Matthew Wexler

Heathers 2.0 isn’t so much a reimagining as a high-polish paint job. But this is no “Greased Lightning.” While Grease depicted late-50s nostalgia and the kind of gang warfare that didn’t escalate much beyond chewing gum on the underside of a desk, Heathers‘ Gen X timestamp goes for the jugular, with a triple homicide, fat jokes, fag jokes, a potential date rape and an attempted suicide. Meanwhile, an audience dotted with Gen Zers dressed like the three popular Heathers (a powerhouse trifecta of McKenzie Kurtz, Olivia Hardy, and Elizabeth Teeter), squealed at decibel-shattering levels, equally mesmerized by Lorna Courtney (& Juliet) as Veronica and Casey Likes (Back to the Future) as J.D.

Smart’s performance lives up to her name: measured and nuanced, both vulnerable and full of rage, depending on which of the handful of characters she’s inhabiting. Her adjustments, under the direction of Sarna Lapine, shift seamlessly from one to the next. Perhaps it’s the clipped cadence of friend Rosalie, or a broadening of the shoulders as she embodies Izzy’s menacing husband. Smart pulls us into the conversation—not an easy task in a 1,000-seat theatre.

The Imaginary Invalid, much like Molière’s other works, explores social structures and infidelity through satire and exaggerated physicality (there’s lots of enema jokes and butt massages). While there are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, as a whole, the company doesn’t necessarily deliver a remedy for the dark times we’re living in, but it’s a pleasant enough painkiller. And at 85 minutes, there’s no fear of suffering from Argan’s diagnosis of glutial amnesia (aka dead butt).

Shapiro can’t quite carry the emotional weight of the musical’s central character, but she’s got plenty of support from scene-chewing Keri Reneé Fuller as Coco, Broadway vet Sarah Gettelfinger as MOTHER!, Natalie Walker as Kiki, and her wormy cohorts. Wrapped in a fake couture fur of Y2K nostalgia, The Last Bimbo of the Apocalypse transforms yesterday’s tabloid into an excavation of celebrity obsession and Gen Z social media-fueled social anxiety.

Despite their earnestness, Floyd Collins leaves us nobody to root for... For all their expertise and Jeremy Jordan’s moving performance, the sum of the whole can’t capture the palpable fear of a man facing his mortality and those he is destined to leave behind... I can’t imagine a more committed effort to make sense of Guettel’s far-reaching score, which shines a headlamp on Jordan’s exquisite voice... But Collins gets stuck. And so does the audience.

Smash lives up to its name with an over-the-top theatricality and cheekiness that pulls back the curtain on the business of Broadway with a wink and a nod.

Does McDonald’s mezzo-soprano mimic her predecessors? No. Do we want that piercing belt to pummel to the rear balcony in “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” and “Rose’s Turn”? Yes. But that’s not what she delivers; frankly, it doesn’t matter. The reach and yearning to cut through the noise, while powerful but not necessarily cutting, makes her Rose that much more vulnerable despite actions that some might consider monstrous.

Unfortunately, ambition exceeds form despite a starry cast that leans into familiar tropes, including Neil Patrick Harris, Jane Krakowski, Constance Wu, and Debra Messing. Three couples, a friend who arrives dateless (Tramell Tillman), and a whiny teenage daughter (Genevieve Hannelius) who bookends the piece, make for a lot of interwoven narratives in addition to those unseen characters who DM into the action.

We don’t have to look too far to see how quickly democracy can collapse. A presidential candidate facing 91 felony charges, “Don’t Say Gay” laws, and the proliferation of drag bans could push any of us to unleash our inner Sally Bowles. Redmayne, Rankin, and a smartly conceived Cabaret reboot shoot warning flares high into the sky. We only need to wander into the Kit Kat Club to discover a world mirroring our own.

Dorothy’s back on Broadway in a reimagined revival of The Wiz. Does the fresh take with new material by Amber Ruffin and movement by Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” choreographer JaQuel Knight ease on down the road? For the most part, with a few stumbles along the way.

“Why were they voguing?” my companion asks at intermission, referring to a dance sequence early in the show. “Ah, that makes sense,” she responds with a slightly perplexed look after I explain the Madonna connection. Herein lies Lempicka’s challenge: the musical wants to capitalize on Madonna and other pop stars’ notoriety along with sense of agency uncommon to female artists of the era, but its creators have stretched the canvas so thin that the brush strokes crack.

The Shark is Broken’s scenic design is packed with memorabilia from the original film, including a floatation barrel used to track the fictional predator, but the real memories pay homage to Robert Shaw’s complicated life as an artist struggling with addiction. In preparation for the role, son Ian reviewed a drinking diary the actor logged during the 1970s. “It gave me a baseline about how he felt about his alcoholism,” Shaw told the New York Times. “He had tried to quit and couldn’t do it. He wanted to concentrate on his writing and it was interfering with that.” Those glimpses are more harrowing than any fake shark could muster.

