Matthew Wexler — Theater Critic

The concert arena production is packed with stellar voices, including Killian Donnelly as Valjean the night I attended, Bradley Jaden (Valjean’s nemesis Javert), and Samantha Barks (Fantine), among many. Collectively, they sing the roof off of Radio City Music Hall, aided by immaculate sound design that storms the barricade but also crystallizes the score’s more intimate passages, such as “A Little Fall of Rain,” when student Marius (Jac Yarrow) clutches a dying Eponine (Shan Ako).

In Broad Strokes, Cat Cohen turns her scariest year into the tightest set of her career—proof that the best material really is the stuff you didn’t ask for.

Director Mary Zimmerman assembles a first-rate cast for Giulia, but the show’s structure, which leans hard on Hamilton‘s playbook, buckles under its own derivative weight.

Any of the actresses—including a humorous-to-heart-wrenching turn by Kerry Washington as a teen who takes an unwanted pregnancy into her own hands—would have been formidable in tackling the entire lineup. That prospect hovers like unfinished business, despite the polish and specificity each brings to the production. The Whoopi Monologues offers a kaleidoscopic lens into the transition from girlhood to womanhood. Goldberg’s knack for finding humor in the darkness of addiction, reproductive care, and racism never undermines the play’s potency.

Under Robert O’Hara’s direction, the Tony-winning musical by Jerry Herman (music and lyrics) and Harvey Fierstein (book) faces an identity crisis beyond its two leading men. David Zinn’s scenic design references Grace Jones and Sylvester. At the same time, Edgar Godineaux’s choreography nods to what you might see at a West Village dive bar.

Rent closed in 2008, but you wouldn’t know it from walking into the Duke on 42nd Street for Label•less, Drew and Lea Lachey’s pop-music Gen Z tribute. Staged on mobile scaffold units, the devised work features hits from Sam Cooke to Lady Gaga, performed by an exuberant cast determined to say something. While the words often fall flat, the voices soar. And when Lea trusts her dancers with the level of choreography they’re capable of, Label•less strikes a propulsive chord that proves the next generation of musical theater performers is ready for its close-up.

Rent closed in 2008, but you wouldn’t know it from walking into the Duke on 42nd Street for Label•less, Drew and Lea Lachey’s pop-music Gen Z tribute. Staged on mobile scaffold units, the devised work features hits from Sam Cooke to Lady Gaga, performed by an exuberant cast determined to say something. While the words often fall flat, the voices soar. And when Lea trusts her dancers with the level of choreography they’re capable of, Label•less strikes a propulsive chord that proves the next generation of musical theater performers is ready for its close-up.

The show’s central joke—”we can’t afford to keep the lights on,” “we can’t afford a cliché,” “we can’t afford a B-plot”—turns theatrical poverty into a philosophical argument about who decides what art is worth. It’s a mindf*ck in the best possible way.

According to the script for ||: Girls :||: Chance :||: Music :||, 12 audience volunteers are to pick notes from a G-F# scale, which will then be used throughout the play in various improvised sections. If this happened at the performance I attended, I missed it completely. But even if I had chosen one of those notes myself, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Eisa Davis’s play about “coming of age under pressure” may leave much up to chance, but it lacks the payoff of untethered musical expression.

According to the script for ||: Girls :||: Chance :||: Music :||, 12 audience volunteers are to pick notes from a G-F# scale, which will then be used throughout the play in various improvised sections. If this happened at the performance I attended, I missed it completely. But even if I had chosen one of those notes myself, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Eisa Davis’s play about “coming of age under pressure” may leave much up to chance, but it lacks the payoff of untethered musical expression.

Which isn’t to say the performances aren’t captivating. But unlike Williams’ The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which Sarah Snook transformed into 26 characters before our eyes with the help of an onstage film crew, The Maids gets stuck in a self-referential cycle that acts more as commentary than captivating theater.

Still, Heated Rivalry is its own beast, bolstered by a familiar IP that will put butts (though not quite as muscular as Ilya’s) in seats. There’s no shortage of similar shows on Broadway right now, Titaníque and Schmigadoon! among them, at a higher price point. Cost aside, the musical delivers a delightful queer romp, perfect for Pride month or anyone craving a chicken smoothie. IYKYK. And if you don’t, you’ll still have a great time.

Unfortunately, fame is fleeting. Are Joe Namath and Neil Sedaka—successes, sure—really in today’s cultural zeitgeist? But with the right talent, it doesn’t really matter. Emmy winner Jeff Hiller took a bite out of Sandy: The Autobiography of a Star, about Annie’s four-legged bestie. Those who’ve already seen this season’s hit-or-miss Broadway pickings may find something fresh in Celebrity Autobiography. Or save your cash and enjoy a good book from your couch.

Unfortunately, fame is fleeting. Are Joe Namath and Neil Sedaka—successes, sure—really in today’s cultural zeitgeist? But with the right talent, it doesn’t really matter. Emmy winner Jeff Hiller took a bite out of Sandy: The Autobiography of a Star, about Annie’s four-legged bestie. Those who’ve already seen this season’s hit-or-miss Broadway pickings may find something fresh in Celebrity Autobiography. Or save your cash and enjoy a good book from your couch.

