Elysa Gardner

The latest entry, Sister Act: A Divine Musical Comedy (***½out of four), may be less giddily profane, and thought-provoking, than The Book of Mormon, but it has its own distinct and surprising charms. Composer Alan Menken and lyricist Glenn Slater provide original tunes that nod cheekily, but with genuine affection, to that pop era while also propelling the story with a style and exuberance specific to well-crafted musical theater.

Little wonder that Steven Spielberg is bringing War Horse to the big screen in December — with real horses. But anyone who can should see this marvelous, life-affirming play first. You'll leave the theater emotionally spent but exhilarated.

Rock proves both a bold and canny choice for Ralph, a less sympathetic figure. More likable and less palpably ego-driven than many comedians of his generation, Rock doesn't exude the kind of crass narcissism that the sponsor eventually reveals...By not putting characters or their dilemmas in neat boxes, Guirgis gives us, in Hat, a slice of hard life that's as provocative as it is absorbing.

One feat that Abagnale did not attempt was writing and starring in a stage musical about his youthful adventures. And now we know why. Not that Catch Me If You Can (* * ½ out of four), the new Broadway show based on the aforementioned film and autobiography of the same name, is a dud. Boasting a score by the famously witty team of Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman and a book by Terrence McNally, Catch Me is too ambitious and stylish in its efforts to entertain and move us to induce boredom. The main problem with this production, which opened Sunday at the Neil Simon Theatre, is that only one of the two leading men is consistently compelling. And it's not the one playing Abagnale (Aaron Tveit).

Foster wins us over, through talent and sheer force of will. But it's more a qualified victory than an outright seduction...The younger performers also shine. As the debutante Hope Harcourt, Laura Osnes looks stunning and sings fetchingly; as Reno's old buddy Billy Crocker - in love with Hope, who is engaged to a wealthy Englishman - Colin Donnell proves a charming and comically nimble romantic lead. So despite a leading lady who isn't a natural fit - and to some extent, because of her joyful commitment -Anything Goes offers its share of delightful, de-lovely moments.

Pink is the color favored by Finch's love interest, the sweetly feisty secretary Rosemary Pilkington, who via newcomer Rose Hemingway becomes this season's most adorable and vivacious ingénue. Tammy Blanchard also shines as Biggley's dimwitted mistress, bringing sassy swagger and comic panache to the bimbo role. John Larroquette's Biggley is less of an instant hit, showing even more of a tendency to rush through lines than Radcliffe does, though with less obvious character-based incentive. But Larroquette grows funnier and more lovable as the show progresses, and manages an endearing chemistry with the considerably younger (and shorter) leading man. In fact, Radcliffe ultimately succeeds not by overshadowing his fellow cast members, but by working in conscientious harmony with them - and having a blast in the process.

This buoyancy is enhanced by a game young cast, under Parker and Casey Nicholaw's sprightly direction. Andrew Rannells is picture-perfect as the square, hyper-ambitious Elder Price, whose frustrated wish to transfer to Disney/boy-band capitol Orlando is a running joke. As Cunningham, Price's portly, socially inept partner and foil, Josh Gad overdoes the sloppy-sidekick shtick a bit, but not so much that he doesn't make us laugh and, eventually, cheer his progress. In fact, regardless of your spiritual inclinations - or lack thereof - you're likely to leave The Book of Mormon a little happier for the experience. Seriously.

In the new Broadway revival of Season (* * ½ out of four), which opened Sunday at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, a starry cast that includes Miller's son Jason Patric reintroduces these no-longer-young men. Over two boozy hours (in the short first act, virtually every other line seems to be an invitation to imbibe), they revisit old grievances and form new ones, gradually tearing to shreds both past glories and present accomplishments.

Rabbit Hole, which he adapted for a 2010 film, focused on an attractive, accomplished couple whose seemingly charmed life was shattered by the accidental death of their 4-year-old son. In contrast, the central figure in Lindsay-Abaire's excellent new play, Good People (* * * ½ out of four), is a woman for whom things can only get better.

Every year seems to bring at least one entry, snowing banal good cheer on theatergoers (sometimes literally, as anyone who has walked out with a head full of confetti knows). In this year's model, Elf (* *½ out of four), which opened Sunday at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre, that cheer is at least served with a light heart and endearingly goofy humor.

