David Finkle — Theater Critic

What goes on among this group of Georgetown habitués, directed with knowing hand by Sarna Lapine, as they cross paths and animatedly crisscross Mikiko Suzuki MacAdams’s Georgetown living room set? Certainly throughout the first act, Wasserstein unpacks wisecrack after wisecrack, not a one that doesn’t hit the mark for which our wisecrack expert was aiming. Landing them is well done by the cast, with the unfortunate exception of Lichty, who lacks the gravitas and ebullience for her role.

Leaving the theater, this patron was no longer thinking about fish but about the belief that the aim of technology over several decades has been to make life simpler. Not seemingly intentionally, Stein builds a case here that it dramatically hasn’t. Quite the opposite.

Beginning to end, there’s certainly nothing amiss with the cast, including Tovah Feldshuh supplying Mrs. Fogler’s voiceovers. Sheryl Kaller is the director and also directed what could be called the pre-off-Broadway try-out when in 2022 it opened at New Brunswick’s George Street Playhouse. (Josh Prince is the helpful choreographer, Andy Einhorn the helpful music supervisor and arranger.)

But clever playwright that she is, she does anything but march out the clichés. Instead, she graciously offers the opposite, something as rare as lilacs in November. What Murray discloses is a play about four thoughtful, intelligent, understanding, accepting women dealing so close to easily with each other as makes no matter.

The ingredients on the City Center stage vary. Under Robert O’Hara’s direction, Porter and Brady—sometimes reading, often not—are at the forefront. James Jackson Jr. is a funny, light-in-the-slippers butler. Tonya Pinkins, as a flamboyant restauranteur-neighbor, steals a scene or two. James is properly turkey as the reluctant father of the bride, with Webb charming as the hardly blushing betrothed. As Jean-Michel, Diadhiou has his moments singing and tapping in delight at having Anne on his arm.

Question: What current Broadway production has the most genuine laughs? Answer: Easy—the just-opening Celebrity Autobiography, which includes the repeated phrase, “We couldn’t make this stuff up.”

Question: What current Broadway production has the most genuine laughs? Answer: Easy—the just-opening Celebrity Autobiography, which includes the repeated phrase, “We couldn’t make this stuff up.”

Given the demands on the actors and their constantly meeting the challenges, the performances are exemplary. Perhaps the highest point of many high points is the scene during which Iago plays on Othello’s being persuaded of Desdemona’s infidelity. Though Othello insists he’s not “easily jealous,” Iago sees through the demur and only accelerates his cunning.

Given the demands on the actors and their constantly meeting the challenges, the performances are exemplary. Perhaps the highest point of many high points is the scene during which Iago plays on Othello’s being persuaded of Desdemona’s infidelity. Though Othello insists he’s not “easily jealous,” Iago sees through the demur and only accelerates his cunning.

Okay, in my attempt to alert future audience members, I offer this spoiler: Hastie keeps it in. (Abeysekera speaks it ever-so-trippingly). But whatever his reason for placing it where he has is foolish. There’s plainly no excuse for disorienting an audience (excluding those for whom this is an initial Hamlet sighting) with so much attention diverted to fretting whether “to be or not to be” is ultimately going to be or not to be.

Of the creative staff Tracy Christensen’s costumes, Ken Billington’s lighting, and Kai Harada’s sound meet their mark. Surprisingly, the set from usually reliable James Noone’s does not. Oddly dark and compressed, it features a raised platform midstage, beyond which is a screen where David Bengali projects images of both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. When the older and younger Cee Cees and Berties tip their toes in those waters, however, they do their dipping downstage, almost disconcertingly over the orchestra pit. Anyway, if Dart doesn’t hit her musical target high enough this time, there’s evidence—isn’t there?—that she’s primed to try, try again.

Of the creative staff Tracy Christensen’s costumes, Ken Billington’s lighting, and Kai Harada’s sound meet their mark. Surprisingly, the set from usually reliable James Noone’s does not. Oddly dark and compressed, it features a raised platform midstage, beyond which is a screen where David Bengali projects images of both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. When the older and younger Cee Cees and Berties tip their toes in those waters, however, they do their dipping downstage, almost disconcertingly over the orchestra pit. Anyway, if Dart doesn’t hit her musical target high enough this time, there’s evidence—isn’t there?—that she’s primed to try, try again.

At the end, however, The Fear of 13 is Brody’s domain. Never offstage and often really as well as symbolically solitary, he presents a man fighting for his life until fight is drained from him. And then what seems miraculously restored to him. It’s restored, and yet at the last moments, he’s left wondering what’s left for him, what kind of future he faces. Right up to those final moments, Brody instills frayed dignity. Incidentally, the title The Fear of 13 is somewhat obscure. The key to it appears to be couched in a late in the drama reminiscence from Nick that requires close listening. Go for it.

