Howard Miller — Theater Critic

Even with the likely post-performance discussions and musings about 'meaning,' the greatest strength of this production of Grey House is the consistency of its preternatural mood. That is all thanks to its fully committed cast, to Joe Mantello's sharply focused direction, and to the design team of Scott Pask, whose set draws us into both the seen and unseen areas of the cabin; Rudy Mance, whose costumes provide both contemporary and appropriately dated looks that help us differentiate between the living and the dead; and Natasha Katz's lighting and Tom Gibbons' sound design that gives the entire production its air of disquietude. I like that word 'disquietude.' It is the best description I can think of for Grey House. Nothing that jumps out at you, just a series of inexplicable and ominous moments that hold things together until the very end.

There is a perhaps overused but most apt phrase to describe what is happening on stage at the Belasco, and that is 'tour de force.' Garlands all around for playwright Doug Wright, the wonderful cast, director Lisa Peterson, and, especially, for Sean Hayes, for whom this is a career-crowning achievement.

There is a perhaps overused but most apt phrase to describe what is happening on stage at the Belasco, and that is 'tour de force.' Garlands all around for playwright Doug Wright, the wonderful cast, director Lisa Peterson, and, especially, for Sean Hayes, for whom this is a career-crowning achievement.

Putting on my curmudgeon's hat for just a moment, I did find the production to be sluggishly paced at times. Director Adam Meggido is best known for his work in improv theater, but while slapstick may look improvised, it does require precise timing in order to seem unpredictably spontaneous to an audience. Yet, especially in the overlong first act, the humor comes off as forced and repetitive, along with too much of J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan and not enough of the 'Goes Wrong' part. The narrative also incorporates some backstage drama that bleeds into the silly stuff and threatens to sour the fun. That being said, however, if you are looking for a hefty serving of daft goofiness, or if you loved The Play That Goes Wrong and would relish more of the same, you will get what you are looking for in the second act when general pandemonium is the order of the day. That's when the fun really takes off and makes this a worthy entry into the 'Goes Wrong' franchise.

Director Bartlett Sher's usually strong hand seems to have focused largely on the staging, which is often quite effective. There is an especially nerve-wracking scene of close swordplay that is a visual highlight of the action. Ultimately, though, this Camelot revival falls on its own sword with its reworked book.

What remains blissfully in place is the same delightful cast and director Saheem Ali on hand to spread positive vibes and laughter in great abundance. But it is what has been gained that marks this as a most welcome addition to the Broadway season. For even though a demolition of the fourth wall is built into the script, with characters periodically acknowledging our prying eyes, there is now a lovely looseness to that relationship, giving the production a surprising sense of improv and intimacy in a venue that might well have overwhelmed things by distancing us from the action. You can't help but feel welcome, drawn in, and caught up in the story.

Many undoubtedly will want to attend A Doll's House in order to see Jessica Chastain's performance. Some will be intrigued by the subject matter or will be interested in this variation on a theme by Ibsen. Regardless, it is difficult to avoid feeling overwhelmed by the heavy-handedness of the production. Frankly, I'd rather see a revival of Lucas Hnath's funny and cleverly conceived 'sequel,' A Doll's House, Part 2.

But if Between Riverside and Crazy does start to leak steam after its inspired first act, the same cannot be said of the strong cast, especially with Stephen McKinley Henderson giving such a supercharged performance in the lead role. The play could not be in better hands.

For this reason–and I can't believe I am writing this–I would have preferred a K-pop revue without the strained narratives. In the concert numbers, the performers are electrifying, and they elicit earned shrieks, squeals, and thunderous applause from the notably young and Asian audience members. Helen Park's and Max Vernon's songs are silly confections that thankfully are accompanied by loud electronic music, so you don't end up with an ear worm consisting of a lyric like, 'This is my Korea/ This is my story-a/ A new category-a/ To make you dance and clap your hands.' Wearing Clint Ramos and Sophia Choi's appropriately gaudy, garish, and fabulous costumes, which include glittering bodysuits, playful dominatrix attire, faux military uniforms, MwE, RTMIS, and F8 put on a sensational show, particularly in the 15-minute finale. Jennifer Weber's thrilling choreography incorporates all the shakes, pops and thrusts one associates with the genre. KPOP will not go down in the Broadway annals as a groundbreaking, or even a very good, musical. But when the company sings the final song, 'Blast Off,' you may realize that you're having too much fun to notice–or care.

Having gushed until I am pretty much gushed out, let me save this last bit for director Jessica Stone, who has led the outstanding cast through a very special journey that has taken the show to Broadway from its previous run at the Atlantic Theater Company's Off-Broadway Linda Gross Theater. It deserves a long stay at its new home. Kimberly Akimbo works a special kind of magic, one that takes an underlying sad tale and spins it around to find all the laughter, love and joy that anyone possibly could wish for.

In alternating scenes, the play focuses on the tenuous relationships between John and Jess, between Ani and Eddie, and, in the end, between the two caregivers who carry their own deep wounds and ache of loneliness. The play's overall theme of dependence, interdependence, and codependence is a gripping one, and all four cast members and the director manage to make a virtue of avoiding full disclosure. What you see as an outsider is what you get, and what you get with Katy Sullivan's performance, in particular, will haunt you long after the final bows. There but for fortune, the 'shit' that happens to them could happen to any of us.

If playwright Tom Stoppard stays true to his word and Leopoldstadt turns out to be the last play he writes, it would be a fitting and worthy way to bookend a long and illustrious career dating back to the middle of the last century. As it happens, it is also an equally fitting tribute to Stoppard's Jewish roots, a personal history he only had a vague knowledge of until he was in his fifties and a cousin filled him in on what his mother barely ever spoke to him about, including the fact that all four of his grandparents and other family members had perished in Nazi concentration camps. Herein lies the impetus, if not the biographical specificity, for the play that opened tonight at the Longacre Theatre.

Something is amiss overall. Hangmen does not work the way it did at the Atlantic Theatre Company, and there is more to it than the transfer to a larger Broadway venue. The play requires taut and cohesive directing and a uniformity of style to hold it together. Here, it seems as though the actors have been left to their own devices to figure out their characters and how best to perform them. It takes a lot of work to pull things back together after a break of four years, and an ensemble work like this requires exquisite timing and consistency, elements that are, alas, in short supply.

I will just say that after a disconcerting but all-too-believable set of revelations that up the ante of satire into something far more cutting and unsettling, the play oversteps the edge and pushes everything beyond the pale into the realm of the otherworldly. Yet, while I cannot think of that tacked on 'tour de force' ending as anything other than an overreaching mistake, pretty much everything that comes before, including an 'historical reenactment,' carefully choreographed by the Ojibwe and Oneida performance artist Ty Defoe, makes The Minutes a thrill ride of dark, dark comedy and a highlight of the theater season.

Still, much of the play consists of a ticking off of biographical events. By necessity or by design, it is incumbent on members of the audience to find a personal connection to the ups and downs of Ernestine's life. Debra Messing generally has too little to work with, only coming into her own as Ernestine herself comes into her own. The rest of the cast, playing multiple roles, all do what they can with their parts, but mostly they are stuck with one-dimensional attributes, and neither they nor director Vivienne Benesch are able bring them fully to life.