Jack Holden embodies every character in town in a magnetic performance that reminds us why we go to the theater in the first place. Co-written by Holden and Ed Stambollouian, KENREX also features a pulsating, Americana-infused score by John Patrick Elliott, performed live and in sync with Giles Thomas’s atmospheric sound effects. The result? An edge-of-your-seat journey into the depths of small-town America, a broken judicial system, and the vigilante residents determined to reclaim their power.

Varying degrees of stage experience among the cast give an adult-learner college production vibe as glaring as the neon green rope lights strung throughout the theater. Nostalgic, sure, but is this the caliber Broadway audiences expect to see? If only there were a post-show cast party at Denny’s.

Director Kenny Leon (This World of Tomorrow) keeps the stellar cast laser-focused as the banter unfolds—a herculean task in scenes with the entire cast onstage. Eventually, it becomes clear that nearly everyone will have their moment of racial reckoning, despite Penny’s reminder that “everyone in this room is a decent person.”

Byrne and O’Hara prove themselves brilliant physical comedians, whether sliding down stairs, falling over chairs, or guzzling champagne. When Mark Consuelos finally arrives as the highly anticipated French lover Maurice Duclos, the splash of celebrity feels wholly unnecessary (despite him living up to the women’s description: “Those eyes … those hands … and teeth … and legs!”)

Director David Cromer (Bug, Meet the Cartozians) navigates the play with his typical precision, and Brody carries much of the weight with charisma and charm. But when an exasperated Jacki asks Nick, years into his sentence, why he never told anyone what really happened, he says, “Now, even the truth sounds like a lie.” Such lines land, but the relationship doesn’t. Without it, The Fear of 13 feels as handcuffed as its hero.

Director David Cromer (Bug, Meet the Cartozians) navigates the play with his typical precision, and Brody carries much of the weight with charisma and charm. But when an exasperated Jacki asks Nick, years into his sentence, why he never told anyone what really happened, he says, “Now, even the truth sounds like a lie.” Such lines land, but the relationship doesn’t. Without it, The Fear of 13 feels as handcuffed as its hero.

Director David Cromer (Bug, Meet the Cartozians) navigates the play with his typical precision, and Brody carries much of the weight with charisma and charm. But when an exasperated Jacki asks Nick, years into his sentence, why he never told anyone what really happened, he says, “Now, even the truth sounds like a lie.” Such lines land, but the relationship doesn’t. Without it, The Fear of 13 feels as handcuffed as its hero.

Director Tye Blue mostly keeps the pace intact, and Mindelle is as witty as ever, improving her way through Jack (Constantine Rousouli) and Rose’s (Melissa Barerra) clandestine meeting with an off-the-rails recounting that changes for each performance. But those, like myself, who saw this little steamer-who-could Off-Broadway may wonder what it’s gained by its move uptown. Even Mindelle’s self-efacing kicker, “Thank you so much for coming to see Titanique! On the set…of The Voice,” nods to its slick new packaging. Design solutions rely on sequins and oversized props, with nearly everything bedazzled to suit a larger theatre. And after Titaníque’s award-winning West End run, this limited engagement may be a strategic opportunity to ramp up the show for a national tour. Which isn’t a bad thing, necessarily, though catching Deborah Cox as Molly Brown belting out “All By Myself” may be worth the Broadway ticket price alone.

In contrast, Metcalf’s Linda stretches beyond the role of capable homemaker. Her devout commitment to her unraveling husband, and to keeping the peace between Willy and their sons, Biff (Christopher Abbott) and Happy (Ben Ahlers), nearly reaches a tipping point. Mantello further amplifies the play’s flashback scenes by double-casting the boys as younger versions of themselves (Joaquin Consuelos and Jake Termine), warmly illuminated by Jack Knowles’ otherwise stark lighting design.

In contrast, Metcalf’s Linda stretches beyond the role of capable homemaker. Her devout commitment to her unraveling husband, and to keeping the peace between Willy and their sons, Biff (Christopher Abbott) and Happy (Ben Ahlers), nearly reaches a tipping point. Mantello further amplifies the play’s flashback scenes by double-casting the boys as younger versions of themselves (Joaquin Consuelos and Jake Termine), warmly illuminated by Jack Knowles’ otherwise stark lighting design.

Does this Cats make more sense than the original? Mostly. Cat burglars Mungojerrie (Jonathan Burke) and Rumpleteazer (Dava Huesca) are now from Victoria Grove, New Jersey, and Skimbleshanks (a scene-stealing Emma Sofia) is now your bilingual MTA operator. But we can’t fully escape Eliot’s original London locale. Similarly, Moore’s Grizabella may resonate more with those who know the Ballroom hall of famer’s real-life story, despite scenic designer Rachel Hauck’s smartly conceived ascent to the Heaviside Layer. Still, this is a Cats worth clawing for tickets over, and proof positive that Broadway can still turn a lewk.