Johnny Oleksinki — Theater Critic

“Gypsy” is, by the estimation of many — including me — the greatest musical ever written. But you wouldn’t know it from the slow and unsteady revival starring Audra McDonald that opened Thursday at the Majestic Theatre. The quintessentially American story about driving and moving from place to place while scraping by with a pipe dream of stardom does not satisfyingly drive or move. With stop-start direction from George C. Wolfe, the sixth Broadway production of Jule Styne, Stephen Sondheim and Arthur Laurents’ musical runs out of gas early.

Since Act 2 narratively does not have as much drive or emotion as the first, and the songs are still mush, Gattelli should have included even more body horror schtick. The Demi Moore film “The Substance” is a lesson in how upping the gore ante can rev up a story. But whenever the material sags, like aging skin, its sensational stars inject the show with new vibrancy. Even if the musical doesn’t have a discernible heartbeat, Hilty and Simard ensure “Death Becomes Her” stays fun and fabulous.

Something I won’t be saying on my death bed: “I wish I would’ve watched more shows about boats.” Yet another crew of singing seafarers sets off in the Avett Brothers’ uneven “Swept Away,” which opened Tuesday night at the Longacre Theatre. The musical adds a twisted new twist, through — cannibalism. On Broadway? Not so appetizing.

But these scenes that go beyond clunky biographic exposition are short-lived. Just when we’re starting to explore the depths of the man, another song begins. Some, like “Black and Blue,” contribute meaning and texture; others fill time in a show that already drags.

But these scenes that go beyond clunky biographic exposition are short-lived. Just when we’re starting to explore the depths of the man, another song begins. Some, like “Black and Blue,” contribute meaning and texture; others fill time in a show that already drags.

Once the audience has become accustomed to the playful, cool mood that extends into the chic lobby, they await the, er, tragedy to unfold. On that end, “Romeo + Juliet” is a let-down. During the dark final moments in the crypt, or wherever the heck they are, the play peters out. The best bits are specks in the rearview; the sadness, less powerful than the booming tunes from two hours earlier. Then, in the last seconds, we are told as ever, “For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” And, as the lights fade at Circle in the Square, we’re not so sure about that.

There is no doubt as to what the new play “Left on Tenth,” which opened at the James Earl Jones Theatre Wednesday night, wants to be: A romantic, funny and harrowing tale of a woman’s rebirth. Yet, after seeing Delia Ephron’s Broadway show starring Julianna Margulies and Peter Gallagher, different descriptors jump to mind: Sappy, sluggish and awkward.

So, why, if it is Our town, is director Kenny Leon’s staging of “Our Town” among the most uninvolving and anemic I have ever seen?

Should your sole aim be to watch the Marvel and “Oppenheimer” actor, who’s making his Broadway debut, give a capable performance in his signature Tony Stark staccato, mission accomplished. However, it is, well, a marvel how even the most blinding star power can dim when blacked out by a mind-numbing plot, mouthpiece supporting characters and a Universal Studios-scale set of giant screens that’s an expensive apology for the actual play.

The production, directed in haste by Lear deBessonet, is not without its flaws. Personally, I’m tired of lazily staged, barebones Encores! concerts being lugged to Broadway like a surprisingly nice couch somebody found on the curb. Still, Foster is such a smash that you forgive most of the peripheral problems.

On its face, the tumult of the Civil War and a traumatizing assassination do not a recipe for laughter make. And yet the Great White Way has not witnessed a comedy this funny, or a comedic star turn this dazzling, in at least a decade.

On its face, the tumult of the Civil War and a traumatizing assassination do not a recipe for laughter make. And yet the Great White Way has not witnessed a comedy this funny, or a comedic star turn this dazzling, in at least a decade.

All of these unlikely pieces fit together seamlessly. What surprised me most was that the ballroom concept, beyond its initial rush of novelty, unexpectedly unearths laughs and heartfelt moments that were always there, but were kept down by whiskers and Spandex.

All of these unlikely pieces fit together seamlessly. What surprised me most was that the ballroom concept, beyond its initial rush of novelty, unexpectedly unearths laughs and heartfelt moments that were always there, but were kept down by whiskers and Spandex.

