Melissa Rose Bernardo — Theater Critic

The most gorgeous moments in this Romeo + Juliet are the simplest, when all the noise falls away and it’s just Connor and Zegler: their first meeting, when they spontaneously proclaim their love in a shared 14-line sonnet; the famous Act 2 balcony scene, a positively swoon-worthy moment that no future production should ever attempt to re-create; their too-brief moment of post-wedded bliss. As Gertrude wisely commented in Hamlet: “More matter with less art.”

She channeled her frustration with the communications company into a New York Times piece, which led to the discovery of the second great love of her life, Peter. The start of their story became the heart of her 2022 memoir, Left On Tenth, now adapted into a middling Broadway play starring Julianna Margulies and Peter Gallagher (presumably Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks weren’t available).

The audience at the Todd Haimes Theatre, where Yellow Face has just opened in a lively revival, laughs heartily. Partly because DHH, played by Daniel Dae Kim—of TV’s Lost and Hawaii Five-0—has a wicked way with a one-liner. Also because Hwang is so proudly flaunting his dramaturgical transgression. But mostly because we have been laughing at DHH for the last 90 minutes. Not many writers would be willing to be the butt of so many jokes.

Saheem Ali directs a one-acter that only scratches the surface of the gentrification debate

But this is no standard-issue dysfunctional family drama; it’s also a meticulously crafted, emotion-packed memory play. With one rotation of Rob Howell’s spectacular towering set—anchored by a labyrinthian Escher-like staircase that seems to stretch to the sky—we’re back in 1955, in the Seaview Luxury Guesthouse and Spa, which is not luxurious and almost certainly doesn’t have a spa. Hills toggles between decades with ease—a credit to director Sam Mendes, whose particular gift is taking sprawling stories (see: Butterworth’s The Ferryman; The Lehman Trilogy) and making them feel intimate.

There are a couple twists—one involves a rather questionable Walmart purchase—that push The Roommate from realistic into far-fetched territory. One, unfortunately, is the ending. Again, no spoilers, but it’s a moment for Sharon that should be brimming with possibility, not hampered by implausibility.

There’s an intriguing push-pull to Friedlich’s script: Jane needs Loyd to give her the all-clear; at the same time, this overachieving zillennial techie clearly resents needing the approval of some Boomer with an earring who probably couldn’t program an Apple Watch. Lemmon and Friedman (Succession alum alert!), who have been with Job from the start, are terrific, especially in the drama’s most emotionally combative moments. But things go awry after a late-in-the-game twist that pushes the bounds of plausibility attempts (unsuccessfully) to move the play into psychological thriller territory.

There’s really no main character in Empire, but they all have songs. If you have a name, you get a song! Musically, Sherman and Hull were clearly inspired by Kander and Ebb; lyrically, they seem to be influenced by Hallmark and Successories. “We get to love the greatest love/ We get to climb the highest heights”: That’s from “Nothing Comes for Free,” the American Idol–ready ballad for star-crossed lovers Rudy Shaw (Kabeary), a Mohawk woman, and Joe Pakulski (Devin Cortez), a white man. “My whole life I gave my all/ Now my back’s against the wall”: That’s from “Al’s Moxie”—not to be confused with “Moxie,” an earlier song—sung by Wally’s boss, ex–New York Governor Al Smith (Paul Salvatoriello, who’d be aces in a revival of Fiorello!). In “Lookahee,” a cringe-fest in which all the newsboy cap–clad laborers—ethnic stereotypes, every last one of them—show off their pickup skills, there’s “I can make you smile like the Mona Lisa”; is that supposed to be a compliment…or just a clumsy setup for a rhyme about the tower of Pisa? And in Sylvie and Wally’s “We Were Here”: “The risks of those who came before us were taken out of love/ To give us all a future, they still guide us from above.” A phrase better suited to an inscription than an incantation.

