James Wilson

Conversations with Mother, Matthew Lombardo's semi-autobiographical comedy currently running at Theater 555, is a crowd-pleasing show that traces the relationship of a mother and son over five decades. Although the play is constructed for laughs, Lombardo touches on serious issues, such as drug addiction, domestic abuse, and gay sex during the height of the AIDS crisis. Its chief draw, however, stems from its repurposing of the comedic scenarios, sketches, rhythms, and bittersweet cultural observations by playwrights and performers like Neil Simon, Mike Nichols and Elaine May, and Renée Taylor and Joseph Bologna. The result is a breezy, enjoyable two-hander that benefits from the natural rapport generated by its immensely appealing stars, Caroline Aaron and Matt Doyle.

Directed by Scott Elliott, the production takes some time to catch fire. Arliss and McGraw plumb the depths of their characters as the play progresses and, particularly in Arliss's performance, infuse the portrayals with empathy. Initially, however, they are presented as broad comic types. The set-up, recalling David Mamet's Oleanna, limits Tomei's character to responding to the situation, her emotions expressed through stilted and awkward physical gestures. Additionally, Goldberg's depiction of an unlikely flirtation between the women feels contrived, and its only purpose seems to be for highlighting Abigail's troubled history. The backstory does, however, provide opportunities for a handful of effective grunge and punk songs by the indie rock band BETTY. (Jessica Paz's sound design contributes to the periodic rock-concert ambiance.)

Yorke, who has received excellent notices in HBO Max's "The Other Two" and was a memorable Olive in the musical Bullets Over Broadway, and Zegen, who is best known as Joe Maisel in "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel" and was quite good in Trouble in Mind on Broadway a few seasons back, create believable character arcs. They gently peel back the layers of pain left by past relationships. As potential lovers, though, Yorke and Zegen lack the requisite sparks. Their jabs and stabs, particularly early in the play, are devoid of sexual tension, and it isn't plausible that one or both hadn't left after the first drink. Regrettably, this is a blind date that seemed doomed from the first swipe.

Just as experiences of the pandemic are gradually subsiding into the recesses of our collective memories, along comes Dave Malloy's latest work, Three Houses, to remind audiences of the feelings of loneliness, the unrelenting sense of isolation, and the existential terrors associated with the lockdown. The musical, now playing at New York's Signature Theatre and for which Malloy supplied the music, lyrics, book, and orchestrations, is notably ambitious, often unwieldy, and periodically sublime. It also draws from the most unlikely of sources: 'The Three Little Pigs.' Make no mistake, though, this post-pandemic musical may have its share of whimsical puppets and fairy-tale magic, but it is not kids' stuff by any means.

Occasionally, Davis's staging, which includes periodic dance breaks (and with assistance from Brendan Aanes's sound design, captures the thrum of a discotheque), overdoes the satirical elements as if to emphasize the relevance of the situations and themes. Yet the cast (which is rounded out by the impressively mutable Jo Lampert and TL Thompson) are adept at reining in their performances as moments veer toward camp excesses.

As an early play by Morisseau, Sunset Baby does not have the dramatic complexity of later works such as Skeleton Crew, nor the fierce audacity of Confederates, but it still manages to get under the skin.

Regrettably, the design elements were not enough to transport me into the world of the play. I found myself growing more and more impatient. Having lived for a year in the Catskills, this was not a Woodstock I recognized and certainly not with people I want to spend time. I am also fairly certain I never saw any seagulls there, but that's the least of the problems with The Seagull/Woodstock, NY.

The premise is reminiscent of The Hand that Rocks the Cradle, a film about an evil nanny causing death and destruction in her path. The stakes in Lucy, though, are very low and as a psychological thriller, it is hugely disappointing. Plot points don't always make sense, and there are few clues as to why Ashling does what she does. Is it class warfare? Maybe psychological manipulation or something darker? The audience the night I saw it was primed to scream, but the revelations are laughably banal and the suspense and danger do not accumulate. We are told several times, for instance, that Lucy is at odds with Ashling, but we don't see it. They seem to get along just fine as they dance, play, and eat soup together. Even the ending, which promises a tense standoff between the two adults, is both too timid and too tepid. When the final lights went down, there was a noticeable sense of dejection in the applause.