erode under the sweet, sad spell of Mr. Gurney's deceptively simple and quietly moving play. As performed by a sterling Mr. Dennehy, playing the rock-solid, letter-loving Andrew Makepeace Ladd III, and an utterly extraordinary Ms. Farrow, as the flighty, unstable and writing-averse Melissa Gardner, Mr. Gurney's intimate drama gains steadily in power, as life keeps ripping away at the seams of its characters' well-tailored existences. The play's means may be economical, but it etches a deep portrait of life's painful vicissitudes.

The beats are sweet, and the words often have an electric charge in 'Holler if Ya Hear Me,' a new Broadway musical inspired by the lyrics of the popular but troubled rapper Tupac Shakur, who was shot and killed at 25 in Las Vegas in 1996. Unfortunately, much else about this ambitious show, which opened on Thursday at the Palace Theater, feels heartfelt but heavy-handed, as it punches home its message with a relentlessness that may soon leave you numb to the tragic story it's trying to tell.

Now 86, Ms. Parsons has lost little, if any, of her energy, and absolutely none of her ability to bring sustained, animated life to a well-drawn character...While the conversation occasionally strays into unprofitable byways, the play passes by breezily because Ms. Parsons is such fun to watch...'What the world is taking away from me, what time is taking away from me, what God is taking away from me - is me!' she says with a wail of despair at one point. In these moments, and in Ms. Parsons's more than capable hands, Mr. Coble's play rises above its slightly formulaic structure to become a dry-eyed, moving rumination on the hard fact that the progress of human life being what it is, truly happy endings are rare indeed.

If the time has come for Ms. Foster to take her place among the first rank of Broadway musical theater performers (fittingly in a season uncommonly rich in fine work from women), the moment also seems ripe for Violet, originally produced Off Broadway in 1997, to be acknowledged as an enduringly rewarding musical...But the musical concludes on a satisfying but not too sugary note of uplift. By shedding her illusions, at however painful a cost, Violet has also found a new kind of faith: a belief that her life's promise does not depend on divine intervention but the homelier comforts of human attachments.

We hear much (too much) of this sorry story during the show, written by Lanie Robertson and directed by Lonny Price, and first produced Off Broadway in 1986...Mr. Robertson has created a persuasive voice for these reflections, salty and sassy, occasionally flaring into hot bursts of anger, and prone to gin-fueled digressions. Ms. McDonald moves between the moods with a jittery sharpness, conveying the warmth and humor in bright, glowing bursts that can quickly subside into dark, bitter ruminations on the wayward, reckless groove into which her life gradually fell...Still, it's worth putting up with the show's tackier (and duller) aspects for the pleasure of hearing Ms. McDonald breathe aching life into some of Holiday's greatest songs.

Plays as funny and moving, as wonderful and weird as 'The Realistic Joneses,' by Will Eno, do not appear often on Broadway. Or ever, really. You're as likely to see a tumbleweed lolloping across 42nd Street as you are to see something as daring as Mr. Eno's meditation on the confounding business of being alive (or not) sprouting where only repurposed movies, plays by dead people and blaring musicals tend to thrive...The disjointed push and pull of Mr. Eno's dialogue is not easy to master: He emphasizes the way in which we so often do throw words at one another, although most of us don't have the arsenal of curveballs that, say, John does. You may come out of this play hearing a new strangeness - and perhaps a lunatic beauty - in the way a casual conversation can unfold, or at least wishing that your interactions held the entrancing oddity of Mr. Eno's characters'...For all the sadness woven into its fabric, 'The Realistic Joneses' brought me a pleasurable rush virtually unmatched by anything I've seen this season.

...this 'Les Miz' will offend none of the musical's fans with any directorial innovations, and will give them a chance to assess how a new generation of performers meets the challenges of the score. The big winners, happily, were the actors playing the dominating roles of hero and villain: Mr. Karimloo as the bread stealer, single father, long-sufferer and future saint; and Will Swenson as Javert, dogged pursuer of said hero and general scourge to all noble causes and pure hearts...Making a sterling Broadway debut, [Karimloo] sets a high standard in the prologue, performing Valjean's angry soliloquy with fiery intensity and full-throttled vocalism that gradually shades into more nuanced coloring as Valjean...The highlight of his performance, and perhaps the production as a whole, is Mr. Karimloo's beautifully restrained but richly felt rendition of 'Bring Him Home'...The rest of the cast doesn't always meet the same high standards, although all are creditable performers within the limits of their roles...

