Elysa Gardner

Letts relays this dark-horse quality as powerfully as any performer this critic has seen in the role. From his masterfully acerbic rebuttals to Martha's initial barrage of insults, this George proves that he isn't the mere simp his wife describes but rather a simmering cauldron of frustration and disappointment. And he lets the lid off with an unmannered intensity that is as bracing as it is convincing. Of course, any production of Woolf relies on the strength of its four-member cast; and this one, transferred from Chicago's Steppenwolf Theatre Company, has no weak links. Morton's savage but ultimately poignant Martha is, in keeping with Letts' stringent delivery, drier and less flamboyant than Kathleen Turner's in the last Broadway revival...You'll leave the gathering shaken and sobered, but also exhilarated. All golden anniversaries should be this memorable.

t's a safe bet, even at this early stage, that [Hodge will] collect another Tony nod for his effort. Mind you, the leading man benefits from a superb supporting cast, directed with blazing vigor by Hodge's fellow Brit Jamie Lloyd, and from Ranjit Bolt's witty, earthy translation, also a U.K. import.

Rudd rises to the considerable challenge posed by Steve, who is at once guileless and presumptuous, well-meaning and self-serving to the point of being callous and cruel. The easy affability that he has brought to numerous films is distorted into a glib sense of entitlement that becomes comically anti-social.

This Manhattan Theatre Club production also has a huge asset in leading man Boyd Gaines, whose Thomas is a distinctly earthbound but still mesmerizing force of nature -- by turns formidable, frail, frazzled, funny and tragic. Gaines captures all the arrogance and compassion of a man devoted to a noble but impossible cause, letting us see both the wisdom in his words and their futility.

There are surely few harder-working men in show business right now than Rob McClure, the immensely likeable star of the new Broadway musical Chaplin. In the title role, that of film legend Charlie Chaplin, McClure begins the show literally walking a high wire. For more than two hours, he is the dominant figure onstage, aging from a teenager to an octogenarian while alternately channeling his character's unique genius for physical comedy and singing his guts out. As if that's not enough, Chaplin's leading man must also traverse a book...with enough mawkish melodrama to fuel a dozen silent-film parodies. It's this last aspect that ultimately sinks what might have been an exciting new work, and still manages to be, in substantial chunks, an entertaining one.

Like many contemporary musicals, Faith ultimately works best as a showcase for its talented cast. The excellent players also include Kecia Lewis-Evans, who as one of Jonas' Angels brings dynamism and dignity to the stock supporting role of big-voiced earth mama. As her grown son and daughter, Leslie Odom, Jr. and Krystal Joy Brown both prove supple singers and fluid dancers. Their contributions help lift Faith above its uneven aspects and become, if not a rapturous experience, a compelling curiosity.

True, Nice Work If You Can Get It (* * * out of four) doesn't use an inane story line to simply string together a beloved band or singer's catalog or a bunch of disparate rock chestnuts. Instead, it uses an inane story line to string together the timeless songs of George and Ira Gershwin. This distinction shouldn't make Nice Work, which opened Tuesday at the Imperial Theatre, any more encouraging to people who care about keeping musical theater fresh and vital. But director/choreographer Kathleen Marshall and a stellar cast ensure that the show is as charming in execution as it is disheartening in theory.

If you haven't seen Ghost on screen, there's a bittersweet ending. For the musical's producers, the future looks brighter: A third production is set to open in Melbourne next year. Apparently, sentimentality and special effects are draws — even if the latter can play tricks on you occasionally.

Though Rogers' voice isn't strong, her singing has a raw ache and folky authenticity. She also moves like a gazelle, reinforcing Eva's beguiling sensuality and adding further sparkle to Ashford's earthy, vibrant dance numbers. The narrator, Che, isn't presented as the flamboyant revolutionary (based on Che Guevera) he became under Harold Prince's original direction. A charming Ricky Martin plays the character more as an amused, sometimes sympathetic spectator; though critical of Eva, as Rice's lyrics demand, he also conveys a certain tenderness.

As drama, The Best Man is both soapy and self-righteous; fortunately, director Michael Wilson has assembled a cast of seasoned pros who manage a winningly dry, light touch. John Larroquette brings a mix of gravitas and ruefulness to Russell, whose only apparent shortcoming is trouble remaining faithful to his wife. ... But the biggest, warmest laughs are provided by another venerable octogenarian: James Earl Jones, who clearly has a field day as jocular former president Artie Hockstader. Though a fundamentally decent fellow, Hockstader has no problem enjoying some of the tawdrier elements of the political game as a spectator. Thanks to the sterling company here, neither will you.

Newsies' contrivances are served with a light, knowing touch, and made even more palatable by the easy infectiousness of Alan Menken and Jack Feldman's songs and the youthful exuberance of the cast, under Jeff Calhoun's sprightly direction.

Rather than try to cut through the rock-operatic bombast of Andrew Lloyd Webber's music and Tim Rice's lyrics, director Des McAnuff revels in it. Though intermittently moving and seldom dull, this account of Jesus' final days on Earth isn't recommended to anyone with a low tolerance for pomp. Or a headache, for that matter.

