Keith Staskiewicz

Oy gevalt. It's not that there's anything particularly terrible about Soul Doctor, the biographical musical about the late 'rock-star rabbi' Shlomo Carlebach, but there isn't all that much to recommend either. Carlebach is certainly an interesting figure: An Orthodox Jew who embraced pop music and hippiedom over traditional scholasticism and rose to prominence in the 1960s, he served as a striking countercultural counterpoint. But director Daniel S. Wise's production - which consists mostly of a Judaic jukebox of Carlebach's popular melodies - fails to achieve anything beyond a standard, and occasionally cringeworthy, retelling of his life.

Scandalous: The Life and Trials of Aimee Semple McPherson...may not have a firm grasp on whether its subject was a heroically crusading woman of God or a hypocritical mountebank, but one thing's for certain: She sure was a grand ol' gal! That seems to be the main theme of Kathie Lee Gifford's script, and it works in part. The songs...provide emotional and plot development that help keep the story moving at a quick clip...David Armstrong's direction flows effortlessly from one episode in McPherson's life to the next with minimal hiccups, and Carolee Carmello gives a charismatic performance in the lead, belting out her numbers like a one-woman church choir...The scandal of the title is given surprisingly short shrift...It's a complex story filled with a lot of knotty issues, but much of the nuance gets glossed over in this production, overstuffed as it is with other, less fascinating anecdotes, like a lengthy introductory sequence about her early life as a Canadian farm girl. Still, Scandalous has enough high energy and witty lines to help to atone for some of its sins. B–

Despite Lithgow's powerful performance, The Columnist spends a surprisingly long amount of time away from its titular character. There are tangential scenes set in Saigon, backstage at the Pulitzer Prizes, and a lengthy subplot involving journalist David Halberstam (Stephen Kunken) — the muckraking, Jewish counterpoint to Alsop's increasingly obsolescent country-club socialite. Still, it's a testament to Lithgow's magnetism that the scenes without him seem like rude interruptions from the main event.

This unhealthy father-son dynamic should make for excellent theater, but strangely - and despite what the play's title might suggest - these two characters' relationship feels underdeveloped. Basil awkwardly vacillates between petulant rejection of his father and pure adulation. Driver can't come close to matching his costar's stage presence and the struggle ends up lopsided, with Basil's accuastory speech to his father at the end of the first act hitting with all of the force of overcooked spaghetti.

Ghetto Klown is like hitching yourself to the back of a race car: Even if you end up seeing some of the same scenery, it's still a heckuva ride.