Gillian Russo

In less skilled hands, these flawed characters could push the audience away or else flatten into scapegoats. But James and O'Hara don't let that happen for a second. O'Hara's Kirsten contains multitudes beneath a sheltered, sunny air, including a zeal for what her favorite books describe as 'the human desire penetrate the unknown' — like the world of booze. James's Joe is magnetic such that when he trades his drunken aggressiveness for tenderness, we immediately root for him again. James and O'Hara's sparkling chemistry is effortless, entirely convincing us of their deep love even in their darkest moments — and those moments become all the more arresting as a result.

Buena Vista leaps back and forth between this album recording in the '90s and the characters' early careers in the '50s. Ali achieves these shifts seamlessly and in a swift two hours. Some Act 2 plot points, including the rise of the Revolution, get rushed in the process, as does the musical's exploration of how colorism impacts the musicians' opportunities, particularly Ferrer's.

Leave it to Alicia Keys, the writer of evocative songs like 'Fallin'' and 'If I Ain't Got You,' which make everyday emotions feel like momentous revelations, to make a New York local see Midtown anew. I'll admit, after living on both the north and south outskirts of Hell's Kitchen for a combined four years, that particular part of the city began to feel a little less fiery, the streets no longer making me feel brand-new, but same-old. But as portrayed in Hell's Kitchen, under Michael Greif's direction, Keys's home neighborhood is a living, pulsing, vibrant soundscape.

The most iconic bits — fisch schlapping, coconuts as horseshoes — are timeless, though your laughter will simply be proportional to how much you enjoy Monty Python's silly sketch-comedy style in general. My personal favorites are the 'so bad they're good' puns, like when Arthur (James Monroe Iglehart) describes the Holy Grail as a 'symbol,' cueing the cymbalist. The other strength of Spamalot is that it gives every one of its principal cast members a chance to shine. And shine they do. Ethan Slater proves himself one of the best physical comedians on Broadway right now in a variety of bit parts, making each one feel larger than life. Michael Urie makes a meal of the showstopping 'You Won't Succeed on Broadway' as Sir Robin, and Christopher Fitzgerald does the same with 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life' as Patsy, though his best moment is his silent comedic acting in the background of Arthur's 'I'm All Alone.'

What writer, director, and actors all get right in the end, though, is uncertainty. They may change each other in the course of one night, but it seems just as likely that Roberta and Danny will keep clinging to each other as they will end right back up at that dive bar, picking new fights with new people over beer and pretzels, as though their one night of hope really was just a hazy dream.

And at the end of the day, despite some narrative clunkiness, Jaja offers plenty to celebrate. It's the Broadway debut of Bioh as a writer, White as a director, and six of the eight cast members. It's a passionate portrayal of Black womanhood in Harlem and all the diverse experiences that encompasses. And it's a love letter to the artistry of hair braiding, a millennia-old form of artistry that allows its participants to express themselves even as they transform themselves. Much like theatre.

From her best-known hits to the first song she ever wrote as a kid, each one soars, their poetic lyrics supplying the emotional depth the script sometimes misses. As a casual Etheridge fan, I left wanting to listen to each song over again and discover the rest, though the exhilarating experience of hearing her pour her desperation into 'I'm the Only One,' her fiery desire into 'I Wanna Come Over,' and the full extent of her nimble guitar mastery into 'Bring Me Some Water' live is something the recordings can't replicate. Those can only provide a window into the experience.

It's an odd paradox, that Back to the Future assumes prior familiarity with the film such that the players need little introduction, while positing nearly every character as worthy of substantial exploration. Chalk it up, perhaps, to the fact that two of the movie's creators are involved: Bob Gale adapted the musical's book from his and Robert Zemeckis's screenplay, and Alan Silvestri, who composed the film score, co-wrote the musical's rollicking score with Glen Ballard. They clearly know and adore all their characters, but not all audiences have the same depth of understanding, especially 28 years on from the film's premiere. But like the DeLorean climbing to the crucial 88 miles per hour, the writers ultimately succeed in building the show's momentum and narrative heft. Once Marty meets his teenaged parents, Lorraine and George, in 1955 and catches Lorraine's eye before George can, he has to course-correct — and gets to know his parents better in the process. Back to the Future is really a story about how the young can shape older generations' futures, after all, not just the other way around.

He's added in some famous Fosse numbers from other shows, but Cilento otherwise preserves Fosse's original Dancin' choreography, much of which pushes the boundaries of, and departs from, his style as we think of it. And by doing so, Bob Fosse's Dancin' (as the revival's title has been stylized) reminds us of the breadth of Fosse's talent and resurfaces a facet of his legacy we often forget: joy. Dancin' brims with it — in Fosse's moves, the dancers' soaring energy, the lively orchestra, and, thanks to all that, in the audience.

The perfectly cast pair Schmidt has found in Brooke Bloom (Mary) and Lynn Collins (Ashling), plus an adorable and diverting Charlotte Surak as Lucy, are nonetheless worth the price of admission. Sure, you can wait to hear them when Audible releases Lucy as an audio drama. But then you won't see that 'Anti-Hero' dance party, that one blissfully beautiful moment, awash in vibrant pink lights, before everything rapidly devolves. For the characters and the audience, it is exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

But ultimately, it is Linda who bookends Salesman as the first and last character we see alone on stage. Sharon D Clarke, who won an Olivier Award for performing the role in London, plays the oft-demure character with ferocity and desperation. This is not a submissive wife coddling her husband and his delusions; this is a woman demanding respect and compassion for an unstable man. Even more crucially, this is also a woman at her breaking point. She knows of her husband's suicidal tendencies - a crushing load to bear - and, though she doesn't say so outright, appears to feel responsible for keeping him off the ledge.

Smartly, Stoppard did not write Leopoldstadt as a Holocaust play. Impending doom lurks in Adam Cork's chilling score, but otherwise, the show is a lively, rich family drama. We're invited into the Merz-Jacobowitzes' commonplace gatherings, debates, trysts, squabbles, and playtimes as though we, too, are kin. There's a healthy helping of intellectual talk — Stoppard's specialty — but it's not esoteric, and in the hands of a superb Brandon Uranowitz, who gets to philosophize the most as the mathematician Ludwig, it's endlessly captivating. Plus, subjects like math are just as often the butt of jokes, of which there are plenty. Stoppard also warms us up to the characters with his trademark witty humor; a misunderstanding between a circumciser and a cigar cutter even provides a full-blown laugh-out-loud moment.