The prospect of 'Aladdin,' promising another weary night in the presence of a spunky youngster and wisecracking animals, didn't exactly set my heart racing. But this latest musical adapted from one of Disney's popular movies, which opened on Thursday night at the New Amsterdam Theater, defied my dour expectations. As directed and choreographed (and choreographed, and choreographed) by Casey Nicholaw, and adapted by the book writer Chad Beguelin, 'Aladdin' has an infectious and only mildly syrupy spirit. Not to mention enough baubles, bangles and beading to keep a whole season of 'RuPaul's Drag Race' contestants in runway attire.

Riding the crest of his fame from 'Breaking Bad,' Mr. Cranston strides onto the Broadway stage with an admirable confidence, meeting the challenge of animating Mr. Schenkkan's sprawling civics lesson as if he's thoroughly at home. Although Johnson is not the exclusive focus of the play -- many passages focus on the strategizing among various black civil rights organizations -- Mr. Cranston's heat-generating performance galvanizes the production. Even when Johnson is offstage or the writing sags with exposition, the show, directed solidly if a little stolidly by Bill Rauch, retains the vitalizing imprint of his performance.

Strange though it may sound, this pinstriped pantheon sits down to dine together in a dream sequence from 'Bronx Bombers,' an affectionate celebration of Yankee greatness (with a smidgen of Yankee angst) written and directed by Eric Simonson...The drama inherent in clashing egos gives 'Bronx Bombers' some natural juice in the early innings, but the suspense about whether Martin will be axed - and Berra will agree to replace him - more or less gets benched in the play's second act.

The wait proves to be a wholly diverting one in 'Outside Mullingar,' which represents Mr. Shanley's finest work since 'Doubt,' the winner of both the Tony Award and the Pulitzer Prize in 2005. This isn't to suggest that they are equally sturdy or significant plays. For all its satisfactions - which include supporting performances to savor from the wonderful Peter Maloney and Dearbhla Molloy - 'Outside Mullingar' is a lighter, slighter play, a softhearted comedy freckled with dark reflections on the unsatisfactory nature of life and the thorns of love. But Mr. Shanley's lyrical writing, and the flawless production, directed by Doug Hughes forManhattan Theater Club, give such consistent pleasure that even though we know the equations that define romcoms will add up to the familiar sums, we are happy to watch as they do.

Despite the high body count, this delightful show will lift the hearts of all those who've been pining for what sometimes seems a lost art form: musicals that match streams of memorable melody with fizzily witty turns of phrase. Bloodlust hasn't sung so sweetly, or provided so much theatrical fun, since Sweeney Todd first wielded his razor with gusto many a long year ago...Mr. Mays won a Tony Award for playing multiple roles in the Pulitzer Prize-winning solo show 'I Am My Own Wife,' but the chameleonic performance he gives here makes even that feat seem simple - a matter of filing your nails while whistling 'Edelweiss,' say. In a true tour de force that is hardly likely to be bettered on Broadway this season (apologies to the magnificent Mark Rylance, and those two knights, Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart, performing Beckett and Pinter in repertory), Mr. Mays sings, dances, ice-skates, bicycles and generally romps through some eight roles - flipping among personas male, female and somewhere in between - at a pace that sets your head spinning...As each precise caricature of British snootiness or silliness comes bounding onto the stage, Mr. Mays seems to be challenging himself to elicit bigger laughs, and he almost always succeeds. All but one of his characters ends up six feet under by the time this daffy, inspired musical concludes, but his brilliant performance deserves to be immortalized in Broadway lore for some time to come.

'After Midnight' does not make much of an attempt to impart any of the Cotton Club history. As the evening's nominal host, Mr. Hill sprinkles the evening with a few snippets of Langston Hughes's poetry, but it's incidental. Instead the focus remains squarely on music and its interpretation, by those amazing musicians, under the snappy baton of the conductor Daryl Waters, and the performers who sing, slide, scat, cartwheel and generally raise a ruckus in front of them.

in a Broadway season quickly beginning to gather its own steam, this mechanical legal procedural cannot, I'm afraid, even outdo the competition in constant rotation on TV...if you've seen the movie, you may at times feel like you're watching it again through a slightly blurry lens, since both Mr. Arcelus and Mr. Page seem to have been cast for their ability to impersonate their counterparts in the film... this competent but bland production goes down like a big tumbler of sweet tea. A really effective courtroom drama should sear the throat like a shot of Southern moonshine.

Anchoring the production is Mr. Rees's perfectly modulated performance as Arthur, on whom the anxiety and notoriety surrounding the case take the most physical toll. When the play begins, he is obviously a man whose physical prowess is on the wane, even if his mind remains sharp, but as the months and years pass, he grows stooped and infirm. Mr. Rees movingly intimates that, underneath his confident exterior, Arthur has also become prey to thoughts of how heedlessly, and perhaps permanently, he has endangered his family's fortunes: his eyes glitter with disturbed imaginings.

