Howard Miller — Theater Critic

For my part, I was particularly disconcerted by some quietly unsettling lighting/projection effects at the start of Act II. But there's something for everyone who likes being frightened while nestled safely within a controlled environment that the theater can offer. Any nightmares that follow are your own to handle.

What more is there to say, other than to once again praise the cast and Daniel Sullivan's complete trust in delivering us Shakespeare without reinventing him? However, as long as we are disseminating the kudos, let's give A+ marks to sound designer Brian Ronan and sound system designer Mike Tracey for making sure we can hear and understand every syllable and musical sound (that's Tom Kitt's contribution) that emanates from the stage of the refurbished Delacorte. Rousing cheers for everyone who had anything to do with this exceptional production!

This certainly has been a banner year for playwright Bubba Weiler, whose Well, I'll Let You Go received five Drama Desk nominations and two Outer Critics Circle awards just a couple of months back. This increasingly spotlighted writer is only in his early 30s himself, which is a couple of years older than Jack Serio, the director of both this play and Well, I'll Let You Go. I look forward to seeing more from the two of them in the near future, as well as from the teenage stars who are doing a top-notch job delivering the goods in The Saviors.

While The Whoopi Monologues occasionally feels dated, the collection is at least as enjoyable as listening to the still-in-print recording of Goldberg's act. The scenic design by Studio Bent and the video design by Hana S. Kim provide nice backdrops for the overall production. And there can be no competition for the enjoyment of seeing these five fine actresses taking on the roles in person and making them their own.

Indian Princesses meanders a bit too much among its three threads (i.e. a satirical lashing out at cultural appropriation, the cluelessness of the father figures, and the tight relationship that develops among the multiracial, multiethnic girls), but it is nonetheless a compelling tale, both of a messy present and a hopeful future.

The world has changed considerably since the time depicted here (consider, among other things, our current official approach to dealing with Cuba). But, for one brief shining moment, there was a real marriage of politics and humanitarianism for which many of us can feel proud. That's the story Public Charge serves to remind us of.

It's been 60 years since my 16-year-old theatre nerd self eagerly hopped aboard a Trailways bus in Baltimore and headed for New York and the Alvin Theatre. That's where the musical High Spirits waited to greet me with my never-to-be-forgotten first Broadway show. Not a touring company or summer stock, mind you, but the real McCoy! Fast forward to last night, when this now-New Yorker hopped aboard a subway and exited at New York City Center, where the Encores! production of High Spirits is in joyous swing, fully living up to the promise of its title and leaving both the aging veteran and the teenager inside me very happy indeed.

Herein lies the production's greatest strength, Richard's clinging to the belief that the throne is his by divine right, and that whatever has befallen him is an affront to God as much as to his royal self, a nepo baby of his time. There is a certain amount of youthful petulance in his actions, befitting the situation since, in actuality, Richard was 10 years old when he ascended to the throne and was barely 30 when he died. But Urie also finds ways to signal a sense of irony and cynicism into the portrayal, which, perhaps, is the most successfully modern interpolation into Shakespeare's seldom-produced history play. Makes me wonder what the actor could do with the role of prodigal son Prince Hal in the ensuing Henriad plays.

Accept if you can, even if you can't forgive. Forgive if you can, even if you can't forget. That's the idea behind restorative justice, a systematic supportive approach to seeking healing for victims of criminal acts and at least some degree of redemption for the perpetrators. The logic of it is clear. But the heart has a mind of its own, and healing and redemption follow their own careful path in James Graham's gripping docudrama Punch, opening tonight at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre.

If you are unfamiliar with the tale, I'll leave it to you to learn the rest. And I urge you to do so, because the plot unfolds in such an engaging way, and the performances by the 17-member cast are so uniformly strong, that this production of Heathers promises to be the hit of the summer and beyond.

If you are unfamiliar with the tale, I'll leave it to you to learn the rest. And I urge you to do so, because the plot unfolds in such an engaging way, and the performances by the 17-member cast are so uniformly strong, that this production of Heathers promises to be the hit of the summer and beyond.

But the video stuff and Nicole Scherzinger's ferocious singing make this incarnation of Sunset Boulevard little more than a high-concept version of smoke and mirrors. (The smoke is obvious, the "mirrors" are provided by Hannah Yun Chamberlain, who silently dances as "Young Norma," reflecting Norma's locked-in image of herself at the height of her fame). Choreographer Fabian Aloise layers in an interestingly varied range of dance moves for the ensemble to perform, becoming more frenetic as the overall tone descends into madness.

But the video stuff and Nicole Scherzinger's ferocious singing make this incarnation of Sunset Boulevard little more than a high-concept version of smoke and mirrors. (The smoke is obvious, the "mirrors" are provided by Hannah Yun Chamberlain, who silently dances as "Young Norma," reflecting Norma's locked-in image of herself at the height of her fame). Choreographer Fabian Aloise layers in an interestingly varied range of dance moves for the ensemble to perform, becoming more frenetic as the overall tone descends into madness.

There is not a lot of traditional theatricality to Deep History. Finnigan relies on his skills as a storyteller as he jumps between the far distant past and current times. The only "visual aids" are some projections from his laptop computer and a length of brown paper on which he highlights his points. This may not be a must-see work for anyone seeking a typical dramatic presentation, but the reality is plenty dramatic for anyone interested in the geologic scale of climate change, and in gaining a different perspective on what the future may hold for us,

Wood and Curran, when they are not lost among the gimmickry, bravely try to keep the audience attuned to the actual storyline. The most interesting interactions between them are those times when the two Russians take center stage and you begin to get a sense of how the respected interpreter got tangled up in the goings-on at Trump Tower. But apart from the creative production values, there is not a lot of substance to the play, in which the writer seems to want to set up a collection of circumstantial evidence to make a political statement, literally spelled out in the final on-screen moments of the evening. It's possible, I suppose, that the entire enterprise is meant to be seen as a sort of meta-satire on documentary filmmaking or video-happy theatremaking, but if that's the intent then it is one hell of an inside joke.

