Joe Dziemianowicz — Theater Critic

Between bicycles, bongs, beatboxing, and buffoonery cranked to the max, playfulness rules in director Saheem Ali’s contemporary staging. That’s a viable approach to this 400-plus-year-old play — it’s a romantic comedy, after all. Nonetheless, like the richest rom-coms, Twelfth Night can cut deep when it matters most. Separated siblings get a life-and-death wake-up call. A melancholy woman gets her groove back. Here, though, the heavy emphasis on lightheartedness mutes the more serious edges of the play that can summon deeper emotions around these key elements.

Running a snappy 70 minutes from start to finish, Emmanuelle Mattana’s sly dark comedy Trophy Boys is a small play that thinks big — and, to its credit, out of the box.

Waiting to see what develops goes with the art of photography — and theatre. But audiences anticipating something persuasive or perceptive to surface in Five Models in Ruins, 1981 will be kept waiting. Insights stay elusive in this uneventful fashion-forward play that’s not sharp or funny enough to snap as satire or deep enough, despite 11th-hour primal howling, to click as drama.

Waiting to see what develops goes with the art of photography — and theatre. But audiences anticipating something persuasive or perceptive to surface in Five Models in Ruins, 1981 will be kept waiting. Insights stay elusive in this uneventful fashion-forward play that’s not sharp or funny enough to snap as satire or deep enough, despite 11th-hour primal howling, to click as drama.

The score, as ever, is jammed with gems. But like a troubled couple, the production has issues. Under the direction of Whitney White, Warren and Jonas overdo their performances, pushing too hard too often.

At the Winter Garden Theatre, the production directed by David Cromer (The Band’s Visit) is earnest and movie-star handsome (thanks to great work by set designer Scott Pask), but unexciting. It simply fails to catch fire, save for all the cigarettes.

At the Winter Garden Theatre, the production directed by David Cromer (The Band’s Visit) is earnest and movie-star handsome (thanks to great work by set designer Scott Pask), but unexciting. It simply fails to catch fire, save for all the cigarettes.

Unapologetically sentimental, the slender story gets the job done. Choreography by Patricia Delgado and Justin Peck is explosive. Director Saheem Ali’s production mambos across time, all while showcasing the BVSC music.

Director Phylicia Rashad has assembled an A-plus cast and lays on thunderous sound effects for gravity. To quibble, Naz works overtime to narrate the goings-on — mileage varies on that device — and his final speech, though beautiful, comes a bit out of the blue.

There may be an art to living amid crushing struggles, a theme underscored by Arnold’s career. His breakthrough works are three-dimensional models inspired by memories of places he left behind in Grangeville: a Dairy Queen, a pawn shop, a tattoo parlor. Brace yourself for an ingenious scene that bridges past and present and blurs the line between real life and a diorama that hits close to home.

Running 100 minutes without intermission, The Antiquities gets credit for conceptual creativity and topicality. Even though it doesn’t break new ground when it comes to the power and perils of technology, it grips with a quiet urgency.

Known for the play-turned-movie Bachelorette and the TV series Russian Doll, Headland can take pride in her smarts, sensitivity, and sharp wit. But she juggles too many hot topics – love, religion, homophobia, sibling rivalry, aging parents, mental illness, addiction, dementia, and denial — without tying up the threads. Director Trip Cullman’s fine-tuned ensemble and the ear-tickling musical interludes are saving graces. A last-minute harmonious quartet nearly makes for a happy ending. Only almost, mind you. But it’s quite the theatrical Hail Mary.

All too predictably, calls and messages expose partygoers’ secrets, lies, betrayals, reckless cheating, and backstabbing. It’s all too much to believe, frankly, and the play’s twisty ending is there to make you reconsider what just went down.

All too predictably, calls and messages expose partygoers’ secrets, lies, betrayals, reckless cheating, and backstabbing. It’s all too much to believe, frankly, and the play’s twisty ending is there to make you reconsider what just went down.

Director Michael Arden’s gorgeous staging makes the most of Dane Laffrey’s multilevel sets behind sliding panels and George Reeve’s floor-to-ceiling videos. As Oliver and Claire fall, it’s easy to do the same for the show. No maybe about it — Maybe Happy Ending has theatrical magic.

