Joe Dziemianowicz

In the end, there’s no question that director Max Webster’s staging is a technical marvel that makes the most of its moving parts. Those include amazing puppetry; evocative scenic, lighting, and sound design; and transporting video and animation effects that conjure the ocean and the sky above. “My story will make you believe in God,” Pi insists. Whether or not that’s true, it’s impossible to doubt such powerful theatrical stagecraft.

Both leads deliver exactly what they’re best at. Groban, a Tony nominee for Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812, has a nice-guy persona and lacks the sinister side to convince as a man 'even rats fear,' according to the title song. He also blends into the crowd in group scenes. But when he sings, Groban commands focus 100 percent. He taps directly into the mournful tones of “The Barber and His Wife,” in which he recalls his past, and the despair of “Epiphany,” as he faces his future. Last seen on Broadway as Dot in Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park With George, Ashford is a very fine singer, but her comic chops set her apart. She won a Tony for You Can’t Take It With You, a play in which she bounced off the walls. She is clearly in her comfort zone here.

Fortunately, the uniformly terrific cast makes up for small-scale quibbles. Standout supporting work comes from Sean Allan Krill as the honorable Governor Slaton; Alex Joseph Grayson as Jim Conley, whose testimony nails Leo; Paul Alexander Nolan as the rabid prosecutor; and Jake Pedersen as Mary’s boyfriend. Leo and Lucille’s evolving relationship forms the heart of the show, and both stars deliver in performances that are authentically life-size — no larger — and that is key to this story. Watching Diamond (The Cher Show) go from timid Jewish wife to take-charge partner is exhilarating. As a displaced New Yorker who’s not so likable, Dear Evan Hansen Tony winner Platt notches another Broadway triumph.

Under Bartlett Sher’s assured direction, all three actors deftly capture the play’s shifting tones. Burstein shines as Larry, an artist whose work may not always be in his parents’ best interests. Wanamaker’s Jean is happily resigned to her life, but she’s nobody’s fool. Irv, a salesman-turned-executive unceremoniously pushed into retirement, emerges as a fascinating figure. Credit Lane’s depiction that toggles back and forth from funny to poignant in a flash.

Despite that reservation, there’s still a lot to like. There’s a batch of buoyant songs by Marc Shaiman (music and lyrics) and Scott Wittman (lyrics), pros at matching showtunes to a particular period. In Hairspray, the team welcomed us to the ’60s. Their latest jazzy, horn-happy score whisks us back to 1933. Not every song leaves such a lasting impression as the juicy title number, but they all set the scene and flesh out characters.

One of Suh’s strengths is his ability to mix realism and poetic elements. He uses that here as he shines a light on a dark slice of American history and builds a play around it. The timeline could be clearer, along with an indication of why these Chinese men and women risked so much to be in the U.S. They faced so many hardships there. In this Atlantic Theater Company presentation, director Eric Ting guides a uniformly excellent cast. Tyo, seen previously in Suh's The Chinese Lady, about a different fraught journey from Asia to America, arrives well into the play and shifts the story into high gear. There’s fine work by the design team, including Clint Ramos, whose spare but striking set reveals some surprise elements the director employs. So why were actors suddenly standing up to their ankles in water? I have no idea, and that’s no lie.

Beyond the echo-chamber narrative, there's much to like. There's an irresistible cast of performers - 18 of them are making Broadway debuts - and attention-getting work by the design team that delivers the goods and then some.

It’s easy to get a little humbug: Another holiday season, another take on A Christmas Carol. Like other theatrical versions of the classic, this one ends with the same words credited to Tiny Tim – “God bless us, everyone.” But a production this taut and well-told is its own sort of blessing.

This setup happens with surprising speed and economy. The early zippy energy is a big plus. Vibrant visuals are another. Director Luke Sheppard's staging makes great use of projections, flying set pieces, and a levitating circular platform to showcase dramatic moments and athletic dance moves by choreographer Jennifer Weber.

She's back! Following an Off-Broadway run that wrapped in January, Kimberly Akimbo is now in residence at the Booth Theatre with the original cast and every bit of its wondrous quirkiness intact. In fact, the show is more polished and endearing than before. Anyone (including myself) who fears this charmer might get swallowed up in a Broadway house can rest easy. The show, created by David Lindsay-Abaire (book and lyrics) and Jeanine Tesori (music), has found the ideal home.

Cameron Crowe's musical adaptation of his much-loved 22-year-old Oscar-winner, Almost Famous, gets off to a very promising start. So much so you silently hope Crowe (book and lyrics), Tom Kitt (music and lyrics), and director Jeremy Herrin can sustain the high level for the whole 2.5 hours. Long story short, no such luck. Fortunately, the show is filled with fine performances and getup that takes us back a half-century without looking like a costume party. The energizing early vignettes come packed with rockers, groupies, backstage bustle, swirling doorways, blazing stage lights, flared jeans, macrame halter tops and crocheted hot pants. We know the time, the place, who's who, and what's at stake.

Back on Broadway in a top-notch new production, Suzan-Lori Parks's 2002 Pulitzer Prize winner, Topdog/Underdog, bubbles over with timeless talking points. The always intriguing playwright reckons with race, identity, fractured families, and the elusive chase for grace. At its core - and right there in the title - the play also concerns power. Someone's always got more of it, and that disparity breeds trouble. For this harrowing and humorous two-hander to reach its full firepower, it takes actors equal in might. Director Kenny Leon has cast a pair of aces who consistently match each other across the tragicomic tone shifts.

