Greg Evans

Under the assured direction of Scott Ellis, the revival’s cast is unfaltering in its convictions – we believe that they believe every word they say. If Father Flynn is lying – he’s the only character that has reason to – Schreiber doesn’t let on, a real achievement given that he’s not only squaring off against one tough nun, but several decades now of headlines and heightened public awareness of church atrocities.

Chalk it up to theatrical arts of the first order – acting, direction, book and Guettel’s mesmerizing operatic bebop – that we’re soon hand-in-shaky hand with characters who haven’t a clue how to break the cycle of whiskey-ice-repeat. We’re transported back in time by Kirstin’s lovely sleeveless, A-line cocktail dress (Dede Ayite designed the costumes, showing, among other things, how you really do Barbie), a delightful look that quickly enough gives way to ratty old Baby Jane Hudson bathrobes. And watch Joe morph from Man In a Gray Flannel Suit to rumpled slob in yesterday’s slept-ins, all inhabiting a midcentury modern world, perfectly designed by Lizzie Clachan, that seems by turns airy and claustrophobic.

With the inestimable assistance of Kata’s then-and-now set, Amith Chandrashaker’s lighting design, Daniel Kluger’s music and sound design and Sarah Laux’s spot-on costumes – to say nothing of Cromer’s direction, which easily matches his Tony-winning work on The Band’s Visit, Edwards and his castmates bring two distinct, if not always so dissimilar, eras to life, and they tell a sweeping story while conveying genuine intimacy. Prayer for the French Republic asks big questions – of history, of family, of identity – and, all but miraculously, answers their call.

Pay attention to those loud, annoying cicadas – they seem to have a story to tell. At least they do in Branden Jacobs-Jenkins superb, marvelously performed Appropriate, the Second Stage production opening tonight at the Helen Hayes Theater with one of the best casts – headed by an astonishing Sarah Paulson – on Broadway. A blistering family drama directed by Lila Neugebauer (easily matching her exemplary work in 2018’s The Waverly Gallery), Appropriate is a wicked cacophony of nerve-wrenching mystery, old resentments and laugh-out-loud comedy – the latter all the more remarkable coming, as it does, within a story about the darkest horrors of America’s legacies.

No, the let down is really the fault of a book that relies on easily predictable personal triumphs – shells will be broken, invitations extended, bad boyfriends dumped, all not a moment before or after you’d expect. And as loving and sweet-natured as Cannold’s direction is, it, and the show, is destined to live in the inescapable shadow of that Tony-winning musical populated with othered teens also demanding independence and dignity in a world not of their making. Kimberly Akimbo, that perfect show just a block away, raised a bar that How To Dance In Ohio just can’t limbo past. It’s not fair, but its the type of challenge Dr. Amigo’s clients would accept.

All the dancing, singing and questing unfolds on a clever, attractive set designed by Paul Tate dePoo III, whose projections – many seemingly inspired by Terry Gilliam’s instantly recognizable Python style of animation – play a crucial role in the production. Some of the effects are of a decidedly (and intentionally) DIY nature, like the catapulted (or, really, just tossed) cow or the bloodthirsty bunny, but all work terrifically within the show’s self-aware approach.

First-time stage director Jeff Ward takes a bold approach to the play, and even if all of the risks won’t pay off for all of the audience members – a sudden shift from brutal realism into avant garde modern dance (yes, you read that right) is bound to divide longtime Danny devotees – this revival nonetheless makes a fine display of Shanley’s streetwise Bronx poetry.

Manilow and his longtime writing partner and collaborator Bruce Sussman have set out to answer that very question, and Harmony accomplishes that goal handily. As a musical, Harmony occasionally soars, occasionally stumbles, but the former more often than the latter. With a structure that takes fewer chances than one might hope, Harmony is nonetheless steadily compelling and not infrequently stirring, attributes that speak as much to the Manilow-Sussman craftsmanship as to an intriguing tale long-lost to history.

