Joe Dziemianowicz — Theater Critic

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.

Audra McDonald and Michael Shannon both bare their bodies and their feelings as Frankie, a guarded waitress, and Johnny, a pushy cook in the same greasy spoon, whose one-night stand could lead to more. So exposed are they that the revival that opened Thursday should be rated X-hilarating.

In the age of digital publishing, Ink offers an exhilarating look back at a print heyday and, in a sly conclusion, a peek at what was to come, as Murdoch tells Lamb of his plans in America. 'I'm thinking about buying a TV network over there.' But that's another story - and another five 'W's.

The new Broadway musical Tootsie is a story of transformation in which an actor becomes a better man after passing himself off as a woman. Based on a beloved 1982 movie starring Dustin Hoffman, the show by David Yazbek and Robert Horn unleashes more zippy one-liners and corny double entendres than anyone could ever want. But the film's sweeter charms and magic have gone missing in the metamorphosis from the screen to the stage of the Marquis Theatre.

All three stars get credit for taking on an out-there challenge, even if they resort to their go-to tricks: Lane bellows as Gary, Nielsen doubles down on her signature double takes as Janice and White works her trusty frantic and plaintive reflexes as Carol. They're sometimes funny, but not enough. It's been said that comedy is tragedy plus time. 'Gary,' a comedy, alas, is just tragic.

Not even two of the brightest stage stars - Laurie Metcalf and John Lithgow - can make 'Hillary and Clinton' more than a wispy exercise. The barbed comedy that opened Thursday night on Broadway doesn't lack for laughs. But as it rehashes old wounds, it offers no fresh insights into either political or personal realms.

Michael Mayer's fine cast plays up the humor, and then some. By hinting at the loneliness underlying Larry's one-liners, Brandon Uranowitz makes the character more than a pre-'Will & Grace' sidekick, while David Furr, dashing and confident, holds his own in the fairly thankless role of Burton. And Russell? She's just plain beautiful in a star turn filled with the rich, emotional honesty that made her irresistible in TV's 'Felicity.' Her toned legs and exquisite arches make her look like the dancer she plays. Driver, a theater actor long before he starred in TV's 'Girls' and started his Kylo Ren tour in 'Star Wars,' gives a performance as wonderfully weird as it is vanity-free. He's game for anything, emerging at one point in little more than some cheesy black BVDs.

Still, this Oklahoma! deserves credit for out-of-the-box thinking and casting. It earns its exclamation point, and it knows it. That emphatic punctuation mark is the biggest thing on the Playbill. All things considered, there should also be a giant question mark.

'Ain't Too Proud' arrived on Broadway Thursday night buoyed by a surge of nostalgia and a slew of Motown hits. But anyone who's seen the earlier jukebox shows 'Jersey Boys' or 'Motown: The Musical' is bound to feel a dull sense of déja vu.

Gender-parity achieved, yes? No. As laudable as these efforts are, Lilli still performs against her will, thanks to a subplot about debt-collecting goons. And several songs are steeped in pervy references, including a 'Tom, Dick or Harry' whose emphasis lies firmly on Dick.

Granted, the jukebox musical that opened on Broadway Monday night has some clumsy and dopey dialogue. The story - a 50-50 mix of narration (yawn) and not-quite-skin-deep dramatization - tracing the pop goddess' personal and professional ups and downs won't surprise those with even a passing knowledge of Cher. Or access to Wikipedia. Still, it's thrilling watching the 72-year-old diva's rags-to-riches-and-back-again life woven by wall-to-wall hits - 'Bang Bang,' 'The Beat Goes On,' 'Half-Breed' and 'Believe,' among them.

Acting is basically beside the point, but, as guided, both leads give shrill, one-note performances. The creators are so intent on making Ann the opposite of Fay Wray's portrayal of a damsel in distress that she lacks the vulnerability that made the Ann-and-Kong love story click. Early on, as the ship departs New York Harbor, the scenery, stagecraft and video projections merge so beautifully, you think this show may lead to someplace special. Nope. 'King Kong' is less fun than a barrel of monkeys.

Despite the interminable scene changes set against black-and-white video of the bygone New York of Gladys' younger days, director Lila Neugebauer's production boasts fine details of its own, including evocative sets and costumes true to the time, place and character. One small but essential detail comes when the four family members sit down for a meal. They face each other, not the audience, in what recalls a real group portrait. And that's what 'The Waverly Gallery' is all about.

It takes guts to step into Roberts' thigh-high boots, but Barks, late of the film version of 'Les Miserables,' sings the hell out of the part, especially in her song of defiant reckoning, 'I Can't Go Back.' At times, she comes close to overselling, but she always has you rooting for her.

Through it all, the ensemble filled with out-and-proud actors is uniformly terrific. They deftly hug the curves of the script as it goes from barbed humor to bile-spewing. To his credit Crowley doesn't tie things up with a bow. 'Call you tomorrow,' says Harold, after the carnage. In other words, boys will be boys.

Let's get straight to the burning question about Broadway's 'The Iceman Cometh,' Eugene O'Neill's 1946 booze-soaked saga of curdled lives and dashed dreams: Does marquee attraction Denzel Washington delivereth the goods? You bet - and then some.

Bernard Shaw's 1923 drama follows a young woman pitted against the patriarchy in a story packed with faith, miracles and martyrdom. Dramatic stuff. But the revival at the Friedman Theatre has as much crackle as soggy kindling.

Broadway's spry revival of 'Travesties' is guaranteed to work your gray matter. Its author is brainy British playwright Tom Stoppard; that's how he rolls. The happy bonus of the brightly acted Roundabout production at the American Airlines Theater is how often the 1974 comedy engages one's smile muscles.

Enough is enough with Broadway jukebox musicals stitched together with threadbare and synthetic stories. And when it comes to 'Summer: The Donna Summer Musical' that goes triple. It took three writers for the bummer of a script for this show at the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre.

As with any story, it's all in the telling. What's so wondrous is how low-tech stagecraft brings such high-definition delight as the action unfolds on the Christine Jones' arch-filled set filled with glow and gloom by Neil Austin. Suitcases turn into train cars; bookcases come alive; mobile staircases whirl as if in a living Escher print. Music by Imogen Heap and movement by Steven Hoggett create their own pinch-me moments.