Elisabeth Vincentelli — Theater Critic

Despite occasional staging touches - the sounds of fireworks and playing children always seem to surge at momentous times - the show has a certain tragic inevitability. It's a flawed but compelling picture of Southern discomfort.

Maggie Grace ('The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn,' 'Taken') has a coltish, leggy elegance as Madge Owens. Sebastian Stan ('Captain America'), the dreamy outsider Hal Carter, isn't shy about showing off his chiselled torso, which is good because Hal's keeps losing his shirt or having it torn off him. Too bad they share youth and good looks, but no sizzle - there's more sexual chemistry among the cast of 'Old Jews Telling Jokes.'

The play is less riveting than it is reasonably engaging. It's not entirely new, either, having premiered downtown two years ago. As for the 'thriller' tag, let's just say the decorous Manhattan Theatre Club is behind this Broadway transfer, so don't expect fisticuffs.

So it's all about Pacino, and guess what? He's good. Not awesomely, life-changingly good. Just good.

The excellent supporting cast also makes the most of Odets’ mix of naturalism and poetry. Shalhoub, in particular, creates a quietly proud rendering of Mr. Bonaparte, a loving, reserved father disappointed by what his son has become. Turns out boxing can do as much damage to your heart as your bones.

The entire 70-minute show consists of Cathy’s parole-plea meeting, with the two women tossing arguments back and forth. Mamet is slow and stingy in dispensing details, maybe in an attempt to make the encounter a pure philosophical debate.

Fans of “A Christmas Story” can breathe easy: The charming musical that opened last night on Broadway, after touring the Midwest last year, succeeds both as an adaptation and on its own terms.

When it first appeared a couple of years ago, “Elf — The Musical” fit that pattern. The sluggish, saccharine-sweet adaptation of the 2003 Will Ferrell movie wasn’t bad enough to qualify as a lump of coal, but it didn’t make you wish for a return ticket in your stocking. But there’s been a Christmas miracle on Broadway, because the retooled “Elf” that reopened last night is a startling improvement. Zippier and funnier, the show is now a bona fide treat.

David West Read seems to think that setting his Broadway debut, “The Performers,” in the world of porn is hilarious in and of itself. So the show never bothers with anything besides raunchy wisecracks that get less and less funny as the evening wears on. Thank God the production features a spot-on cast that includes Henry Winkler, Cheyenne Jackson and Alicia Silverstone.

Director Scott Ellis could easily have pushed the pace into a gallop rather than a trot, and cranked up the zany-meter a notch or two. Still, for a show doing triple duty as musical, choose-your-own-ending mystery and time-travel device, “Drood” is jolly good fun.

There’s a lot to love in this production — but maybe Miss Hannigan could have done with a little less.

The play itself takes care of the rest, carrying us along like the well-crafted yarn it is. They don’t write ’em like this anymore.

But fabrication, delusion and manipulation are integral to the play. Like Beckett and his existentialist comic nightmares, Albee mines a pitch-black absurdism. Fifty years on, and he’s still one step ahead of Broadway.

“Grace” veers off in interesting directions by moving all the characters — not just Steve — outside of their comfort zone. Granted, Wright and director Dexter Bullard overreach at times. Not only does the show proceed in flashback, but both apartments share the set — the characters are in the same space without being in the same room — which is more confusing than anything else. And keep an eye on the overhead fan, which changes speed and direction at key moments.

Gaines, who often plays good guys and saps, makes the most of his sympathy capital. At first you feel for his character, especially since he has noble intentions. But then he claims, self-servingly, that “the majority is the most insidious enemy to freedom.” So much for democracy.

The only surprise in this predictable, mushy new Broadway musical is how ridiculously fun it is. [...] This isn’t a Disney production, but it might as well be. If there’s a lesson in “Leap of Faith,” it’s that high-energy entertainment is the perfect sweetener: It makes everything go down, whether it’s a rascally preacher or a Broadway musical with a clunky book.

Back on Broadway for the first time since playing Little Sally in “Urinetown,” Kayden is extra dry with a twist, and steals the evening. You keep wishing she’d get more stage time . . . in another show. [...] This Roundabout show is a slog.

Nicky Silver’s “The Lyons” — which opened on Broadway last night after a hit run at the Vineyard — is packed with such sweet nothings. When you hear them delivered by pros like Dick Latessa and Linda Lavin, it’s comedy nirvana.

But Stanley also needs to have a feral charm and a touch of insecure neediness — otherwise, it’s hard to see why he’d feel threatened by Blanche, or why Stella would stay with this wife-beater in wife-beaters. Unfortunately, Underwood sticks to one note, and that’s brutish. Even then, it often feels as if we’re watching a fundamentally nice actor baring his teeth — and his chest — to look mean. Stanley’s rage at the world doesn’t come from deep inside.

Pratfalls, spit takes, puns, improvisation, winking asides, slamming doors, clowning, audience participation, double entendres and triple takes: “One Man, Two Guvnors” leaves no comic stone unturned.

The only time the 90-minute show’s pace falters is during the overlong scene when Bird’s mom, Georgia (Deirdre O’Connell, stellar in several supporting roles), invites Magic for lunch in her Indiana home. [...] Yep, as far as bioplays go, this one’s got bounce.

Rather than turn in another technically fine, ultimately safe Garland impersonation, Bennett gives us the Garland mystique. Without resorting to mimicry, Tracie Bennett captures Judy Garland’s legendary mix of talent and volatility. This is all the more key since Peter Quilter’s West End import isn’t very good. It’s a decent vehicle for a drunk driver.

Despite smaller parts and stiff competition — this show is starrier than a cloudless mountain sky — Angela Lansbury, Candice Bergen and Kerry Butler shine brightest. The one scene this trio shares is a rare moment when Michael Wilson’s overly decorous production chomps with the right satirical bite. ... As fine as Larroquette and McCormack are, there doesn’t seem to be any heartfelt anger in their battle — and this sucks out a lot of the play’s energy.

You can see why [Jeremy Jordan is] being hailed as Broadway’s new star hunk. Jordan may want to unclench his manly jaws once in a while, but his charming Jack hits a good balance of sexiness and humor, and he has a velvety singing voice. Still, there’s a reason the show’s title is plural: The story is about strength in numbers, and the best songs all deploy the big ensemble.

Like any good icon, Nolan’s Jesus exerts a pull that’s both spiritual and physical. [...] Without a strong underlying theme, the show feels like a busy patchwork of styles and references. [...] Hearing excellent singers deliver these tunes through powerful, crisp amplification is a primal thrill. Next time, McAnuff may even get the story right.