Elisabeth Vincentelli

On the one hand, we have Audra McDonald, poised and elegant - a classically trained soprano and five-time Tony winner. On the other, there's the raspy-voiced Billie Holiday, who lifted herself from the gutter to achieve fame as a jazz singer, only to crash out on drink and drugs. Talk about casting against type. And yet as soon as McDonald opens her mouth in Lanie Robertson's 'Lady Day at Emerson's Bar & Grill,' it's Holiday we hear.

Until now, his off-Broadway 'Thom Pain (based on nothing)' and 'The Open House,' among others, have shown him to be a wildly divisive writer: Some love his deadpan riffs on language; just as many find him glib and empty. Yet Sunday night, the Massachusetts native made his Broadway debut with 'The Realistic Joneses,' a dark comedy that's fairly accessible - for Eno (we're not talking Neil Simon here) - but won't settle the debate. The show starts off strong before running in circles, leaving you wondering what the point was, exactly.

'A Raisin in the Sun' endures for good reason. Lorraine Hansberry's 1959 play - the first by a black woman on Broadway - features several meaty roles and enough dramatic momentum to keep audiences on the edge of their seats. No wonder stars are drawn to this classic, even when they aren't necessarily right for it. Ten years ago, Sean Combs (a?k?a Puff Daddy) picked 'Raisin' for his Broadway debut.

New Broadway musical 'If/Then' would be DOA without Idina Menzel. The star holds this ambitious but unwieldy show together. Actually, she does more than that: She gathers a bunch of messy parts, and gives them life, emerging triumphant in the process.

A clunker of a Broadway show, 'Mothers and Sons' asks us to endure the vacuous chit-chat of deeply unpleasant people. The worst part is, there isn't even a good reason for their chit-chatting in the first place. Fortunately, one of them is played by Tyne Daly, who gives the character of Katharine Gerard -- the embittered mother of a dead gay son -- the complexity and dignity playwright Terrence McNally refuses her...Under Sheryl Kaller's stilted direction, all three adults look uncomfortable, though at least Daly's character is meant to be that way. The actress suggests a world of pain, grief and anger behind the stoic, matronly facade, and she lands her zingers with ease. A lot more sympathetic onstage than on the page, Katharine ends up owning the show. Andre would have been proud.

Karimloo introduces himself with a bang - he opens up his shirt, crying 'I am Jean Valjean!' His performance is affecting throughout, but Swenson is a bigger revelation. Is that sniffling we hear in the audience? Yes, and that's why 'LES MISERABLES' endures.

Disney's new 'Aladdin' doesn't quite catch lightning in a bottle - but it lets a pretty nifty genie out of a lamp. That would be James Monroe Iglehart, in the role memorably voiced by Robin Williams in the 1992 animated hit. Every time this Genie's on stage, it's as if 'Aladdin' were mainlining Red Bull. Iglehart works so hard during his big number, you fear for his health - that is, when you're not laughing your head off. And then there's the rest of the show...The whole vibe is like a throwback to those old Bob Hope/Bing Crosby movies: 'The Road to Agrabah.' But the journey may be a short one - leaving the beautiful New Amsterdam Theatre free just in time for the 'Frozen' musical to move in.

Something electric happens at the end of 'Rocky' that gets theatergoers on their feet and writers scuttling for exclamation points: A boxing ring descends from the rafters, then glides into the orchestra! There's hooks, punches and blood?-?and a Jumbotron! And then: 'Adriaaaaaaaan!' Director Alex Timbers ('Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson') earns his keep right there. If you could win a Tony based on just 20 minutes, 'Rocky' would be a shoo-in. Problem is, that finale is preceded by an hour and a half of less thrilling moments...As the Italian Stallion, Karl follows the Stallone model?-?a big galoot with a heart of gold?-?but he makes it his own. He has a cool-cat ease and a warm, evocative singing voice. We believe in this irrepressible Rocky and his glass-half-full philosophy...He's well matched with Archie's cocky Apollo and Margo Seibert's Adrian, even though she isn't as pathetically lonely as the movie's semi-recluse.

Bartlett Sher's production, which opened Thursday night, is merely a mixed bag, one in which cringe-inducing bits alternate with moments of musical-theater nirvana. Despite the trepidation around her casting, all of the grace notes have to do with O'Hara. Not only does she deliver a finely tuned performance, but she also inspired composer Jason Robert Brown ('The Last Five Years') to new heights. He tailored her character's numbers to his star's range and sensibility, and her songs, like 'What Do You Call a Man?' and 'Almost Real,' have a heartbreaking beauty.

The point seems to be that Yankee greatness bridges generations, and that petty rivalries should be snuffed out for the organization's greater good. What's more amazing than dead players chatting over hors d'oeuvres is that a show about a team with such a backlog of personalities, controversies and scandals could be so dull. No George Steinbrenner, no Red Sox, no juicing - no drama. At this point, you have to wonder what's next for Simonson. A play about hockey in which the Care Bear players hug?

Overall, it's as if Shanley, director Doug Hughes and the Manhattan Theatre Club had been afraid to let this play be as small as it needs to be. Even the production overcompensates, with meticulous rotating sets by John Lee Beatty and elaborate water effects. It's never a good sign when you find yourself looking away from actors to watch falling rain.