Given the play’s underdeveloped feel, it’s no wonder the cast seems to flounder. Granted, the reviewed performance was early in the string of shows available to critics, and the actors’ tenuous grasp of the script – jumping lines, circling back, apparent improvisational word-grabs – might well have already tightened up (along with a tech issue that had the revolving set stubbornly refusing to move; other tech credits were fine despite some weird, Twilight Zone-ish sounds meant to signify that TV set’s age). More rehearsal time might have helped, along with a tougher hand by director von Stuelpnagel and some serious fine-tuning of Rebeck’s word-salad dialogue.

When Gutenberg! The Musical! debuted Off Broadway 17 years ago, critics wondered whether it was ready for Broadway. Perhaps they should have asked whether Broadway was ready for Gutenberg! All these years later, the answer to both is yes. Not only has the musical been fine-tuned and shined-up, but a Shucked-era Broadway is clearly in the mood for some absurdly silly good fun.

Not that this new production of Merrily completely fills in and smoothes out the musical’s legendary potholes, but it certainly helps us step around them without too much effort or frustration. You’d be hard-pressed to imagine a better Merrily We Roll Along.

Perhaps there’s not a false word in that realization, but, reached, on stage at least, so soon on this lickety-split path of grief, there’s not much complexity or depth there either. Her recovery from unimaginable grief seems blessedly brief, and in real life we wish her for nothing less. That it doesn’t ring true on a dramatic stage is a problem, though. Melissa Etheridge: My Window is a performance built as much on candor as it is on musical talent, and until the big, rushed moment towards the end, Etheridge succeeds on both counts. One suspects its just too soon to deal with the latest tragedy, and Etheridge, her co-writer and her director just haven’t yet found a way to turn this ultimate heartache into art.

Long before Slave Play, decades before Ain’t No Mo, there was Purlie Victorious, the Ossie Davis comedy masterwork that, like those descendant plays, fused broad comedy, satirical minstrelsy, racial satire and still-relevant social commentary to create a play that is so encompassing in its views of history and legacy, so generous in its humanity and pinpoint sharp in its take on debts long owed and now demanded that Kenny Leon’s revival, opening tonight on Broadway, feels as current and bracing as a folding chair.

The problem facing the playwrights is finding a new hook (sorry) in telling this oft-told making-of-a-fish tale. Much of the behind-the-scenes details have been widely known since the 1970s, in part due to the outstanding memoir The Jaws Log by screenwriter Carl Gottlieb. Indeed, the on-set difficulties have become so entrenched in cultural lore that the title of this play needs no explanation or elaboration to reel in audiences. And even though the film cast’s personality clashes are nearly as legendary as the mechanical shark’s short circuits, the play’s authors and performers deliver such nicely detailed characterizations that The Shark Is Broken holds our interest throughout its 95 minutes.

Still, nothing on stage here measures up to the screen version, except the obvious: The live special effects, most notably a final sequence in which 1955 Doc climbs to the top of that clock tower during a lightning storm, with Marty speeding the DeLorean through town. The lighting and video projections that have so far provided some amusement come to fruition here, and Back To The Future: The Musical finally and fully justifies its transition from screen to stage. A coda, which will bring to mind a certain Phantom chandelier or maybe a Saigon helicopter, can’t help but seem a tad anti-climactic.

So how can a tale so depressing in description make for what will surely become one of the most popular nights on the town for New Yorkers and tourists alike It starts with the music. Byrne and Slim (and Tom Gandey and J Pardo) have concocted some terrific blends here. There’s the pulsating American dance club music that so enthralled Filipino nightlifers, there’s a heavy dose of Filipino folk music tradition, some fairly straightforward American show tunes and – listen carefully – a dash here and there of Talking Heads-era Byrne. It all combines into a winning soundscape. But the real pull of Here Lies Love is the staging, with a malleable performance space, an audience herded to and fro, and cast members finding perches throughout the venue. In Here Lies Love, a D.J./Emcee provides narrative segues, musical set-ups, dance instructions and how-tos for the dance-floor audience members guided here and there by pink-suited ushers holding large glow-stick-style batons.

