Joe Dziemianowicz

You can't say John Guare's new play 'A Free Man of Color' isn't ambitious in scope or awash in extravagant eye candy. Or that the huge cast of 33 isn't fully committed. But unfortunately that doesn't add up to a satisfying evening.

Meant to be the season's big happy hummable holiday event, the show never gets there; it feels unfinished and unready for New York. Director-choreographer Casey Nicholaw's resolutely middling production didn't have a regional tryout, but it could be a touring company that shuffled into town.

Language is always key when it comes to the Bard. But Sullivan's excellent production finds eloquence between the lines, too, in two silent scenes. One imagines Shylock's conversion to Christianity as an act of brutal violence. The other is a final tableau of Jessica, seated at water's edge, and Portia, again, in a tower but not camera-ready as she considers her life. The uncertainty etched on their faces speaks says it all; things won't be picture perfect.

If there's a compelling reason for 'The Pee-wee Herman Show' to be on Broadway beyond delivering its gleeful dash of sunny but slightly subversive fun, it's to remind us that things can stay the same in our hearts and heads.

But cramming a couple of thousand years of material into a one-act is no mean feat. He tends to rush, trailing off before he finishes thoughts and sentences. Otherwise, it's a polished act. And with Broadway prices for an act that's just an hour and change, it should be.

The show-stealing performance comes from a laugh-out-loud Laura Benanti, as Candela, a model who's accidentally hooked up with Madrid's most-wanted terrorist. She turns 'Model Behavor,' a song made up of ever more desperate phone calls to Pepa, into a delirious jolt of joy.

'Scottsboro Boys' isn't perfect, but it's worthwhile. It deserves credit for tackling a slice of history that needs to be known.

It's also proof of the Beatles' enduring, generation-crossing cool. In a canny move, 'Rain' showers attention on that fact. Every age group got an appreciative mention, from boomers raised on the Beatles to teens just discovering the group is something to twist and shout about.

At just 90 minutes, 'Driving Miss Daisy' is a theatrical spin around the block - a pleasantly starlit but unchallenging trip down memory lane.

Though many scenes are static, director Thomas Kail ('In the Heights') scores points with his audience-friendly staging for this in-the-round theater. The production's touchdown comes when Lombardi drills the Pack on the power sweep, the play that helped make them unbeatable. As X's and O's rush across the bare stage and give way to images of players in green and gold, the play at last comes to life. It's the sort of winning moment Lombardi would expect - and that this show needs more of.

While the new production, direct from London, can't keep the play from being a windy enterprise, it succeeds in making it ever accessible and wildly funny. Credit a crack director, Matthew Warchus, an ace cast and appealing design work.

If you're looking for a tidy and traditional show, or an irony-free slice of history, this new take on Old Hickory isn't it. But for something lightweight, fresh and fun, 'Andrew Jackson' is worth the Benjamins.

Though it's called 'A Life in the Theatre,' it can be difficult to detect any vital signs in the sluggish Broadway revival of David Mamet's 1977 comedy.

Seven months later, Donald Margulies' play is back in fine form, now at the Cort Theatre with Christina Ricci. The film actress known for edgy work in 'Monster' and 'The Opposite of Sex' proves herself delightfully natural on stage playing a young woman who tends to look on the bright side.

With its sharp and witty observations about sex and class, freedom and oppression, and mothers and daughters, there's plenty to recommend in George Bernard Shaw's 'Mrs. Warren's Profession.' As for the Roundabout's revival of the 1893 play directed by Doug Hughes, not quite so much -- despite catnip casting of Cherry Jones in the title role of Kitty Warren. She's the low-born enterpriser who uses prostitution to ensure her Cambridge-educated daughter, Vivie, independence in late Victorian England.

There are uniformly stellar performances from the terrific cast, who reprise roles for Manhattan Theatre Club that they played in 2007 in Newcastle and a subsequent run at London's National Theatre. Director Max Roberts' assured staging is crisp and clean, with noisy blackouts that are reminders of the men's dangerous, backbreaking jobs. Large projections of their paintings used throughout the 2¼-hour production smartly underscore the transformative and expansive nature of art in any life.

But in practice, some of the captivating coziness is lost, and Laura and Alec's romance seems to get swallowed up. It feels a little off.

Seeing 'Normal' anew, what comes shining through is how well-crafted it is — Tom Kitt's music and arrangements, Brian Yorkey's story and lyrics, design work by Mark Wendland (set) and Kevin Adams (lights) and Michael Greif's inspired direction.

New York's heat wave has apparently swept all the way to Sweden, the locale of 'A Little Night Music.' Suddenly, the Stephen Sondheim-Hugh Wheeler musical is aglow with a brilliant and irresistible warmth. Don't credit the climate. Thank Bernadette Peters, who's assumed the role of Desiree Armfeldt, the famous but fading actress played to Tony-winning effect by Catherine Zeta-Jones.

MTC head Lynne Meadow directs and skillfully guides the cast through Margulies' conversational and emotionally charged dialogue. Lavin is brilliant. She's a marvel to watch breathe life into Ruth as she goes from standoffish star writer to insecure and heartbreakingly vulnerable wreck. Paulson convincingly shifts from insecure hesitant, unpublished ugly duckling to a confident, if ruthless, literary swan poised to eclipse her hero.

The brainchild of British playwright Lucy Prebble, who's just 29, it's a slice of American history and a cautionary tale that's audaciously theatrical but watery soup when it comes to content. Prebble follows a long tradition of English dramatists who've had an instinctive desire to revisit history - dissecting victims, concocting motives, even going so far as to make up revisionist excuses for them. Think: 'Frost/Nixon,' 'Stuff Happens' and 'Democracy.' Further back - Shakespeare did it, with a fictional twist. There's a lot of sizzle, but not a whole lot of steak.

Washington seems to have seized upon Rose's comment that when Troy 'walked through the house, he was so big he filled it up.' If he sank fully into his character, an outsize performance could work. But Washington never lets you forget you're watching him act. That fact is amplified by director Kenny Leon's tendency to overemphasize the play's inherent soapiness. Lines are underlined and spelled out in capital letters. It doesn't draw you in to Wilson's characters, but builds a fence between you and them.

The new production, directed and choreographed by Rob Ashford, is stylish and handsome, but only occasionally memorable. Aside from the pop gems, catchy as ever (try to shake the brassy title number and 'I'll Never Fall in Love Again'), the dancing is dynamic and Katie Finneran is side-splitting as a boozy bar crawler. Otherwise, it's a so-so mixed bag. Blame the show itself and the new redo.

Thanks for the music, Green Day. But, jeez, could you have spared a story? And a couple characters who aren't clichéd stick figures? Because that's what a Broadway musical needs to make it more than just a music video or a concert. Unfortunately, 'American Idiot' at the St. James comes up short on those essential counts.

The human-scale production focuses on the laughs and deeper emotions instead of trying to wow you with extravagance. The toe-tappy score by Herman sounds new, too, thanks to a small band and an emphasis on pathos rather than outsize presentation.'The Best of Times' is a particularly sugary anthem, but it's more personal and powerful than in previous outings.