Joe Dziemianowicz

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.

Pericles courses along, always accessible, but it seldom leaps off the stage into something that enchants. An angry sea that sweeps up Pericles arrives on stage as an enormous rippling bolt of blue fabric. It’s an effective, but familiar, trick. In the end, there are laughs, bursts of song, and a sweet family reunion. While it takes a bit of divine summoning for things to work out for Pericles, fine-tuned ensemble acting gets the job done for Fiasco.

But in this 100-minute presentation from Roundabout Theatre Company, characters may be more imaginary than they look. So buckle up – and pay attention. You’ll do that anyway, since director Danya Taymor’s fine-tuned cast will keep you glued.

Harmon is the talented playwright of Significant Other, about the frailty of friendship; Admissions, about race and privilege; and Bad Jews, about family legacies. He digs deeper than ever in Prayer for the French Republic and strikes pure gold. It’s a plus-size play about big social issues that impresses in large structural ways as well as small moments.

Characters have been invented, as have subplots about divorce, deaths, career dilemmas, and college acceptances. Anxiety is in the air as the group prepares for the prom and deals with daily life — from hygiene to personal safety to decisions about college. A countdown clock ticks down days on the set, where letters are scattered, alphabet soup-style. Presumably, it’s a peek at neurodiverse brains. Some of the narrative embroidery works, and some gets knotted.

It’s borderline corny, yes, but Creel’s gusto is endearing. The painting also illuminates how pain is captured by art. There’s plenty more ache to go around when Vasquez appears as Creel’s ex (identified simply as H, in the script), who alludes to their failed relationship. Some moments, however, don’t gel. In one inspired by a painting of a biblical heroine who killed a besieging general, Hair alum Sasha Allen belts overtime, and the head-scratching number stops the show for the wrong reason.

The cast, directed by Moritz von Stuelpnagel, hugs the tonal contours skillfully. From the get-go, it’s a safe bet that Sam and his home will transform. Thanks to a late-in-the-game twist, he also gets a shot to step up as a dad. In the end, I Need That is pleasant but leaves you wanting. “Things don’t give your life meaning. People do,” Amelia declares, as if it’s a newsflash. Sorry — it doesn't take a play to know that.

There’s a lot to admire about Stereophonic. The cast gives feel-real performances under the thoughtful direction of Daniel Aukin. David Zinn's recording studio set could pass for the real thing. Enver Chakartash's costumes, particularly the chunky-heeled huaraches, could have walked out of a ’70s closet. On the B-side (er, downside), Adjmi calls the play a “love letter to artists.” In terms of fresh ideas about the creative process, the play doesn’t deliver an LP’s worth of insights. In the end, it feels like a song we’ve heard before.

So what does it all mean? Here We Are doubles down on a message. “Life’s a tit! Suck it up!” says Raffael early on. Later, the Bishop puts it in other words: “Be here. Until we’re not.” Groundbreaking? No. But it’s food for thought.

In the end, Gutenberg! presses beyond pure goofiness to deliver a sweet message about going for one’s dreams. Another idea emerges, too. Between the visible musicians, the brick wall, and the prominent door, the show’s set bears a bit of a resemblance to Saturday Night Live. There, like on Broadway, the best sketches leave you wanting more.

Radcliffe really pops now, and Charley’s comedic cri de coeur “Franklin Shepard, Inc.” a showstopper. Actually, it’s a moment to close your eyes tight and swallow.

Flat-out hilarious and stacked with topflight performances led by Leslie Odom, Jr. and Kara Young, Purlie Victorious is also a triumph when it comes to timing. Suffice it to say the play speaks directly to today’s racial tumult.

