Clark Collis

'A Musical' is such a showstopper it threatens to render the rest of the show something of a comparative damp squib, and the many subsequent jokes and numbers invoking the lunacy of musicals do become a little repetitive. What carries you through is the evident fun being had by the cast, which also includes Heidi Blickenstaff as Nick's long-suffering, proto-feminist wife and Brooks Ashmanskas as Brother Jeremiah, Portia's literally Puritanical but clearly closeted father. Borle, in particular, seems to be having the best time possible while clothed with his portrayal of Shakespeare as a preening, Frank-N-Furter-esque monster. Will he and the company's efforts be rewarded this time around with a 'smash'? Forsooth, we thinkest they will. B+

Indeed, Fish -- efficiently directed by August: Osage County's Tony-winning helmer Anna D. Shapiro -- represents something of a greatest hits set for Larry David and, for that matter, 'Larry David.' While he technically plays Norman Drexel, a urinal industry executive of some very sketchily sketched-in stripe, he is essentially reprising his Curbcharacter, from his outfits to his open-palmed gesticulations to his twin obsessions of sex and things that irritate him. The slight but morbidly humorous plot is also straight from the Curbplaybook...Fish in the Dark is most definitely David's show and this latest half-twist of his persona proves an entertaining comedy machine...If the result is only pretty good, Curb fans should nevertheless look forward to it with, well, enthusiasm.

he actors also include the great Keith Carradine, who is probably best known now for appearing on Showtime's Dexter but who both sang and wrote the Oscar-winning song 'I'm Easy' for Robert Altman's 1975 movie Nashville. Sadly, few of the numbers in Hands on a Hardbody are as memorable as that melancholic ditty. The tunes that work best find Anastasio and cowriter-lyricist Amanda Green at their musically Phishiest - notably the bitter, Foster-sung 'God Answered My Prayers.' But the pair's excursions into country, blues, and a clutch of other genres rarely rise above the generic. Moreover, while the songwriters and book author Doug Wright clearly regard this insane competition as a prism through which to consider such weighty subjects as war, religion, and racism, it is rather difficult to engage with such ruminative choreography when the cast is literally dancing around an enormous car.

Trivial and superficial' is an entirely appropriate description of both Noël Coward's now octogenarian Private Lives and director Richard Eyre's new Broadway production. And while it isn't the kind of quote theater producers like to slap on advertising posters, it is meant as a compliment.

The idea of watching three short comedies written by Woody Allen, Elaine May, and Ethan Coen, respectively sounds more than fine on paper. And there are times during Relatively Speaking when you are reminded that the combined credit list of these big-screen deities of drollness includes Annie Hall, Heaven Can Wait, and Fargo. Alas, there are times when you are reminded that these are also the folks who brought us Whatever Works, the Ladykillers remake, and Ishtar.

The subjects of race, female empowerment, and the fleeting nature of fame are all touched upon, but often glancingly, and fleshed-out characters are thin on the ground...If you are looking for a night out that is easy on the ear and the brain then, baby, Baby It's You is for you.

In his Broadway debut, Rock acquits himself decently and makes the most of those occasions when his walking Namaste chant of a character veers close to stand-up territory with lines such as, 'I may be an a--hole, but I'm f---in' limber, bro!' Meanwhile, both Sciorra and Rodriguez breathe life into roles that could have come across as two-dimensional. There is no doubt, however, that it is Cannavale and Vézquez who are responsible for the show's greatest highs.

The trouble begins when the singing stops. In many ways, of course, this was also true for these four rock celebrities, who were, in their different ways, rather troubled personalities. You don't get much a sense of that from their banter between songs. Actually, it is only Lewis and Sam Phillips (Hunter Foster) who are given any kind of emotional depth in Colin Escott and Floyd Mutrux' script. The writers also struggle to build a narrative around Phillips' plan to re-sign the clearly reluctant Cash for another three-year contract. Those familiar with the 2007 rock biopic spoof Walk Hard — in which John C. Reilly's country star is haunted by the memory of accidentally cutting his brother in half with a machete — may also raise an amused eyebrow when Cash, Presley, and Lewis fall to discussing their respective deceased siblings.

On the one hand, the stage design is inventive and fairly lavish, the gospel numbers penned by Joe DiPietro and Bon Jovi keyboardist David Bryan are more than acceptable, and Montego Glover shines as an African American club singer named Felicia Farrell whose socially taboo relationship with Calhoun powers the plot. On the other hand, much of that plot is simply ridiculous, the rock 'n' roll numbers are ploddingly inauthentic, and Calhoun's naivete about the problems likely to be caused by his love for Farrell leads one to believe that he has beamed in from some more racially tolerant time and place (possibly the set of Heathers, given the Christian Slater-ish vibe of Chad Kimball's performance).