Alex Edelman has built quite the reputation over the last few years, with sold-out comedy shows and knock-’em-dead late-night performances, honing material for a Broadway debut that does his reputation proud. Just For Us, opening tonight at Broadway’s Hudson Theatre and running through Aug. 19, might seem as unlikely as the WTF story that forms the basis of Edelman’s performance. A stand-up comedy routine without the usual visual and special-effects embellishments that accompany trips to Broadway, Just For Us lands on the theatrical stage with no need for anything but sheer story-telling bravado, energetic direction (by the late Adam Brace, with Alex Timbers credited as creative consultant) and a terrific yarn.

Bad Cinderella could have been the poison apple that killed off revisionist fairy tales once and for all, but Britney Spears and Once Upon A One More Time, the new Broadway musical opening tonight that brims with her hits and high spirits, has come along to deliver a happy ever after that’s as unexpected as it is enchanting. Smart, funny, splendid to look at and all with a beat you can dance to, this tribute to the Brothers Grimm, the sisters of the Second Wave and, not least, the indomitable Ms. Spears, is a delight.

When it comes to horror, Broadway typically cedes turf to Hollywood, the occasional Martin McDonough play notwithstanding. There have been giant apes, operatic phantoms, and a misguided vampire or two without providing so much as a single genuine tingle. All of which makes the effort of Grey House so bold. A creepy mash-up of haunted house tropes, cabin in the woods traditions, ghosty kids, errant hatchets, screams, black-outs and the sort of Lynchian lounge music that drips with reverb and menace, Grey House hails from the playwright Levi Holloway and director Joe Mantello, with stars Laurie Metcalf, Tatiana Maslany, and Paul Sparks joined by ferociously talented quintet of child-to-adolescent actors.

Inspired, at least in name, by Martin Scorsese’s 1977 movie starring Robert De Niro and Liza Minnelli, New York, New York is less an adaptation than it is a John Kander & Fred Ebb jukebox musical: In addition to the two very famous songs from the film – “But The World Goes ‘Round” and, of course, the title number – the Broadway production includes songs from the duo’s Golden Gate, The Rink, The Act, the unproduced Wait For Me, World, and even Funny Lady. (Lyricist Ebb died in 2004; Hamilton’s Lin-Manuel Miranda has stepped in to contribute additional lyrics.) With a pedigree like that – and toss in Susan Stroman, as fine a director-choreographer as Broadway knows, Beowulf Boritt’s dependably sumptuous sets and a costume design by Donna Zakowska to rival her work on The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel – New York, New York can’t possibly be less than watchable. But it should be so much more. That it is not falls largely to the predictable, cliche-loaded book by David Thompson and Sharon Washington.

The short answer, maybe even the long answer, is that friendship happened. Summer, 1976, thoughtfully directed by Daniel Sullivan (reuniting with his Proof playwright Auburn and his The Little Foxes star Linney), captures an experience that’s as universal as it is inexplicable: a friendship that shouldn’t work but does, and that should endure but doesn’t.

And before you ask Phyllis Who?, consider that even those of fleeting fame can make for fine, compelling biographies. Wright, Hayes and director Lisa Peterson are likely very sure that Levant ranks among that list, but Good Night, Oscar is less than convincing.

When the play (100 minutes, no intermission) enters its latter half and Tessa’s long-in-coming court date arrives, Prima Facie rarely lets us raise our hopes or even, really, challenges our expectations – most of us have been prepared by too many Law & Order: SVUs. The drama is in how Tessa deals with the crumbling of her ideals and the smashing of her self-delusions, and in how Comer can so vividly, indelibly display both.

Playing out on Simon Scullion's ingenious, deceptively ramshackle set (Roberto Surace designed the clever costumes), Peter Pan Goes Wrong is directed by Adam Meggido with the vitally important precision, abundant good humor and no end of mischief.

Opening tonight at the Hayes Theater, The Thanksgiving Play, directed by Rachel Chavkin (Hadestown, Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812) and starring D’Arcy Carden, Katie Finneran, Scott Foley, and Chris Sullivan – all of whom, director and cast, have done much better work on other stages – is the sort of easy-target satire that should by all rights have sophisticated New York audiences seeing their own foibles and smiling at their own political vulnerabilities.