There’s really no main character in Empire, but they all have songs. If you have a name, you get a song! Musically, Sherman and Hull were clearly inspired by Kander and Ebb; lyrically, they seem to be influenced by Hallmark and Successories. “We get to love the greatest love/ We get to climb the highest heights”: That’s from “Nothing Comes for Free,” the American Idol–ready ballad for star-crossed lovers Rudy Shaw (Kabeary), a Mohawk woman, and Joe Pakulski (Devin Cortez), a white man. “My whole life I gave my all/ Now my back’s against the wall”: That’s from “Al’s Moxie”—not to be confused with “Moxie,” an earlier song—sung by Wally’s boss, ex–New York Governor Al Smith (Paul Salvatoriello, who’d be aces in a revival of Fiorello!). In “Lookahee,” a cringe-fest in which all the newsboy cap–clad laborers—ethnic stereotypes, every last one of them—show off their pickup skills, there’s “I can make you smile like the Mona Lisa”; is that supposed to be a compliment…or just a clumsy setup for a rhyme about the tower of Pisa? And in Sylvie and Wally’s “We Were Here”: “The risks of those who came before us were taken out of love/ To give us all a future, they still guide us from above.” A phrase better suited to an inscription than an incantation.

If you’re familiar with Maslany only from her Emmy-winning multi-character turn in BBC America’s Orphan Black, or on Broadway in Ivo van Hove’s video-powered Network or last season’s eccentric thriller Grey House, it’s a thrill to see her in the intimate black box Connelly Theater Upstairs. Even attendees in the back row will be able to see the tears in her eyes and the clenching of her jaw. She’s an absolute marvel.

The hottest club in New York City right now is downtown Manhattan’s Perelman Performing Arts Center, home to a must-see musical revival you never knew you needed of the show you swore you’d never see again—especially after Tom Hooper’s legendary misfire of a movie: Cats.

The hottest club in New York City right now is downtown Manhattan’s Perelman Performing Arts Center, home to a must-see musical revival you never knew you needed of the show you swore you’d never see again—especially after Tom Hooper’s legendary misfire of a movie: Cats.

There are a few bumps on the road to happily ever after; in fact, Winters doesn’t wrap everything up that neatly. But Alfonso and Lucy do dance in the final scene—and as we know from any good Shakespearean comedy, end-of-play dancing pretty much equals a happy ending.

Last summer we had the Jack Serio–directed Uncle Vanya in a postage stamp–size private Flatiron loft that seated about 40 people per performance. Now we’re getting Lila Neugebauer’s Uncle Vanya in the ludicrously capacious 1,100-seat Vivian Beaumont Theater. Sometimes, and this is one of those times, bigger does not mean better.

If only all of Keys’ songs fit so easily into Kristoffer Diaz’s libretto. The biggest head-scratcher: “Pawn It All,” sung by an angry Jersey to Ali’s dad, Davis (the velvet-voiced Brandon Victor Dixon). Perhaps the creators simply wanted to give Bean a show-stopping song—as well as something for her character to do besides pour water, chop vegetables, and serve dinner. But bursting into her ex’s audition at a nightclub and throwing all of her jewelry at the booker? And why is Bean closing her eyes and belting like she’s onstage at 54 Below?

But Frecknall smartly blurs the lines. All we’re really sure of is that we’re in Weimar-era Berlin. When the Emcee sings the echoey, haunting Aryan anthem “Tomorrow Belongs to Me,” he’s wandering through some kind of dreamland populated by wooden doll-size white men. In “Maybe This Time,” while Sally imagines another life for herself—“Not a loser anymore/ Like the last time and the time before,” she sings—she’s technically in Cliff’s room, but she’s also in some other liminal space. (The self-searching songs, “Maybe This Time” and “Cabaret,” are Rankin’s most powerful numbers.) At the end of “What Would You Do?,” Fraulein Schneider is singing atop a platform in the middle of the stage. The lamps on the tables are lit—like we’re in the club watching a performance, not the devastation of a woman who’s just traded her happiness to guarantee her survival.