Scherzinger, in bare feet and a black slip, could use a shade more vulnerability as past-her-prime Norma. But she shows off powerhouse pipes in the show's best songs, her crowd-rousing solos “With One Look” and “As If We Never Said Goodbye.” Scherzinger makes the most of the show’s in-your-face camera concept. She mugs, flashes her expressive eyes, whips her hair, and breaks into a Valley Girl vocal fry. The camera loves her. That’s the point. Lloyd’s ingenious reimagining puts Norma where she’d kill to be — on screen.

Scherzinger, in bare feet and a black slip, could use a shade more vulnerability as past-her-prime Norma. But she shows off powerhouse pipes in the show's best songs, her crowd-rousing solos “With One Look” and “As If We Never Said Goodbye.” Scherzinger makes the most of the show’s in-your-face camera concept. She mugs, flashes her expressive eyes, whips her hair, and breaks into a Valley Girl vocal fry. The camera loves her. That’s the point. Lloyd’s ingenious reimagining puts Norma where she’d kill to be — on screen.

In Ayad Akhtar’s crisply staged yet dramatically muddy play, McNeal, Oscar winner Robert Downey Jr. summons every ounce of his innate swagger and smugness as a misogynistic author who’s just found himself the recipient of the Nobel Prize for Literature. In his Broadway debut, Downey steps up; he’s sure-footed and magnetic. The play itself, less so.

Issues women face about their gender, bodies, power, and, literally, life and death continually arise – predictably so, just like Halley’s. Kirkwood’s script can ring with heavy-handedness, like when Lizzy moans: “Nobody blames God when there is a woman can be blamed instead.” On the plus side, sly, plot-thickening twists pop up, and director Sarah Benson’s diverse and dynamic ensemble near-uniformly delivers.

A seamless mashup of music and offbeat storytelling, The Keep Going Songs is on brand for The Bengsons. As they survey the subjects of loss, grief, and hope, a hybrid happening unfolds. The production lives up to its promise of being a concert, a wake, and a theatre piece.

Unlike the characters who mention being bored at least a dozen times, the staging by director Lila Neugebauer (Appropriate) isn’t dull. It seems particularly bent on tickling out humorous textures right up until the very end. Still, one wishes the revival added up to a more cohesive and persuasive experience.

In less assured hands, the play could be a downer or familiar movie-of-the-week material. It transcends both traps. Mary Jane is clear-eyed, compassionate, and leavened with humor. Herzog (4000 Miles, 2023's Broadway adaptation of A Doll’s House) is known for her fine-tuned, lived-in dialogue. Director Anne Kauffman’s cast breathe life into the script beautifully.

The score by Jamestown Revival (Jonathan Clay and Zach Chance) and Levine is likewise uneven. Moody folk- and bluegrass-flavored songs fit the setting. “Great Expectations,” Ponyboy’s aspirational solo amplified by other voices, is a highlight, but many songs are too heavy with exposition. Limp lyrics like “the grass is always greener” stick out for the wrong reason. Choreographers Rick and Jeff Kuperman put the show in gymnastic, muscular motion. The climactic gang war surges in such stylized, cinematic fashion that my audience actually cheered. Despite its flaws, The Outsiders is ready to rumble.

That’s when this revival serves up “Pinball Wizard.” It’s one of the work’s most famous hits by Pete Townshend, who wrote the music and lyrics and co-authored the book with director Des McAnuff. Between the chronically catchy song, full-tilt performances, and movement to match, the number is electrifying. The great news is that what precedes and follows this moment also stirs and tickles the senses. That’s the way this rock opera rolls, as it spins the story of a boy so deeply damaged by life – first by his parents and later by his abusive uncle and creepy cousin – that he nearly shuts down completely.

On paper, it’s straightforward rom-dram stuff. On stage at the Imperial Theatre, everything ascends thanks to its energizing and poetic elements. Jacob’s story unfurls amid legit acts – acrobats, daredevils, trapeze swingers, and more – that add a different dimension. The score is a folksy mix of bluegrass and blues that fits the 1930s like a glove. One wishes Jacob and Marlena’s big duet, “Wild,” didn’t meander so much lyrically. But, on the plus side, side characters also express themselves in song. After all, every circus member matters and makes the whole. Director Jessica Stone (Kimberly Akimbo) deserves a big shout-out for combining all of the elements – the actors, circus feats, puppetry, song and dance breaks – so beautifully. Stone really can juggle.