What makes the show so fascinating is the contrast between its cerebral approach and Hall's compassionate performance. In her Broadway debut, the English actress effortlessly navigates stream-of-consciousness monologues while helping us relate to this opaque character. Helen may feel like a cog in a machine, but Hall makes her all too human.

t’s all very inscrutable and cool, but the show’s mysteriously compelling. This has a lot to do with the easy rapport of the leads, who are besties in real life — McKellen even became a Universal Life Church minister to officiate at Stewart’s wedding.

The droll tone and Edwardian setting should lure BBC fans, but this 'Guide' has nothing on 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood' - the 1985 caper musical that was successfully revived last year. Problem No. 1 is Freedman and composer Steven Lutvak's score, a collection of innocuous music-hall pastiches. The lyrics can be fun, as in 'I Don't Understand the Poor,' sung by the fox-hunting blowhard Lord Adalbert: 'Though my politics are purely democratical/I find the species, frankly, problematical.'...The pacing is uneven as well...Meanwhile, the charmless Pinkham - much better as the villain in 'Ghost: The Musical' - basically functions as a placeholder during Mays' costume changes.

You may not want to miss this chance to see a master entertainer ply his trade - not to mention the rare opportunity to relish real, live Catskills humor on Broadway. (Alan Zweibel, one of the original 'Saturday Night Live' writers, contributed additional material.)

That play creates an enchanting atmosphere — and a very funny one. Rylance looks fantastic in his huge black dress and corpse-white makeup. Gliding around as if on a hidden moving platform, he milks all the humor and pathos out of his character’s sudden passion for Cesario — who’s really Viola, a young woman disguised as a boy.

This show belongs to Rylance. His Richard uses his deformity to look pathetic and better manipulate his victim — watch him make people uncomfortable with his atrophied hand, which hangs from his cape like a mummified monkey paw. Acting like a sad, bumbling clown, Richard gets laughs. It’s a fascinating choice, even if we lose a lot of Richard’s evil edge.

As in old-school revues, 'After Midnight' highlights a range of specialty performers. While Carlyle isn't the most imaginative choreographer, you can't help but thrill as his dancers triumph in wildly different styles. So we effortlessly move from ­Alvin Ailey alums Karine Plantadit and Desmond Richardson (late of Twyla Tharp's 'Come Fly Away' and 'Movin' Out,' respectively) to hip-hop master Virgil 'Lil' O' Gadson, who engages in a spirited battle with the rubber-limbed Julius ­'iGlide' Chisolm. Of course, there's plenty of tap, too. And that, like Duke Ellington's music, never gets old.

At the end, which is the beginning, Jerry is carefree and daring. We already know a decade of lies and cheating awaits. This is the kind of insight that makes “Betrayal” a play worth revisiting — its very structure encourages multiple viewings. Just not at $500 a pop.

Director Daniel Sullivan smoothly handles White's melodramatic story, which also includes Elizabeth's religious sister, Clarissa, and her German husband, Max. The reliably wonderful Victoria Clark and Danny Burstein (doing a rather odd accent) act the hell out of tacked-on parts. You actually would like to know more about Clarissa, whose forbidding manner hides a kind spirit.

As anybody who's ever seen a rom-com knows, the real spark is between Catherine and Morton, whose antagonism morphs into grudging admiration. Watching Parry and Nivola stiffly dance around each other's feelings is melanchic and delightful. Where love's concerned, at least - unlike in a courtroom - there is no clear winner or loser.

Enough of these baby­boomer-baiting tribute concerts trying to pass for Broadway musicals! Just months after the Beatles impersonators in 'Let It Be' left town comes 'A Night With Janis Joplin' - or more exactly, 'A Night With Mary Bridget Davies as Janis Joplin,' though that title wouldn't sell many tickets.

There's a huge gap between what you see and what you hear in 'Big Fish.' Visually speaking, this new Broadway musical is inventive, playful and often downright magical. But then, we expect nothing less from director Susan Stroman, the whiz behind 'The Producers' and 'The Scottsboro Boys.' Unfortunately, Andrew Lippa's score is a hack job stringing one banal non-tune after another. Every time Broadway takes one step forward musically ('Matilda,' 'Once'), it takes two back with safe, witless junk like this. Those who heard Lippa's disposable contribution to 'The Addams Family' can't say they weren't warned.

This revival of Tennessee Williams' 'The Glass Menagerie' arrives on Broadway from Cambridge, Mass., with the excitement usually reserved for 'Breaking Bad' and cronuts: It's genius! You need it! Well, not quite. This is a fine evening at the theater, not a divine revelation. The show is a good take on Williams' memory play, and Zachary Quinto and Cherry Jones offer interesting spins on familiar characters - even if Jones' execution doesn't match her concept of the role.

The most mesmerizing of the lot is Christian Camargo. As Romeo's disenchanted, provocateur pal, Mercutio, he languidly delivers his razor-sharp lines. It's as if the character was fatigued by life itself - yet he energizes the stage whenever he's on. And he doesn't even need to ride a motorcycle.