Wood and Curran, when they are not lost among the gimmickry, bravely try to keep the audience attuned to the actual storyline. The most interesting interactions between them are those times when the two Russians take center stage and you begin to get a sense of how the respected interpreter got tangled up in the goings-on at Trump Tower. But apart from the creative production values, there is not a lot of substance to the play, in which the writer seems to want to set up a collection of circumstantial evidence to make a political statement, literally spelled out in the final on-screen moments of the evening. It's possible, I suppose, that the entire enterprise is meant to be seen as a sort of meta-satire on documentary filmmaking or video-happy theatremaking, but if that's the intent then it is one hell of an inside joke.

A riff on Twelve Angry Men moves tentatively in the direction of The Crucible or possibly even Saint Joan, but it introduces ideas and even new characters that it never fully commits to. The entire enterprise pretty much loses its way altogether once the group breaks out in song before reaching their final decision. Even then, The Welkin takes yet another dramatic turn in the final minutes, this time away from the prosaic to the poetic, so that what started out as a fascinating consideration of the place of women in the criminal justice system has become a muddled and confusing experience.

With their underwritten parts, Parsons gives us flamboyance and occasional anger, while Keenan-Bolger mostly serves as our quiet and patient guide. But it is Lange who stands at the center, giving a performance that throughout is full of nuance as she portrays this complicated mess of a woman. At one point, we are even allowed to hope for a genuine change in Phyllis's deeply embedded homophobia. But she is who she is, and even with whatever magical thinking Vogel has applied to her portrait, there is precious little redemption to be found here, except, perhaps, in the lessons that her daughter Martha, presumably the playwright's stand-in, has accrued. And maybe that's the raison d'être for the play itself: understanding and forgiveness.

The first half of Oh, Mary! is filled with raucous mayhem, and the cast and director Sam Pinkleton (best known as a choreographer, having done the Tony-nominated honors for Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812), milk the play for all the low comic farce they can muster. But things really begin to soar when it moves into the realm of theatrical absurdism that carries it to the end, including some surprising and clever moments that turn our Mary into a model of 19th century feminism.

The first half of Oh, Mary! is filled with raucous mayhem, and the cast and director Sam Pinkleton (best known as a choreographer, having done the Tony-nominated honors for Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812), milk the play for all the low comic farce they can muster. But things really begin to soar when it moves into the realm of theatrical absurdism that carries it to the end, including some surprising and clever moments that turn our Mary into a model of 19th century feminism.

Purlie Victorious: A Non-Confederate Romp Through the Cotton Patch, Ossie Davis's 1961 satirical play about Jim Crow racism, opens tonight at the Music Box Theatre in a long-overdue first-ever Broadway revival. The production, under the discerning direction of Kenny Leon, is an outstanding one, with uniformly splendid performances by the entire cast. And six decades in, the play itself remains sharp, funny, astute, and, unfortunately, utterly timely.

Purlie Victorious: A Non-Confederate Romp Through the Cotton Patch, Ossie Davis's 1961 satirical play about Jim Crow racism, opens tonight at the Music Box Theatre in a long-overdue first-ever Broadway revival. The production, under the discerning direction of Kenny Leon, is an outstanding one, with uniformly splendid performances by the entire cast. And six decades in, the play itself remains sharp, funny, astute, and, unfortunately, utterly timely.

Eventually, we get to the last day of filming and the final farewells. Not surprisingly, Scheider proffers his hand to the other two: 'I gotta say, I feel kind of sad. It's been a pleasure, gentlemen.' And true to form, Shaw and Dreyfuss say goodbye by trading sarcastic barbs. I hate to carp, but while Jaws may be the ultimate fish story, The Shark Is Broken flounders to the end, with neither an engaging hook nor a line of compelling dialog to keep it afloat.

Let us raise a rousing chorus of hoorahs for the design team: Tim Hatley (set and costumes), Tim Lutkin and Hugh Vanstone (lighting), Finn Ross (video), Gareth Owen (sound), and Chris Fisher (illusions). Together they make the magic happen. Without their tremendous skill and talent, Back to the Future would be nothing but a fairly close rehash of the movie, stuffed with too many uninspired pop tunes (music and lyrics by Alan Silvestri and Glen Ballard) and dance routines (choreography by Chris Bailey) that rarely rise above the level of serviceable time-fillers (though, thankfully, there is that rousing version of Chuck Berry's 'Johnny B. Goode' near the end).

Let us raise a rousing chorus of hoorahs for the design team: Tim Hatley (set and costumes), Tim Lutkin and Hugh Vanstone (lighting), Finn Ross (video), Gareth Owen (sound), and Chris Fisher (illusions). Together they make the magic happen. Without their tremendous skill and talent, Back to the Future would be nothing but a fairly close rehash of the movie, stuffed with too many uninspired pop tunes (music and lyrics by Alan Silvestri and Glen Ballard) and dance routines (choreography by Chris Bailey) that rarely rise above the level of serviceable time-fillers (though, thankfully, there is that rousing version of Chuck Berry's 'Johnny B. Goode' near the end).