Chris Jones — Theater Critic

Thankfully, “Paranormal Activity” avoids the self-aware tropes of tired horror franchises that have nothing left to do but parody themselves. Here, you get an honest, analog story, happily devoid of digital trickery but grounded in the kind of psychological realism that creates the best nightmares. This is a plot-driven, genre-fueled, audience-centered experience, for sure, and far from some artsy or pretentious affair that will be exciting the scholars of the American theater. Thank God, though. “Paranormal Activity” knows what it wants to pull off and the execution is first-rate.

At this point, those of us who love this material likely have seen the show before (maybe several times) and all we really want is the best singers Mr. Producer can find, an excellent sound system (check) and then one can simply close one’s eyes and relive the melodic, tumultuous pleasures of a pop opera like no other.

This is an exceptionally imaginative staging; Stone and Carroll (and their assistants) genuinely make you see the traveling circus, animals and all. (They’re beautiful, large-sized puppets, cleverly manifested at complicated angles). That said, it’s not fully a family show (older kids will be fine), in that the memory-based plot deals with an abusive ringmaster, not just of the circus menagerie but of his performer wife.

I’m still not in love with this new take — still cheesy, still too much clutter — but this touring cast is far better than the revival’s originals and I’d say that the direction has greatly improved, too; perhaps it’s the work of Derek Kolluri, the associate. Or maybe Rhodes just figured out better where he had gone wrong and found the right people this time.

I can’t, in all honesty, say that this cut-down tour, notwithstanding an excellent ensemble of actors, comes close to re-creating the huge production values of its New York origins. We are alas past the days when producers like Cameron Mackintosh would pride themselves on exact touring replications of London and Gotham spectacles. But it suffices. Just. Those around me certainly had a good time with Jake David Smith’s brooding Jay and Senzel Ahmady’s rather invulnerable Daisy, not that I saw many sparks of passion between the two of them. I saw more in the row in front. Good for them.

I can’t, in all honesty, say that this cut-down tour, notwithstanding an excellent ensemble of actors, comes close to re-creating the huge production values of its New York origins. We are alas past the days when producers like Cameron Mackintosh would pride themselves on exact touring replications of London and Gotham spectacles. But it suffices. Just. Those around me certainly had a good time with Jake David Smith’s brooding Jay and Senzel Ahmady’s rather invulnerable Daisy, not that I saw many sparks of passion between the two of them. I saw more in the row in front. Good for them.

“The Lost Boys” certainly is superior to the notorious “Dance of the Vampires,” which I remember seeing at the Minskoff in 2002, not to mention Elton John’s “Lestat,” in this very theater. Beyond that, non-phantom, non-Dracula vampires aren’t terribly over-exposed in the Broadway genre.

Allen’s production starts gently, as does the play, and it honors the other side of Wilson, which is to write about how Black people found spaces, even in 1911, for humor and community with each other. That’s manifest fabulously well here by Cedric and Santiago-Hudson, with Boyd and Wureh exploring the fate of young women adrift in this landscape and relying on men for an anchor, a rooting that too often proved elusive.

Pinkleton, so masterful with “Oh, Mary!,” just didn’t catch the right vocabulary for “Rocky Horror,” a deceptively tough assignment on a show popping up again to remind us of just how easily people were shocked in the 1970s. O’Brien’s cultural legacy is not as trivial as you might think.

In terms of score and book and mostly digitized set design from James Noone, “Beaches” certainly makes no formative or stylistic waves, and the show feels, at times, like everyone involved here just wanted to be finished and done and get out of all of this in one piece, with a tour and licensing to come. The score is serviceable, with a recurring song called “My Best” (as in friend) its best number.

In terms of score and book and mostly digitized set design from James Noone, “Beaches” certainly makes no formative or stylistic waves, and the show feels, at times, like everyone involved here just wanted to be finished and done and get out of all of this in one piece, with a tour and licensing to come. The score is serviceable, with a recurring song called “My Best” (as in friend) its best number.

Clearly, we’re in a moment in the American theater when, after years of caution, writers finally are beginning to find the courage to expose the hypocrisy of our newly sensitive language, tiptoeing toward reminding us that the mercenary, Edward Albee-like characters of the previous generation are still very much with us, only better schooled in progressive buzz words like “holding space” or “I see you.” People desperately holding onto power, or trying to acquire it while pretending otherwise, are a time-honored structure for tragedy and comedy. And even if credible veracity comes and goes, Lindsay-Abaire mines them for plenty of laughs. Including a couple of total howlers.

For those starved of Apple TV (the pour souls also missing “Ted Lasso”), “Schmigadoon,” is a TV series that basically smashed up the plot of “Am American Werewolf in London” with the book to the 1947 Broadway musical “Brigadoon,” best known for its stellar score (“Almost Like Being in Love”) and insanely improbable book, even by the standards of so-called Golden Age musicals. Therein, a contemporary couple, Josh and Melissa, both doctors, try to repair their relationship by going backpacking. As one does.

