Elisabeth Vincentelli

And therein lies the problem: The show overexplains everything, all the time. Hinton knew exactly how much to say and when — the paperback edition of “The Outsiders” is just 180 concise, evocative pages that let us discover things along with Ponyboy. Here, both the book and the songs tend to underestimate the audience’s intelligence. (This is surprising coming from Rapp, who is usually not afraid of ambiguity.)

Still, the songs, which are often bite-size, remain as distinctive as they’ve ever been (which is why “The Who’s Tommy” can also be effective in a semi-staged format, as evidenced by Josh Rhodes’s production at the Kennedy Center five years ago). The score was very theatrical for a chart-topping rock band in the late ’60s, but it’s also very rock by Broadway standards, even now. The company walks that line, at least vocally, better than the one from 1993, which was more Broadwayfied, and the orchestra, which is as loud as it needs to be, plays with a precision that does not forsake energy and the joys of riffage. What this “Tommy” is preaching might be a little murky, but when the entire cast lines up to face the audience and belts the “Listening to You” finale, by golly, you believe.

Not everything works in Jessica Stone’s production — there’s a reason the words “dream sequence” tend to set off alarm bells — but at least it summons a coherent theatrical universe. And more often than not, the show (whose world premiere was this past June in Atlanta) captures the unabashed mix of romance and pathos that made its source material, a bestseller by Sara Gruen, so wildly popular.

Eventually “Titanique” comes into its own as it revs up into increasing absurdity and the actors try to out-ham one another. Contrast that with Michael Kinnan’s one-man retelling of “Titanic,” “Never Let Go”: If that production captured the emotion running through both the movie and the feeling of watching it, this one doubles down on “Titanic” and Dion as modern camp icons.

Gabriel Barre’s production is fairly luxurious for an Off Broadway musical: Five leads and a 10-member ensemble is nothing to sniff at nowadays. But filling a stage does not automatically translate to filling a space. Even Petula Clark did not have a song about that conundrum.

Foster’s glee in taking possession of the stage creates an all-encompassing manic energy that both the audience and her scene partners feed off. Prime among them are the archly imperial Harriet Harris (Foster’s co-star in “Thoroughly Modern Millie”) as Queen Aggravain and Michael Urie as her son, the bumbling Prince Dauntless — not the sharpest halberd in the castle, but still smart enough to become endearingly smitten with a shaggy princess who goes by Fred.

Yes, Danny’s final turnaround stretches credibility close to its breaking point, and the way he finally pierces Roberta’s abscess of shame and fury is rather over the top — not to mention the idea that a physical remedy would shock a psychic wound into healing. But by then Abbott and Plaza have made us care enough for these two misfits that we are ready to believe that maybe, just maybe, they can get a break.

For the show to really work, it needs more moments like that one: simple, goofy and fast. That last quality is important in farce, but unfortunately, in this case, the second half of the evening drags a bit. Some scenes even slow down enough to suggest … emotions? In this context, that’s just like garlic to a vampire.

The songs are the highlights here. Bloom is especially good at puncturing emotion with surreal detail, as when she sings the tender “Lullaby for a Newborn,” then reminds us she had been cradling her bottle of water swathed in a towel. More than blunt language — a tool that loses its sharpness with use — this absurdist vein effectively draws laughs, but it also underscores the show’s real subject: the often cruel arbitrariness of life.

This timidity is but one example of the ways in which the show comes up short, both as a feminist text and as a tribute to Spears’s songbook — and, yes, her life. The last thing her fans might have expected from a Britney Spears musical is dutiful conventionality.

It all looks and sounds great, but the clock is ticking — therapy! — and we are no closer to understanding the real Neil. Until, at long last, the older singer cracks and stops obfuscating. Naturally, the source of his discontent can be found in his childhood, and the show finally makes the essential connection between Diamond’s artistry and his roots, including his Jewishness. By that point it feels rushed and not quite earned, not to mention a little too nakedly sentimental. And yet, the beating heart of “A Beautiful Noise” is that sequence, featuring “Brooklyn Roads” and “America” leading into “Shilo,” which becomes Diamond’s Rosebud and is performed with almost unbearable grace by the ensemble member Jordan Dobson. Never mind: naked sentimentality is just fine.

You could also consider the rehashing of certain stories and themes as part of a large-scale autobiographical enterprise. Catching up with him at regular intervals, we are watching the construction of a lifelong narrative arc. It's a bit like a comic, one-man version of the Michael Apted documentary series 'Up,' a decades-long project in which that director caught up with the same group of people at seven-year intervals. I, for one, am looking forward to hearing about Birbiglia's next medical tests, not to mention how he is going to spin tales of Oona's growing up.

Despite the performers spending time suspended about the stage, the production remains stubbornly earthbound. Until, that is, what turns out to be a somewhat perverse move: the single showstopping scene, in which Antony Cesar flies over the audience, happens after the curtain call, when there is no show to stop anymore.

Indeed, it's not just minutes that have been lost in this revival, which is directed by Moisés Kaufman and had a successful Off-Broadway run at Second Stage last year. This safe production suggests but never fully summons the ache behind the wisecracks, or the dangers and the loneliness gay people had to endure in the 1970s, when the story is largely set. There is also little period sense in either David Zinn's streamlined set or Clint Ramos' costumes.