Much like Rocky, its 2014 predecessor at the Winter Garden Theatre, Back to the Future gambles on name recognition and nostalgia but forgoes the basic mechanics of a successful musical: a coherent book and catchy score.

For all the recent politicizing of the queer community’s lack of moral decency, The Cottage, which opens at Broadway’s Hayes Theater on July 24, is having a great time with extramarital merriment, heavy drinking, and more cigarette smoking than even the Marlboro Man could endure. Playwright Sandy Rustin (whose stage adaptation of the film Clue is one of the most-produced plays in the U.S., according to her biography) delivers a period farce set in 1923 pastoral England and stars one of the early aughts’ most famous gay-for-pay actors, Eric McCormack. Jason Alexander, who played the famously neurotic George Costanza on Seinfeld for nine seasons, directs a seasoned cast that climbs an uphill battle to excavate witty banter from a predictable plot that rarely stays ahead of the audience.

With quickfire delivery, Edelman recollects how following anti-Semitic Twitter accounts leads him to bravely go where few Jews have gone: a White Nationalists meeting in Queens, New York. Dodging interrogations by its attendees, he offers a lucid and laughable account of what happens next.

It’s a lot to pack in, but Stroman, who helmed the long-running hit The Producers, pulls out all the stops, aided by a fantastic score by John Kander, the late Fred Ebb, and additional lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda. Lesser-known songs from the Kander and Ebb canon supplement the title number and provide a gorgeously crafted blueprint for Stroman’s legendary dance sequences as well as more intimate moments of discovery. Scenic designer Beowulf Boritt captures New York City’s magic and mayhem with architectural detail and occasional whimsy (interior walls are purposefully cropped as if the city’s notoriously expensive square footage couldn’t accommodate), while projection design by Boritt and Christopher Ash and lighting design by Ken Billington flood the St. James Theatre with a dreamlike quality. The production even honors Manhattanhenge, the coveted day when the sunset aligns with Manhattan’s east-west-oriented streets.

What happens when the crops in Corn Cob County stop growing? Apparently, folks develop a GMO-modified sense of humor and start singin’ wistful melodies and rousing country anthems. Shucked features music and lyrics by the high-profile (and queer) country songwriting team of Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally, but Robert Horn’s (Tootsie) book, heavy with one-liners and not much else, fails to harvest the potential of the talented cast. Those willing to spend triple digits for one knock-out song can at least witness Alex Newell (Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, Glee) bring audiences to their feet in the upward-modulating barn-raiser “Independently Owned.”

Sweeney Todd’s latest incarnation (its fourth on Broadway) is terrifying — not just because of a bloody straight razor or what happens to those who befall its sharp edge. But because of its natural descent into madness to which any of us could succumb. Add a final tableau that will steal your breath faster than a shave in Sweeney Todd’s barber chair, and Sondheim, even from beyond the grave, has achieved his goal.

Cilento delivers on his promise. His staging faithfully pays homage to the choreographer’s work through a relevant lens for a new generation. For anyone looking to tap their toes and clap their jazz hands at a Broadway show, Bob Fosse’s Dancin’ delivers.

Despite their anchoring performances, The Seagull/Woodstock, NY doesn’t always soar but instead hovers at a pace that occasionally needs propulsion.

Set in the couple’s San Fernando Valley tract home and showcasing a breadth of Sultan’s real-life family film stills and photographs projected on scenic designer Michael Yeargan’s avocado-colored walls, Pictures From Home stumbles down memory lane rather than strolls, punctuated by three nuanced performances that challenge the meaning and value of family.

Arison, who's appeared for nine seasons on NBC's 'The Blacklist,' leans into movement director Kitty Winter's stylized pedestrian choreography, with a shape-shifting ensemble breathing life into the world of the play. But like the shepherd in Aesop's The Boy Who Cried Wolf, he wrenches to reach the emotional heights required of the text. Crocodile tears have diluted the audience's emotional capacity by the time the real ones flow. Barney George's scenic and costume design, though simple, serve the story, enhanced by William Simpson's projection designs. Tabla artist Salar Nader, along with the ensemble's use of singing bowls and percussive schwirrbogen, creates blankets of sound to envelop the action. But it's Sirakian's performance as young Hassan and Sohrab (Hassan's son) in Act II that emotionally tethers The Kite Runner to the audience. Sirakian, making his Broadway debut, exudes wide-eyed innocence and an uncompromising fortitude as Hassan - without question - defends his best friend and later his family

While I can’t deny many will find the brutal honesty of A Strange Loop provocative, its success lies in the delicate balance of specificity and universality. Usher’s journey loops more like a spirograph than the neat circumference of a circle. Like all our lives, it intersects at the most inopportune moments, kicking up fears and inadequacies we thought buried long ago. And that’s not so strange, after all.