Similarly, as Bassanio's buddy Gratiano, Jesse L. Martin exudes an infectious joie de vivre, but shades it with suggestions of irresponsibility and, in scenes with Shylock, something worse. And Heather Lind is a soulful, plaintive Jessica, Shylock's daughter, who deserts her father for a Christian lover, only to find a new, more pronounced sense of isolation. She reaches into our hearts and haunts our minds, as this Merchant does in general.

The result is a nostalgia trip that will appeal most immediately to those who followed Pee-wee in his heyday - they were well represented at a recent preview, where audience members hooted in rhapsodic recognition each time a character was introduced. But to their credit, Reubens, collaborating writers Bill Steinkeller and John Paragon and directorAlex Timbers recapture the gently subversive goofiness that made the brand work, and add contemporary flourishes.

But Long Story doesn't pretend to offer sophisticated social analysis, any more than it asks us to take literally its caricatures. Some of its smartest and funniest moments arrive when Quinn steps out of the historical period that he's documenting.

No one is helped by Yazbek's songs, which sound like Latin-flavored Muzak. LuPone's Invisible follows a monologue that becomes, in her hands, the show's dramatic high point. You half-expect her to launch into one of her showstopping arias, but all she gets is a loungey trifle. The actress, like many on Women on the Verge's illustrious team, deserves better. So do audiences.

In short, Scottsboro, which opened Sunday at the Lyceum Theatre, wears its social conscience and its political incorrectness on its sleeve. And while the result is thoughtful, vibrant entertainment, the earnestness and irreverence can seem self-conscious.

For anyone who has spent the past decade lamenting the rise of jukebox musicals, Rain: A Tribute to The Beatles on Broadway (* * ½ out of four) is either a new low point or a refreshingly honest enterprise.

Neither Jones nor Redgrave loses the regal bearing we have long attributed to them; rather, they channel it to suggest the dignity of seemingly ordinary characters. In doing so, they remind us that great acting can transcend not only life but art as well.

Lombardi liked to say that while perfection isn't attainable, in chasing it we can catch excellence. Lombardi may aspire to and achieve something less, but there are worse ways to spend 95 minutes.

And this unabashedly anachronistic musical doesn't just aim to mock Jackson's proto-libertarian views and followers — or, by implication, their generally right-leaning successors. True, leading man Benjamin Walker's Jackson is introduced as a crude, if charismatic, blowhard, his crowd as similarly rowdy and lowbrow. In the post-punk diatribe Populism Yea Yea, they vow to take 'a stand against the elite,' not to mention a laundry list of foreigners.

The new Broadway revival of La Bête (* * *) also finds fresh relevance in the past. Set in 17th-century France, David Hirson's comedy asks just how low popular art can go - a question that resonates even more today than it did when the play bowed in 1990.

Pepe, a longtime Mamet collaborator, described Life in a recent Playbill interview with the playwright as '(not only) a love letter to the theater, but also to actors.' Mind you, lovable isn't the first word you'd apply to either of the two thespians who are the sole characters here. Robert, played by Stewart, is a gentleman of a certain age facing the twilight of his career, if not his vanity; John, Knight's role, is an up-and-comer who may not be as ingenuous as he seems.

Suffice to say that Shaw, this ain't. Hall fairly bludgeons us with his populist message, and the characters can border on cartoonish in their conformity to broad, familiar stereotypes. Still, the actors are game and adroit; standouts include Michael Hodgson, wryly appealing as a wisecracking socialist, and Brian Lonsdale, who does deft double duty as the unemployed young man and an effete painter.

Instead, Mrs. Warren and her daughter, Vivie, are respectively reintroduced as a blowzy old biddy and a neurotic, sniveling girl. That's especially disappointing, since the title character is played by no less reliable or resourceful an actress than Cherry Jones. Having excelled as a number of robustly human heroines (among them Shaw's Major Barbara), Jones would seem ideally cast as an Englishwoman who escapes poverty through prostitution, then exploits Victorian hypocrisy by making a fortune running high-end brothels.

Those who associate Coward with sophisticated couples gliding glibly through dry repartee may be surprised by the depths of sensuality and tenderness reached in this adaptation of his work, which opened Tuesday at Roundabout Theatre Company's Studio 54. Initially performed at London's Kneehigh Theatre, Encounter draws on both Coward's screenplay of the same title and his one-act play Still Life, on which the film was based.

The actresses and director Lynne Meadow ensure that debate is absorbing. Lavin's alternately funny and wrenching performance lets us see Ruth's repressed longings and regrets, while Paulson convincingly charts Lisa's evolution from self-conscious ingénue to self-possessed upstart.