Jaws was action-packed. The Shark Is Broken is all talk, and a pattern emerges. Shaw and Dreyfuss clash. Scheider referees. It gets repetitive over the 95-minute run time. On the plus side, there are moments when the warring trio clicks and a sort of camaraderie shines through. Plus, the co-authors seasoned the script with laughs. Some humor comes with a knowing wink. There’s a comment about Richard Nixon, who resigned the presidency during the film shoot, being the most immoral president ever. There’s scoffing about the unseen Spielberg, whose next movie will be about, of all things, aliens. And Scheider vows he’ll never do a Jaws sequel. Never say never. Director Guy Masterson guides the evocative production and fine-tuned cast. In the least showy part, Donnell (Anything Goes, Chicago Med) lends ballast as the even-keeled Scheider. Brightman, a Tony nominee for School of Rock and Beetlejuice the Musical, proves to be a master of mimicry and cranks the nerdy, needy intensity to 11 as Dreyfuss. Ian Shaw is a dead ringer for his dad and is fun to watch simply for that reason. The play is, ultimately, a valentine to Robert Shaw. The filming of Quint’s chilling monologue about the atomic bomb in Jaws, a speech he was too drunk to get right in the first take, concludes the play on serious note. Occasionally, between “action” and “cut,” there’s smooth sailing. As it bites into movie history, The Shark Is Broken makes for a diversion worth sea-ing.

McCormack hams it up expertly as the haughty Beau. Cooper slow-burns until Marjorie gets a moment to let it all rip. Broadway newcomer Moffat steps up as the klutzy charmer. Best of the bunch is Bundy, who makes every comedic line and pose gleefully giggle-inducing. In the end, The Cottage is about Sylvia opening her eyes to her relationships with men. But the moment that sticks out is the hilarious sight of Sylvia plugging her nose with an old-timey phone receiver. Moments like that make The Cottage a Broadway funhouse.

Did you hear the one about the Orthodox Jewish standup comedian who crashes a meeting of white supremacists and turns the incident into the nucleus of his one-man show that’s now on Broadway? That’s the two-second backstory of Alex Edelman’s tangy, topical, and, best of all, laugh-out-loud solo work, Just for Us. It’s that rare theatrical production that doesn’t just live up to the hype — it exceeds it.

One thing’s for sure about the first show of the 2023-24 Broadway season: Grey House has curb appeal. Actress Laurie Metcalf and director Joe Mantello each lend Tony Award-winning luster to the listing at the Lyceum Theatre. Moreover, haunted-house tales are rare commodities on stage, so that also counts as a clear credit. From there, things turn murkier with Chicago-based playwright Levi Holloway’s story set in a remote cabin that moans, groans, and features the freakiest refrigerator since a demon moved into one in Ghostbusters. The unspoken come-on of Grey House is: Be afraid, be very afraid. Yes, please! Although the 110-minute production oozes mystery and a ghostly vibe, it doesn’t deliver intense shivers. It’s too vague to stir psychological chills or, for that matter, good old-fashioned goosebumps. It’s as much a head-scratcher as it is a hair-raiser.

Opposites attract – and not only when it comes to romance, but friendships as well. That’s the thesis of Summer, 1976, a pleasant wisp of a play with an A-list pedigree that has all the dramatic heft of catching a few rays.

The optimistic notion that greatness is within reach if only for “one brief, shining moment” is indelibly ingrained in Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe’s 1960 musical Camelot. Director Bartlett Sher’s gray and forbidding revival of the classic show could definitely use a bit more shine. It’s dark a lot in this Camelot. Running 3 hours at Lincoln Center's Vivian Beaumont Theater, the production is stately and beautifully sung, yet it’s seldom exciting or joyful. That's a long sit for, essentially, a relatively straightforward story.

Storytellers have long looked to cornfields for ideas. Field of Dreams turned them into heaven. Evil lurked amid the rows in Children of the Corn. Now, in the deliriously dopey countrified musical comedy Shucked, corn is cause for nonstop funny business — and some terrifically catchy tunes. Credit the creative team for recognizing there’s more than a kernel of truth in the adage about knowing oneself. They are fully aware their show is wall-to-wall silliness, and they embrace that concept whole-hog. Even when the goings turn sappy, another pun, punchline, or double entendre awaits. Do the jokes yield diminishing returns over the show’s two hours? Yep, they do. But are you apt to have such a good time that you won’t mind? Yep, you will.