A three-hour play about an unnamed 1970s band recording an album, set entirely in the recording studio: That’s, essentially, the elevator pitch for Stereophonic, which just opened on Broadway after a sold-out 10-week run at Playwrights Horizons in late 2023. But that doesn’t even begin to describe the genius on display at the Golden Theatre.

Liza Birkenmeier’s Obie Award–winning play paints a gorgeously impressionistic picture of a group of acquaintances in loneliness, contemplation, and despair.

The night I attended, during that scene, as has now been widely reported, three separate climate-change protesters popped up within the audience, their unifying cry being “no theater on a dead planet.” Part of the show, or actual protest? (We eventually realized it was not part of the show.) Their mid–mob scene timing was impeccable, and thankfully, didn’t destroy the mood. Strong—a seasoned stage actor whose credits include David Ives’ New Jerusalem, Theresa Rebeck’s Our House, and, most memorably, Amy Herzog’s The Great God Pan, in which he played a journalist delving into dark childhood memories—didn’t break character for a moment; after all, Thomas, a scientist himself, probably would be curious about the science behind it all.

If you’re a Shakespeare lover, All the Devils Are Here is a must-see. If you’re someone who appreciates Shakespeare but sometimes doesn’t fully absorb the text or the themes, trust me—this is an absolute must-see. It’s also pretty much made for high school English classes and drama departments—the very definition of edutainment. With any luck, it will be filmed for streaming, as the original 2021 Shakespeare Theatre Co. production was, so kids across the country can watch Page in action. If you’re wondering how to get someone interested in Shakespeare, this, my friends, is it.

Mayer knows the tone to strike: shrewd, sentimental, and‚ yes, sincere. There's no other way to bring across the beautifully unadorned lyrics, and wistful melody, to Audrey's suburban-fantasy ballad, 'Somewhere That's Green': 'A matchbox of our own/ A fence of real chain link/ A grill out on the patio/ Disposal in the sink/ A washer and a drier and/ An ironing machine/ In a tract house that we share/ Somewhere that's green.':

This production might not be overflowing with tension, but Shanley’s text rings truer than ever. He packs more into 90 minutes than most playwrights do into 150. (This season’s revival of his Danny and the Deep Blue Sea and premiere of his Brooklyn Laundry are proof.) And while he may not provide any answers, he’s trusting enough that we’ll figure it out for ourselves.

This production might not be overflowing with tension, but Shanley’s text rings truer than ever. He packs more into 90 minutes than most playwrights do into 150. (This season’s revival of his Danny and the Deep Blue Sea and premiere of his Brooklyn Laundry are proof.) And while he may not provide any answers, he’s trusting enough that we’ll figure it out for ourselves.

But after watching Nixon playing such weak-willed (but well-dressed) TV women—Miranda on And Just Like That… and Ada on The Gilded Age—it’s a thrill to see her as the uncompromising Miriam. Incidentally, it’s been seven years since her last New York City stage appearance (The Little Foxes). Let’s hope she doesn’t, well, disappear for so long next time.

If Jacobs-Jenkins has the answers (and one suspects he does), he’s not sharing them. He’s savvy—and gutsy—enough to let his audience decide. In a way, Appropriate is his most traditional play, a deliberate homage to such playwrights as Tennessee Williams, Eugene O’Neill, and Tracy Letts, who create the best, most completely unhinged characters. Since the play’s 2014 off-Broadway premiere at Signature Theatre, we’ve seen, among other works, his daring deconstructive Dion Boucicault riff An Octoroon, the modern-day morality play Everybody, and the post-pandemic millennial Big Chill–esque The Comeuppance. Yet it took an epic dysfunctional-family drama in order for Jacobs-Jenkins to finally find his way to Broadway. Seems appropriate, no?