Greg Kerestan

I'm aware that there has been a recent pushback against "drag disguise comedy," as outdated, hacky or even transphobic. These are all entirely valid points of view, but I can't help but think of Some Like It Hot as a show ABOUT that, not simply a show that DOES that. As Joe puts on an imitation of his second grade teacher, minces around and burlesques femininity cluelessly, Jerry discovers a lived truth and an authenticity that doesn't come so much from changing your voice or your body language, but from embracing things about yourself that you weren't ready to embrace before.

If you're familiar with Shrek, the musical and lyrical style of Kimberly Akimbo can be described as 'that, but more so.' The songs swing back and forth between intensely melodic and catchy pop-meets-showtune, and densely lyrical patter/recitative sections which are conversational, unrhymed, and packed with stream-of-consciousness verbiage. It's not an easy style to do well and make sound effortless, but the cast, Carmello and Woyasz, take to it like second nature.

Max Webster's production is an immense visual spectacle, with dozens of actors working as human beings, animal puppeteers, performing visual and scenic effects by hand, and more. It's like Lion King taken to a new level, and all performed without any attempt to hide the human element. These puppeteers are the true star of the show- to the extent that they get the final bow, both in their "tiger" configuration and then as single humans. The show must be seen to be believed; even if the script were weaker (it's very clever and full of heart, as anything based on Yann Martel's writing should be) this show would still be worth looking at.

This is no biographical fluff like Summer or Beautiful, and no explosion of joy like Rock of Ages or & Juliet. This show has its moments of fun and excitement, and is certainly not what you'd call grim or dour, but it is unrelenting and grueling in its exploration of MJ's past and psyche. (I saw a commentator online who said that "MJ is the black All That Jazz," and they weren't wrong: the influence of Bob Fosse's surrealist bio-musical is STRONG in this show.)

The choreography by Jennifer Weber is tight and self-contained; it's one of the first Broadway shows I've seen that successfully roots its choreographic language in the present day. The dance aesthetic's physical tightness in terms of conservation of movement and space covered is clearly designed with the camera's eye in mind, the way studio dancers or TikTok dance influencers choreograph and perform. In keeping with the style, it looks fun and flashy but is not so athletic or presentational that you don't think "I want to go home and try that in front of the camera myself." (I'm FAR from a dancer, but even I could see the appeal in a TikTok trend of the "Roar" dance in particular.)

Written and directed by Conor McPherson, Girl From The North Country is a musical that still feels like a play with music. It's a show aimed more directly at the head than the heart, and jammed with tropes, references and outright character homages to notable works of American Gothic literature. (This, I suspect, is where much of the audience likely got lost: it's often hard to enjoy a genre pastiche when you're neither deeply aware of the genre, or aware that you're seeing a pastiche.) When the show rockets into music mode, often with actors onstage picking up instruments or turning into 'radio singers' around a microphone, none of the vagaries of plot and characterization matter much anymore. Like Spring Awakening, this is an impressionistic musical, rather than a representational one: what is being sung matters more as a mood piece and as a soundtrack cut than as actually related to character or situation. Mamma Mia, this is not.

The book by Brown and King packs in belly laughs, pop cultural references and clever quips, along with a fair number of probably intentional groaners, and Eddie Perfect's bouncy, catchy, hyperactively wordy score perpetually propels the show along at its addictive breakneck speed. There are only a few moments where it slows down and gets serious, mostly involving Lydia's grief. Through all of this crowded and zany two and a half hours, Alex Timbers's design-heavy production (with costumes by William Ivey Long, scenery by David Korins and some astounding projections by Peter Nigrini) turns the Benedum Center into a spooky and delightfully dirty funhouse.