Dennis Polkow — Theater Critic

There is song after song like this: arias, duets, ensemble numbers that include male characters—even President Woodrow Wilson (understudy Merrill Peiffer on opening night)—though all portrayed by women or nonbinary performers singing in the upper female range with extraordinary power and heart.

If you have ever wanted to run away and join the circus—a common childhood dream of previous eras—“Water for Elephants” is the musical for you. Yes, it borrows the basic storyline of the 2006 novel by Sara Gruen and the 2011 film but with one magical difference: the narrative unfolds as a circus.

It’s an intimate show but the thoughts of characters can be epic, which is reflected in the brilliant and refreshingly innovative choreography of Camille A. Brown, which is always drama driven. It’s extraordinary how understated yet meaningful movement is handled throughout the show. Our eyes lock effortlessly into its energetic yet unified lines.

The scaled-down ensemble compensates with singing out, as if it’s a grand opera chorus. The small orchestra plays with immense tenderness and expression. Great care is taken so that the sound design is never oppressive but waxes and wanes with the drama. “Parade” is the best touring musical of the year so far, but the run is short. Don’t let it pass you by.

“Noise” shows the toil involved and sugarcoats nothing. The Act I finale has him composing in a broken-down motel room at one of his most down-and-out moments only to stumble upon “Sweet Caroline.” That same number is also used at the end of the show, a sequined young and old Diamond singing it together with the full cast and the audience joining in.

The performances are admirable but in virtually every case imitations of the caricatures in the film rather than the performers being allowed to develop their own characterizations. The real star of the show, however, is the DeLorean, which dazzles much like when chandeliers and helicopters once reigned on Broadway.

But the best thing about “Mrs. Doubtfire: A New Musical Comedy” is that it restores the heartfelt message of the book—that divorce doesn’t have to be an end for a family, but can simply be a new chapter. Rather than the ambiguous ending of the film where Daniel returns with the implication that there could well be a marital reconciliation, the musical makes it quite clear that will not happen, yet remains upbeat. It was a particularly moving decision for McClure’s curtain call to be as Daniel, not Mrs. Doubtfire.

The end result is something that defies categorization. Is “Girl From the North Country” a musical? Not by any previously recognizable template. A play with songs? Perhaps, but in the world the work inhabits, words and music and songs seamlessly intersect, even if the lyrics are often left to linger at their own pace.

The Broadway-bound fiftieth-anniversary revival of “The Wiz” gets to the heart of what made “The Wiz” so special: song and dance. In this case, make sure that every member of the cast can sing like they are leading a revival meeting, as if their lives depended on it with maximum vocal virtuosity and intensity. Surround them with an onstage congregation of life-affirming dancers who can shake up—and literally dance up—a storm and can sing praiseworthy affirmative amens. Clothe everyone in dazzling otherworldly attire of bright bursts of color and textures that manage to look organic and stylish. Combine the best of imaginative physical sets with bright digital backgrounds and music arrangements that preserve elements of the seventies while always managing to feel contemporary. This is a dazzling production that is a feast for the eyes and ears.

Gut that story, take away all the heart and soul of the property and fill the evening with overblown songs that stop the action rather than advance it and you have “Beetlejuice” the musical. Substitute an in-your-face Beetlejuice as a relentlessly present emcee full of gags, one-liners, smoke and mirrors. And strobe lights. Oh, and let’s be self-referential throughout, vulgar and sophomoric. And regularly ridicule the very genre that the show aspires to rise to, i.e., the musical—“fuck ‘Brigadoon!’”—but then set such a low bar that “Brigadoon” seems like Shakespeare by comparison.

Coleman is now the lead of the national tour that opened last Wednesday night at the Cadillac Palace Theatre. But her portrayal then and now couldn’t be more different. There was confidence and swagger on Broadway. This Bobbie is more tentative, more nuanced. An interpretive choice to suggest Bobbie is having none of the propaganda her friends are handing her and is remaining her own person?