At the end, however, The Fear of 13 is Brody’s domain. Never offstage and often really as well as symbolically solitary, he presents a man fighting for his life until fight is drained from him. And then what seems miraculously restored to him. It’s restored, and yet at the last moments, he’s left wondering what’s left for him, what kind of future he faces. Right up to those final moments, Brody instills frayed dignity. Incidentally, the title The Fear of 13 is somewhat obscure. The key to it appears to be couched in a late in the drama reminiscence from Nick that requires close listening. Go for it.

At the end, however, The Fear of 13 is Brody’s domain. Never offstage and often really as well as symbolically solitary, he presents a man fighting for his life until fight is drained from him. And then what seems miraculously restored to him. It’s restored, and yet at the last moments, he’s left wondering what’s left for him, what kind of future he faces. Right up to those final moments, Brody instills frayed dignity. Incidentally, the title The Fear of 13 is somewhat obscure. The key to it appears to be couched in a late in the drama reminiscence from Nick that requires close listening. Go for it.

Puns? Oh yes, there’s a surfeit of those titter-provokers, more than a few times uttered by actors brandishing self-satisfied and/or naughty expressions. The effect is enough to cause embarrassment for those who find them amusing. You want an example? Okay: The apparently repeated mention of “seamen.” Get it? See, you’re already embarrassed for those busy bookwriters.

What can also be said of this production is that director Joe Mantello—when he directed Lane 30 years back in Love! Valour! Compassion!, they first talked about this venture—has approached the enterprise not as his need to impose radical directorial changes so’s to differentiate this Death of a Salesman from that of predecessors. Instead, he’s approached the task by doing something more impressively radical. He researched Miller’s initial manuscripts, discovering that the playwright had early on intended to have two actors playing Biff, Happy and less athletic friend, more intelligently accomplishing Bernard so that they can be seen as the boys when younger.

What can also be said of this production is that director Joe Mantello—when he directed Lane 30 years back in Love! Valour! Compassion!, they first talked about this venture—has approached the enterprise not as his need to impose radical directorial changes so’s to differentiate this Death of a Salesman from that of predecessors. Instead, he’s approached the task by doing something more impressively radical. He researched Miller’s initial manuscripts, discovering that the playwright had early on intended to have two actors playing Biff, Happy and less athletic friend, more intelligently accomplishing Bernard so that they can be seen as the boys when younger.

To describe Capote as self-involved is a laughable understatement. But thank the entertainment gods for that. He’s at his funniest throughout, and certainly when a Christmas gift of poinsettias is delivered, he’s an irate hoot. Miffed at the sender’s clichéd inspiration he utters: “I’m giving stuff from Tiffany’s, and I’m getting poinsettias.”

What remains to be trumpeted about this nevertheless impressive import with its flawless cast (Stella Everett and David Manis, among them) is praise for set designer Bob Crowley. The recipient over the years of many awards, he does his magic again with a giant Giant set, a depiction of Gipsy House, Dahl’s family home in Missenden, Buckinghamshire.

As for the creatives, set designer Anne Mundell has an ominous prison cell up-stage center and to its left an arch through which can be glimpsed Shawn Duan’s atmospheric projections. Stage left is a curtained stage that gets plenty of use when the curtains are withdrawn. Alan C. Edwards lighting and Joanna Lynne Staub’s sound complement the set and significantly give Monte Cristo the look of something that belongs on Broadway, if that’s the ultimate goal. David Hancock Turner underlines the score’s urgent moods at the head of a seven-member musical contingent.

As for the creatives, set designer Anne Mundell has an ominous prison cell up-stage center and to its left an arch through which can be glimpsed Shawn Duan’s atmospheric projections. Stage left is a curtained stage that gets plenty of use when the curtains are withdrawn. Alan C. Edwards lighting and Joanna Lynne Staub’s sound complement the set and significantly give Monte Cristo the look of something that belongs on Broadway, if that’s the ultimate goal. David Hancock Turner underlines the score’s urgent moods at the head of a seven-member musical contingent.

Through it all the agreeable cast members do whatever they can with the material—choir members McLean, Roche, Ross repeatedly lurking and larking—but it may be director Knud Adams (with the property since its Clubbed Thumb and Page 73 development) is too committed to the overplaying that the outcome is so tiring.

Night Side Songs can assuredly boast of a stalwart cast, directed by deft Lazours collaborator Taibi Magar. Among them there’s one particularly accomplished member. Three-time Tony nominee (and multiple prize-winner elsewhere) Testa is at her best, as she always is. Just wait for her to go to town on “My Stuff,” the Lazours’ gritty second hot number. Any production is lucky to have this incomparable vet on board. There’s no denying that the Lazours had something substantial in their sights. Too bad they don’t quite hit their target squarely.

With Data, Michael Libby has written an unquestionably significant play wrenched not only from today’s headlines but possibly also ripped from headlines heading our way in the frightfully near future. Furthermore, he’s unleashed a work that fits into a category that may be entirely new or at least still thin: The Intellectual Horror Drama.