You can't say the new musical 'Gettin' the Band Back Together' doesn't try hard. At one point somebody shoots T-shirts into the audience from a cannon. Marilu Henner, who plays the lead's mom, passes along Rice Krispies Treats during the intermission. Throughout, the game cast sells the action with undeniable energy - if Broadway quality was measured in sweat, 'Gettin' the Band Back Together' would be a shoo-in for a Tony. Unfortunately, other factors must be considered. The show is a willfully silly piece of cheese, but that stuff is actually hard to pull off - and 'Gettin' the Band Back Together' is no 'Head Over Heels' or 'Rock of Ages.'

Anticipation for the latest revival of 'My Fair Lady' was high - the Lerner and Loewe classic, from 1956, had been absent from Broadway for nearly 25 years - but not entirely positive. After all, the story of a Cockney flower girl being bullied into learning upper-class speech by an abrasive male professor could feel out of touch, to put it mildly, in our modern climate. Happily, this Lincoln Center Theater production starring Lauren Ambrose and Harry Hadden-Paton is everything it needs to be, and quite a bit more.

Ultimately, though, the real problem is the set list's utter blandness. Commingling rock and classical music has birthed such wildly diverse artifacts as Emerson, Lake & Palmer's cover of Aaron Copland's 'Fanfare for the Common Man,' the Metallica-San Francisco Symphony collaboration 'S&M' and the popular prog band Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Sadly, no such ear-bending ambition is in evidence in this show's selections. Taken individually, these songs are in the canon for a reason, of course; one after another, their effect is numbing. Judging by the evidence on stage here, if classical music spawned one thing, it is the power ballad.

Bring back Donny & Marie! As clean-cut as their 2010 'Broadway Christmas' may have been, it also displayed a ravenous need to entertain, not to mention unexpected senses of humor and kitsch. Sadly, those qualities are absent from 'Home for the Holidays,' a limp revue of carols and Yule-themed pop songs that makes the Osmond siblings' spectacle look as debauched as a Mötley Crüe concert

The show doesn't convincingly bring to life this constant invasion of privacy, but gains traction as soon as the affair is exposed as Winston, screaming like the damned, endures terrifying 're-education' at the hands of O'Brien (Tony winner Reed Birney, most recently of 'The Humans'), whose preternaturally calm demeanor contrasts with his inhuman actions. Even a possibly optimistic coda about the end of the dictatorship fails to reassure. When lies are the norm, how can you tell that they have stopped?

The show packs in an inordinate amount of music - including the now-classic 'I'm Just Wild About Harry' - and dance. You're always looking forward to what choreographer Savion Glover will come up with next, and his set pieces here are just thrillingly fun. The pace doesn't flag until sometime in the second act, although the 'whatever happened to them' epilogue is simultaneously poignant and acerbic. The curtain comes down on a bittersweet note, though without dimming the immense joys that preceded.

If you like your family fare with a good heap of sweetener, welcome to 'Tuck Everlasting'...What sucks is that we missed an opportunity for an all-ages musical with bite, a la 'Matilda,' since the 1975 children's book that 'Tuck' is based on isn't afraid of the dark. It's pretty crazy that this story about regret, mortality and big life choices -- make that 'eternal life or death' choices -- could end up so toothless...the actors are largely engaging, especially seasoned pros like Carolee Carmello, Terrence Mann and Fred Applegate. As Winnie, Sarah Charles Lewis is 11 going on Laura Benanti -- the downside is that she projects such unflagging confidence that you never doubt that Winnie will be all right no matter what she decides. So much for pathos.

Benjamin Walker is toned and resplendent in his tighty whities...his fiancée, played with hilarious archness by Heléne Yorke...The second act flags...but the score is strong...Duncan Sheik's synthesizer-heavy music - radical by Broadway standards...finally delivers a worthy follow-up to his 'Spring Awakening.' A comic 'American Psycho' you can dance to? Somehow, it works.

While the role of an elderly man slowly losing his marbles could have lent itself to some mugging - Florian Zeller did subtitle his play 'a tragic farce' - Langella is fairly restrained. Not quite as much as when playing the calmly menacing KGB handler of 'The Americans,' but pretty low-key by his standards.

But what has theatergoers talking is the show's paranormal activity. The Belgian van Hove doesn't seem to have gotten the memo about how Miller wasn't writing about Satan but the Communist witch hunt of the '50s. In his version, a girl levitates off her bed, a gust of wind upends a classroom and mysterious scribbles appear on a blackboard. The show tries to have it both ways: As a supernatural spookfest and as a morality tale about mass hysteria and intolerance. You may be mystified, but you won't be bored -- the gorgeous-looking production weaves a creepy spell every minute of its nearly three hours.

Steve Martin and Edie Brickell's 'Bright Star' is a Broadway oddity -- and not just because it has a bluegrass score. No, the weird thing about 'Bright Star' is the way it juxtaposes an over-the-top plot with a low-key production and mild-tempered music...The show ambles along, alternating between lively hootenannies and lovely ditties -- the title song is especially wonderful, performed by Shively and the ensemble with hopeful joy...The show's droll, earnest tone does have its appeal...As a gentle fable, 'Bright Star' has a quirky charm, but its stubborn refusal to face up to its dark side diminishes it.