Garfield vividly traces Biff's evolution from a confident, charismatic teenager to a man crippled by his father's expectations and mistakes. The U.K.-bred actor's body language, spry and vigorous in youthful scenes, slackens; even his canny New York accent sharpens, as a local's might, in excitement or under duress. ... All the performances are at once authentic and timeless, much like Jo Mielziner's abstract set design and Alex North's haunting incidental music, both restored from 1949's original staging.

No doubt Vivian's struggle to soften her perspective while retaining her dignity will still resonate with many women. But the severity of her isolation and her steady (if rocky) path to enlightenment seem a little contrived. Other characters, too, can come across less as real human beings than as vehicles for Edson's message...It may not be Nixon's finest hour (and 40 minutes) on the New York stage, but it's a joy to have her back.

The show proves an especially winning vehicle for leading lady Audra McDonald. Where her dramatic soprano has seemed a little heavy or stiff in other musical-theater roles, she invests Bess' songs with both technical authority and a fluid, full-bodied sense of character that extends to her spoken lines. Tracing the drug-addled Bess' attempt to turn her life around under Porgy's loving guidance, McDonald is by turns tender and crass, droll and desperate, and always wrenchingly human. As Porgy, the less-celebrated Norm Lewis is a revelation. That the character walks with a cane here, rather than using the traditional goat cart, only emphasizes the contrast between his lame body and his bursting heart. Hobbling toward McDonald or carefully leaning in to embrace her, Lewis' eyes burn with a soulful urgency that matches his robust baritone.

The muddled but appealing production that opened Sunday at the St. James Theatre shares the title with and features characters and songs from the show and movie. But as reconceived by director Michael Mayer, with a new libretto by Peter Parnell, this On a Clear Day (* * * out of four) challenges our ability to suspend disbelief in even more dizzying ways.

But even as played by a pair of appealing, charismatic young actors, these two never emerge as the populist anti-heroes that the writers clearly had in mind. Laura Osnes' fresh beauty and understated sauciness can mitigate this Bonnie's moony, moody antics only so much, while Jeremy Jordan's robust singing and graceful swagger just make the hollowness of Clyde's narcissism — and of the generic vocal showcases that Black and Wildhorn provide him — more obvious.

Thanks to these performances, Seminar proves an enriching study.

It helps that esteemed director Richard Eyre applies a light, sure hand, and the actors show a similar ease and dexterity. Cattrall's Amanda is adorably feminine, with a breezy, un-self-conscious energy that mitigates the character's narcissism. As the equally narcissistic Elyot, Canadian actor Paul Gross is less endearing but just as entertaining.

3 out of four. There are endearing twists, as well - an aboriginal-themed Over the Rainbow, a reworking of a rhythmic spoken-word sequence from The Music Man as a campy hip-hop number. If Jackman knows how to please a crowd, he can also take it in unexpected directions, with seductive enthusiasm.

The expert cast, under Joe Mantello's thoughtful direction, mines the resulting conflicts for all their hilarity and poignance. After Brooke pours her heart out defending her book, Thomas Sadoski's witty Trip offers an equally passionate (and entertaining) summation of the selfishness in her suffering and healing. And when Channing's pitch-perfect Polly clashes with her sister - a recovering alcoholic, played by Judith Light, who suggests what Brooke might become if she fully disappeared up her own navel - neither is victorious or vanquished.

This collection of short plays, which opened Thursday at Broadway's Brooks Atkinson Theatre, proves that similar extremes can apply to theater. For these accounts of homegrown neuroses — by veteran wits Elaine May, Ethan Coen and Woody Allen— offer both disarming highs and disappointing lows.

It's ultimately Langella's show, though. His Gregor comes on as icy-smooth as Dracula. But as his fortunes threaten to crumble, the actor lets that fa?ade dissolve, subtly and masterfully. This mogul is a complicated man who never appears entirely defeated. 'Never, in the future, let the truth make you cry,' Gregor tells Basil in a particularly dark moment. It's a bit of practical advice that seems as timely as ever at this juncture.

McNally's love song to Callas may be, like his heroine, a more florid and flawed piece of work. Still, Daly and her fellow performers make this Master Class well worth attending.

Essential elements of that production remain, along with the flying feats and other high-tech visuals. But the new Spider-Man is cuter and more cautious than its predecessor, more in line with the winking musical adaptations of famous films and brands that have lined the theater district in recent years. Clearly, producers heeded the critics and fans who hoped to see the title character represented more as he'd been in comic books and movies. Specifically, that meant streamlining the story to eliminate a love triangle involving the spider-woman Arachne, who in 1.0 emerged as both protector and nemesis to Spider-Man/Peter Parker and rival to Mary Jane, Peter's girlfriend. The Arachne of 2.0 is a simpler, sweeter creature; the antagonist is now scientist Norm Osborn's deranged alter ego, the Green Goblin, who views Peter/Spidey as his wayward son.