For those starved of Apple TV (the pour souls also missing “Ted Lasso”), “Schmigadoon,” is a TV series that basically smashed up the plot of “Am American Werewolf in London” with the book to the 1947 Broadway musical “Brigadoon,” best known for its stellar score (“Almost Like Being in Love”) and insanely improbable book, even by the standards of so-called Golden Age musicals. Therein, a contemporary couple, Josh and Melissa, both doctors, try to repair their relationship by going backpacking. As one does.

Not since the glory days of Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley in “Absolutely Fabulous” has there been a funnier pair of women playing drunk as one currently finds at the Todd Haimes Theatre on Broadway.

“Proof” is one of the best American dramas to emerge in the last decade of the 20th century, a script ripe for revival not least for how beautifully it focuses on a little family of imperfect humans, all loving each other in their own flawed ways and better able to deal with monumental thoughts than the thornier challenges of just getting out of bed when grief has overtaken you. It’s a lovely Chicago play, brought thrillingly back to Broadway life.

Ferrentino gave her play the structure of twin narrators, essentially telling the story of two lives from two perspectives, even as she also tries to broaden it all out so this story can represent all of the wrongly convicted on death row and those who love them. That burden, along with the conventions of the true-crime genre, not to mention that of theater in service of a political point, sometimes hampers the interpretive space of the actors and the creative team, who have to spend a lot of their time getting the facts and the history across. The scenes typically are brief and monologic, making it harder to build momentum. And I suspect Brody was worrying a bit too much about being true to Yarris himself.

Ferrentino gave her play the structure of twin narrators, essentially telling the story of two lives from two perspectives, even as she also tries to broaden it all out so this story can represent all of the wrongly convicted on death row and those who love them. That burden, along with the conventions of the true-crime genre, not to mention that of theater in service of a political point, sometimes hampers the interpretive space of the actors and the creative team, who have to spend a lot of their time getting the facts and the history across. The scenes typically are brief and monologic, making it harder to build momentum. And I suspect Brody was worrying a bit too much about being true to Yarris himself.

Ferrentino gave her play the structure of twin narrators, essentially telling the story of two lives from two perspectives, even as she also tries to broaden it all out so this story can represent all of the wrongly convicted on death row and those who love them. That burden, along with the conventions of the true-crime genre, not to mention that of theater in service of a political point, sometimes hampers the interpretive space of the actors and the creative team, who have to spend a lot of their time getting the facts and the history across. The scenes typically are brief and monologic, making it harder to build momentum. And I suspect Brody was worrying a bit too much about being true to Yarris himself.

But as intellectual property goes, never count out our endless fascination with the Titanic, which was the origin story of this show, set in a Titanic museum, presumably the real one in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, where I once dipped my fingers in a tank demonstrating the frigidity of the water that night in the North Atlantic. Nothing chilly for the digits here. Not with Mindelle fending off the ghosts with “I’m Alive!,” clearly a plea for Dion’s immortality.

And as played by Nathan Lane and John Drea in Joe Mantello’s exquisitely directed Broadway revival, which has several Steppenwolf Theatre influences, it will sock you in the gut. Sure did me. And I’ve seen this play countless times. Then again, when you get close to Willy’s age, you also start to see this play differently. Very, very differently.

And as played by Nathan Lane and John Drea in Joe Mantello’s exquisitely directed Broadway revival, which has several Steppenwolf Theatre influences, it will sock you in the gut. Sure did me. And I’ve seen this play countless times. Then again, when you get close to Willy’s age, you also start to see this play differently. Very, very differently.

They’re unleashing quite the Broadway bacchanal in a space that provides a warmer and, surprisingly, far more intimate setting for their Jellicle Ball, now amped up, tuned up and ready to give queer ballroom fans their summer in the sun. At the same time, though, this wildly entertaining show is skillfully and inclusively calibrated to offer Mr. and Ms. America a just-edgy-enough experience while sweetly comforting them with every last note of those catchy Lloyd Webber tunes from, gulp, 45 years ago.

They’re unleashing quite the Broadway bacchanal in a space that provides a warmer and, surprisingly, far more intimate setting for their Jellicle Ball, now amped up, tuned up and ready to give queer ballroom fans their summer in the sun. At the same time, though, this wildly entertaining show is skillfully and inclusively calibrated to offer Mr. and Ms. America a just-edgy-enough experience while sweetly comforting them with every last note of those catchy Lloyd Webber tunes from, gulp, 45 years ago.

But this nuanced and funny American play — underrated until now — does illuminate the corrosive power of very needy people and their ability to take down others to fill their own voids. It struck me as an interesting choice for a first date in that it should spark immediate conversation as to whether either party wants a second one.