Chris Nashawaty

Pretty Woman doesn't quite work as a musical. Or, at least, not this musical. There are a couple of numbers that work well enough (Barks' heartfelt 'This is My Life,' for example). But overall, the songs by Bryan Adams (yes, that Bryan Adams) and Jim Vallance feel uninspired, a little cheesy (again, that Bryan Adams), and lifeless - try as they might to rev them up with Bon Jovi-esque guitar power chords. The lyrics can be downright lazy. For the record, any song that contains the line 'For the first time I can see...' should be banned from Broadway from this moment into perpetuity.

The roles are mostly well played, David Grieg's book is fine, the songs are serviceable, and the sets are fairly clever, but none of it is...transporting. To stretch the sweet-tooth metaphor as far as a piece of saltwater taffy, the new Charlie is the Broadway version of a Whitman's sampler: A few mouth-watering delights; far too many disappointing nougats. Kids will probably enjoy it a lot more than their more discerning parents.

Coming off of a well-received run in London at the Old Vic, Groundhog Day - with a book by the original film's screenwriter Danny Rubin, music and lyrics by Tim Minchin (Matilda the Musical), and direction by Matthew Warchus (also Matilda as well as The Norman Conquests and God of Carnage) - doesn't mess too much with that set-up. Why would anyone bother? It's jeweler precise after all. Instead, it gooses up the familiar with dazzling energy, creativity, wit, and heart. Besides Karl, much of the credit goes to the playful stage design and illusions by Rob Howell with Paul Kieve, and the whirling-dervish choreography of Peter Darling with Ellen Kane. At times, Groundhog Day feels more like a plate-spinning magic trick than a Broadway musical.

The soulful, rueful, and romantic Russian playwright Anton Chekhov is one of those evergreen, canonic dramatists who, like Ibsen, O’Neill, and Shakespeare, will never go out of fashion. No matter what continent or hemisphere you’re in, somewhere there’s guaranteed to be a stage where The Seagull or Uncle Vanya or Three Sisters or The Cherry Orchard is being performed. Rarely, though, do you get a chance to see his forgotten first play, Platonov. There are a couple of reasons for that: The first and most obvious is that, as written, the four-act drama is five hours long – an endurance test for even the heartiest and most devoted Chekhovian. Second, and more mysteriously, it’s just one of those plays that tends to get overlooked. It’s a second-tier work that seems to shrink when put under the same spotlight as Chekhov’s first-tier ones. It’s his Beethoven’s Symphony No. 2 — impressive, but no one walks around humming it.

Let's start with the good news: Kevin Daniels is excellent as Johnson. He nails the Lakers star's drive, competitiveness, cockiness, and weakness for the glitz of Tinseltown — the orange trees, the celebrities, the Playboy mansion. Tug Coker, as Bird, matches his every feint and crossover dribble in the tougher role of Bird, who was more of an enigma, less articulate, and rarely revealed what made him tick besides his will to perfection. Peter Scolari, in a series of roles ranging from Lakers coach Pat Reilly and owner Jerry Buss, Celtics' cigar-chomping general manager Red Auerbach, and a stereotypically obnoxious Boston sports fan, is his own one-man show.