And now for the elephant — or, well, the ship — in the room: Should this “Titanic” have a future life like Encores’ “Into the Woods” and “Parade” did? Seemingly every production in this series creates Broadway buzz now, whether it’s deserved or not. But “Titanic,” directed by Anne Kauffman, is not the sort of staging that would make sense in a sit-down a few blocks away. This concert is constructed, as it should be, to grandly showcase the blissful score. I’d love to see “Titanic” back on Broadway. But this one should live out the rest of its days on 55th Street.

But the audience’s three-camera sit-com chuckle does reveal this “Vanya”’s chief shortcoming straightaway. While the production has got the jokes down pat, it is quite a bit shakier when it comes to the pathos and hardship that spring from them.

Rolled out modestly, little “Heart” is also a lot more fun and proudly frivolous than any of its sober-minded neighbors. It’s perhaps the first time in my life that I’ve been happy to see a confetti cannon at curtain call.

The suffragist characters of the musical “Suffs,” which opened Thursday night at the Music Box Theatre, rarely take a breath to celebrate their victories. As soon as they achieve something monumental, such as securing a rare meeting with President Woodrow Wilson or finally getting the right to vote, another lofty goal appears on the horizon. Or there’s a dispiriting setback. They’re never done. They’ve gotta keep marching. Much the same could be said about the show, itself, written by and starring Shaina Taub. Even after a 2021 run at the Public Theater, which garnered less-than-enthusiastic reviews, and a later workshop to reshape it, “Suffs” still feels frustratingly unfinished.

Despite the cozy feeling of being reunited with beloved material 40 years after it was last on Broadway, director Schele Williams’ production is deflatingly flimsy and lackluster. Clumsily staged, it’s a Wiz-sper of what it should be.

Newcomer Brody Grant, with a record-deal-ready voice and a grounded teenage vulnerability, makes a sublime debut in the role. He’s the sort of bookworm heartthrob you’re more likely to find on Netflix nowadays than Broadway. But the shrewdness of director Danya Taymor’s production starts with how brilliantly cast it is, from top to bottom. By the end of the opening song, called “Tulsa ’67,” we have somehow already met and grown inexplicably fond of every single Greaser.

The quaking revival of Pete Townshend’s seminal rock opera, which opened Thursday night at the Nederlander Theater after nearly three decades away, really is an espresso martini of a show after a chamomile-tea season of musicals. Everything about this exhilarating production shakes you awake and leaves you buzzed: Knockout singing, superbly inventive stagecraft and a star-making performance from 24-year-old Ali Louis Bourzgui as the Pinball Wizard that’s the most exciting New York stage debut in years. I hope the Nederlander’s carpets are regularly vacuumed. Because for two hours and 15 minutes, my jaw became all too well acquainted with the floor.

But Gold, whose Broadway “Macbeth” starring Daniel Craig was a bells-and-whistles disaster, nearly bungles it by serving the audience free shots of Linie Aquavit between the first and second halves from a hopping bar onstage. The otherwise riveted man next to me said, “This is so stupid.” Twice. I’m sure there is a high-minded rationale for the pop-up pub. Perhaps it’s there to confront us with our own hypocrisy, or lull us into a false sense of security before the untethered town meeting where Thomas is attacked. Whatever the reason, the silly trick flattens the tension the cast built and leaves it up to Strong to pick up the pieces. He ably does, thank goodness, and prevents his director from becoming the enemy of the play.

While the cast of “The Notebook” sings and dances up onstage at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, there is an even more dramatic performance going on in the seats. The sniffle chorus. Ingrid Michaelson’s musical, which opened Thursday night on Broadway is, of course, based on Nicholas Sparks’ weepy 1996 romance novel that was made into a popular movie starring a young Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams. Like Pavlov’s pups, millennials habitually sob during that 2004 film, and the production has seized upon its teary reputation by selling branded tissue boxes. During the final 10 minutes, the noses are deafening.

Shanley wrote an immaculate work that can stand up to even so-so productions like the revival starring Amy Ryan and Liev Schreiber that opened Thursday at the Todd Haimes Theatre. The script is the marquee star. And although the head-to-head battles between Sister Aloysius (Ryan) and Father Flynn (Schreiber) don’t explode as powerfully here as they are capable of doing, the words are never less than riveting.

Shanley wrote an immaculate work that can stand up to even so-so productions like the revival starring Amy Ryan and Liev Schreiber that opened Thursday at the Todd Haimes Theatre. The script is the marquee star. And although the head-to-head battles between Sister Aloysius (Ryan) and Father Flynn (Schreiber) don’t explode as powerfully here as they are capable of doing, the words are never less than riveting.