Ms. Davies portrays both sides of Janis, I should add. And while she bears a notable physical resemblance to Joplin, and her speaking voice has the same whisper of a twang and down-home earthiness, I'm a little suspicious of that second character. If the real Joplin had the kind of sensible perspective on her life and career that she exhibits in this show - happily reminiscing about her youthful love of painting, or giving a learned docent tour of blues history - she would probably not have died of an overdose of heroin and alcohol at 27...There remains a strange disjunction between the soul-baring singer and the woman calmly telling us that 'the blues is just a good woman feelin' bad,' or 'the blues are a way out of where you are, and they can drag you to where you're going,' or 'it's the want of something that gives you the blues, man.' The Janis we meet in 'A Night With Janis Joplin' spends so much time talking about the blues, you begin to wonder when she had time to truly suffer them.

Given this unusual blend of elements, it should be no surprise that 'Soul Doctor' is a bizarre and at times bewildering musical. Carlebach's life certainly makes for a fascinating story...But 'Soul Doctor'...lays out Carlebach's journey in mostly blunt, often hoary strokes...Carlebach's music, much of which was written to accompany traditional Jewish songs and prayers, is often beautiful and blends folk instrumentation with more recognizably traditional liturgical sounds. Mr. Anderson sings with a soft, captivating intensity, and the orchestrations often appealingly evoke Carlebach's original recordings. But Mr. Anderson's performance is limited by the superficiality of Mr. Wise's book.

Does any of the following sound familiar? An instant lack of rapport; a growing aversion as the minutes pass; a mysterious sense that time has suddenly stopped; a desperate hope that the apocalypse will arrive, preferably right this minute. Magnify those feelings, set them to bland pop-rock music, and you'll have some idea of the oodles of fun I didn't have during my evening at 'First Date,' the singing sitcom that opened on Thursday night at the Longacre Theater...I have been harsh on this modest musical, efficiently if facelessly directed by Bill Berry, so I should underscore that Mr. Levi and Ms. Rodriguez are both appealing performers. Although his singing is merely adequate, Mr. Levi brings a vitality and off-kilter humor to his performance...Ms. Rodriguez has the drearier role - it's obvious that the show was written by three guys, since only the female characters are accessorized with flaws - but her singing is ardent and assured.

Tangy and funny as much of Mr. Logan's writing is, the play would hardly transmit the contact high it does without the presence of Ms. Midler. As a performer she shares certain qualities associated with her subject: an ability to make the crassest vulgarities sound like crystalline repartee, an earthy glamour and a preening, kittenish imperiousness that's somehow warmly endearing. It is hard to imagine any other actor imbuing the character with the same seductive effervescence - or giving a feeling of perpetual motion to a 90-minute monologue without even standing up. (Dressed in a shapely blue tent adorned with silvery spangles designed by Ann Roth, Ms. Midler looks smashing enough to single-handedly revive the muumuu.)

Mr. Cumming...is a versatile performer who here gets to indulge in the kind of high-hurdle challenge (or ego trip) that can prove irresistible to actors...Watching him perform this personalized rendition of 'Macbeth,' I was at times more intrigued by the battle going on between the serious actor and the shameless entertainer than I was by the tense struggles taking place in the divided mind of Macbeth...In terms of stamina and ingenuity, Mr. Cumming's achievement is certainly remarkable. But I came away from my second viewing of this production - I first saw it when it was presented by the Lincoln Center Festival last summer - with the confirmed impression that while Mr. Cumming had persuasively differentiated all the key roles, he had not fully inhabited any one of them.

Mr. Maroulis meets the throat-thrashing challenges of Mr. Wildhorn's score with aplomb, his high-reaching pop tenor evincing little strain when rising to the piercing climaxes. I was also impressed by Mr. Maroulis's quietly intense performance as the obsessive Dr. Jekyll...Statuesque and beautiful, Ms. Cox brings a suffering dignity to this cliché in corsets. More important for those who have come to hear a pop diva do what pop divas do best, her dark, lustrous voice does nice justice to her character's signature song...Unfortunately there's no way to digitally airbrush away the hokum that pervades the whole show, like the ample stage smoke puffing away throughout the proceedings, giving a most commendable featured performance as the fabled pea-soupy London fog.

..ultimately this Roundabout Theater Company production, which marks the first Broadway revival of 'The Big Knife,' doesn't argue persuasively for its enduring merits. Even Mr. Cannavale cannot make Charlie's overblown speechifying sound like anything other than what it is: Odets in soapbox mode, chewing away with gusto on the Hollywood hand that had been feeding him for some time.