The cast is uniformly wonderful. The three leads blend and harmonize, while adding individual grace notes. Brooks speaks volumes with just a glance, Washington adds spirited bluster, and Jackson's distinct voice was made for Wilson's words. I lost count of how many times Doaker deadpans, 'Berniece ain't gonna sell that piano' - but he made it fresh each time. (Jackson understudied Boy Willie in the 1990 Broadway run.) In their supporting roles, Fisher makes dim Lymon lovable, while Potts radiates gleeful charisma. Watching Wining Boy sell Lymon an absurdly ill-fitting suit is like taking a whiff of theatrical laughing gas. As Grace, a wise-to-the-world woman Boy Willie and Lymon try to romance, April Matthis gives a lesson in how to make a big impact with a small role. The production team also delivers. Beowulf Boritt's set leaves room for an eerie showdown enhanced by Jeff Sugg's projections, Toni-Leslie James's costumes evoke mid-1930s style, and Japhy Weideman's lighting lends warmth and chill as needed.

Martyna Majok's Cost of Living follows shifting relationships between two disabled adults and their caregivers. The play arrives on Broadway four years after being awarded a Pulitzer Prize, an honor that is both a badge (bragging rights to an exclusive club) and baggage (escalated expectations). That's the cost of winning.

Into the Woods, which became a Meryl Streep movie in 2014, is one of Sondheim's most popular shows. This new production follows previous Broadway runs in 1987 and 2002. They say three's a charm - and this revival has it to spare.

A show about a comedian getting a shot at a new medium - for Buddy, a movie; for Billy, a Broadway musical - has a tidy meta tinge. Billy/Buddy's brand of insult humor and verbal slaps make for a touchy subject in 2022. That's worth noting. Good comic timing, after all, is no joke.

In the end, Broadway’s new Funny Girl feels like a musical comedy promise left unfulfilled. We’re told more than once that Fanny is hilarious and one-of-a-kind, but proof of that side-splitting singularity doesn’t materialize. So you long for something quirkier, zanier, more out-there and surprising. In short: Girl, show me the funny.

The ace ensemble on stage at Studio 54 is packed with talent. Individually and as a group, they hit their marks - no more, no less. There's not much room to stretch beyond that with such bare-bones characters. Letts lends casual gravity as Mayor Superba (a telltale name, like Peel and Carp). Jessie Mueller, who plays Ms. Johnson, the clerk who records the meeting, repeatedly seals her water bottle with an efficient click as if to signal she's a meticulous I-dotter and T-crosser. Sally Murphy works overtime to make Ms. Matz distinct by turning her into a superklutz.

The striking special effect in this Manhattan Theatre Club co-presentation with the London Theatre Company at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre on Broadway is Linney herself, a Tony nominee for The Crucible, Sight Unseen, Time Stands Still and The Little Foxes. She shines Chrysler bright. She's a master of using stillness, a sidelong glance, an expressive gesture, but her voice stands out most. Lucy speaks with warmth and vigor. Sunshine drains from her mom's voice, whose Midwest ayec-cent is borderline cartoonish. Still, that vocal exaggeration works. It's Lucy's story and she can tell it the way she wants to.

The striking special effect in this Manhattan Theatre Club co-presentation with the London Theatre Company at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre on Broadway is Linney herself, a Tony nominee for The Crucible, Sight Unseen, Time Stands Still and The Little Foxes. She shines Chrysler bright. She's a master of using stillness, a sidelong glance, an expressive gesture, but her voice stands out most. Lucy speaks with warmth and vigor. Sunshine drains from her mom's voice, whose Midwest ayec-cent is borderline cartoonish. Still, that vocal exaggeration works. It's Lucy's story and she can tell it the way she wants to.

A dose of Jagged Little Pill, the Alanis Morissette jukebox musical on Broadway about a dysfunctional American family, delivers desirable jolts to the head and heart thanks to vibrant performances and hits like 'Ironic,' 'Head Over Feet' and 'Hand in My Pocket,' songs that have been capably threaded into storylines. But this Pill also produces unwanted side effects. At the Broadhurst Theatre, home of the musical drawn from the Canadian singer-songwriter's angsty megahit 1995 album, they include but are not limited to: Prolonged itching for a focused, impactful plot; dulled senses from familiar situations and characters; and ear strain due to efforts to comprehend drowned-out lyrics. Is there a script doctor in the house?

Over six-plus hours there are lapses. Political debates can turn soapbox-y and windy, and character sum-ups at the end is a creaky device. Still, a play that asks 'Who are we?' and makes one consider and care about the answer is doing something right. Actually, a lot right.

Laced with humor and colorfully loopy characters and an ending - no spoiler - that is atypically upbeat, The Rose Tattoo is as close as Tennessee Williams comes to romantic comedy. The miscalibrated new Broadway production at American Airlines Theatre starring Marissa Tomei provides a telling reminder of the limited elasticity of comedy. Stretched too broadly and the whole business can warp. Stakes aren't raised; they're razed. As a result, poignance goes untapped in a 1951 award-winning play that's more than two and a half hours of easy laughs.

Barford, uninhibited and honest, is perfectly cast and leads a uniformly very fine ensemble in this Steppenwolf production presented on Broadway by Second Stage. Throughout the nearly three-hour show, songs by Steely Dan such as Deacon Blues blare. Fitting, since it's the soundtrack of Wheeler's youth, and the band knows its way around less-than-likable guys.

Pryce mines every ounce of Andre's vulnerability, confusion and anger. Atkins is crisp and surprisingly amusing - and with the slightest narrowing of her eyes speaks volumes. Together they are persuasive as a couple who've shared half a century together. In the end, Zeller's work leaves more questions than answers. We never know what Andre is looking at. But there's no doubt that what audiences sees throughout this Storm are these two bright stars at the height of their powers.