Michael Dale

Don't expect a rousing 'Rainy Day Woman'/'Blowin' In The Wind'/'Mr. Tambourine Man' dance mega-mix finale climaxing this somber, touching production that originated at London's Old Vic before crossing over to The Public in October of 2018. And unless you're a Dylan aficionado, don't even expect to be very familiar with most of the words and melodies you'll hear performed quite beautifully by the wondrous ensemble of actor/singers, most of whom are now repeating their Off-Broadway performances at the Belasco. Do expect to be fully engaged in what is truly a thoughtful and compelling collaboration between two master storytellers.

The revival of West Side Story that opened tonight on Broadway is being touted as a 21st Century reinvention of the musical, with director Ivo van Hove discussing in interviews the random senselessness of racism and violence, disregarding how the material so specifically reflected the era it came from. While new artists should be encouraged to interpret older plays and musicals differently from their predecessors, especially a piece like West Side Story which, through its Broadway revivals and extremely popular film version, has been tied to visuals invented by Robbins (the snapping fingers, the balletic interpretation of violence), there is such a thing as having fresh concepts clash with the material, diluting its effectiveness.

In her Broadway debut, playwright Bess Wohl nails the genre beautifully with Grand Horizons, which, with an expert cast perfectly guided by Leigh Silverman's directorial hand, provides two hours of solid laughs (including some pretty high peaks of riotous guffaws) while quizzically pondering issues of love and marriage.

When a soldier in the United States Army, just before the final surge of World War II, is found shot to death in the Louisiana town where he's stationed, the immediate assumption is that one or more of the locals committed the murder. That's because the soldier in question is African-American, a member of the army's segregated unit, and the thought of black men defending our country was regarded as an outrage by many whites, particularly in the deep south.

On paper, the script of My Name is Lucy Barton is merely 36 pages long, and it reads nicely as a short story. Linney's performance is fine, but, as solo pieces go, the assignment doesn't appear especially demanding. New York is famous for being a city where people arrive to disconnect from their upbringing to reinvent themselves, and those who have escaped from a world where they don't fit the norm may find themselves better connected to this play.

Paulus, who has one of the strongest directorial hands working today, does her usual fine work of presenting vivid pictures, the one misstep being an out of place gag involving a character's exit through the audience. Tom Kitt's orchestrations expand Morissette's indie sound into something more theatre-textured. No doubt Jagged Little Pill will excite fans whose prime interest is to hear a beloved song catalogue performed by terrific Broadway singers. If Alanis Morissette ever decides to write an original musical score for the stage, the news will excite this theatregoer as well.

While much of the text may be new, the production leans on the traditional side, and attractively so. As audience members enter, music director Michael Gacetta's accordion and string ensemble play holiday favorites while cast members roam about the house offering guests clementines or packaged cookies.

This reviewer will not pretend to have the literary knowledge, nor the first-hand experience, to fully grasp and explain the various nuances that will be recognized by others who witness The Inheritance, but will vouch for the exhilarating emotional clout that's in store for empathetic outliers.

This reviewer, who came in with just a passing familiarity with Tina Turner's career, was impressed with the overall slick professionalism of a production that aggressively entertains while telling its story with humor and dramatic finesse. My guest, a passionate Tina Turner fan, seemed overwhelmed with joy. We both can't wait to see what Adrienne Warren has in store next.

While this neophyte to David Byrne's work found American Utopia to be an entertaining, sometimes moving, change of pace from his typical Broadway assignments, he'll defer to his Byrne-loving theatre companion who found the evening absolutely thrilling. Judging from the audience's response, she wasn't alone.

'Beyond her somewhat forgiving brown eyes,' the subject of Adam Rapp's quietly riveting character study, The Sound Inside says of herself, 'your narrator could be described as unremarkable. In that thorny subjective bureau of classification known as the Looks Department, if she's being brutally honest with herself, she'd say she's perhaps four or five degrees beyond mediocre, also known as 'sneakily attractive.' She is the equivalent of a collectible plate mounted to a wall.'

The casting of Marisa Tomei, an accomplished stage actor who is no stranger to finding authentic humanity in a quirkily altered reality (i.e., her last two New York turns in Sarah Ruhl's HOW TO TRANSCEND A HAPPY MARRIAGE and, oddly enough, Will Eno's THE REALISTIC JONESES), is the first. But this ain't no Streetcar or Glass Menagerie. The Rose Tattoo, Williams' 1951 offering which is returning to Broadway for the third time by way of a production that originated three summers ago at Williamstown Theatre Festival, is about as close as the playwright ever came to romantic comedy, and director, star and a very strong ensemble cast bring out the operatic flourishes of sorrow. joy, and even a little madness, in this tale of a grief-stricken Sicilian immigrant widow living on the Gulf Coast who finds fulfilling passion once again.

If there ever was a demand for greater representation on Broadway stages for straight, single, cisgender white guys in their 50s who are insensitive to the women they manage to date and have sex with, Tracy Letts' Linda Vista would surely fill the void. A sort of 21st Century toxic male take on Paddy Chayefsky's classic 'Marty', Letts' new one has its funny moments, and maybe even a bit of poignancy here and there, but is it worth spending nearly three hours watching some full-of-himself average lug continually screw up his romantic opportunities?

But one point must be made specifically and clearly. Slave Play ventures into subject matter the likes of which this playgoer has never seen presented on Broadway, and does so in a bold, even outlandish manner that should be admired and welcomed. This older straight white critic won't claim to get everything the 30-year-old gay African-American playwright is saying, but if voices like his -- those that have long been nurtured and developed by non-profit Off-Broadway -- can be commercially accepted on Broadway, the fabled boulevard can advance just a little closer to truly being the artistic center of American theatre.

Watching someone churn out rhyming verse solo is impressive enough, but these extended sequences really bring out the teamwork and trust involved. It's a joy to watch them feed off of each other so effectively you'd swear there was mind-reading involved. And, because everyone's cell phone is required to be kept in a locked pouch upon entering the auditorium (you take it with you to your seat) there's the added pleasure of not being disrupted by ringing or texting throughout the performance.

HE GREAT SOCIETY is a good play, and a fine history lesson, but it appears sluggish when compared with its predecessor. With four years to cover, and the complex issue of how the seemingly uncontrollably escalating Vietnam War is getting in the way of developing domestic programs such as Medicare and Urban Renewal, the play hops from issue to issue with supporting characters doing little more than making guest appearances.

At its best, THE HEIGHT OF THE STORM, sensitively touches on the subject of surviving spouses of decades-long marriages reacting to permanent separation, be it by death or by mental deterioration. The two stars are quite touching together, and if the play sags as drama, it succeeds in showcasing a pair of brilliant stage actors.

What I will say is that it's very enjoyable evening with a very personable and wry-humored performer based around the notion that someone skilled in the power of suggestion can use vocal inflections, word usage and flat-out distraction to influence behavior. One can also use powers of observation to notice clues that can strongly suggest what someone is thinking.

The verbal thrills of Pinter's text arise from the fact that his characters are educated, literary people, well versed in the power of words - and the silences in between them - to attack and humiliate. But what is also revealed by the tightly wound ensemble under Lloyd's guidance is that, despite the play's title, this is also a romantic tragedy, though one played out with carefully restrained emotions. One person's act of Betrayal can be another's act of uncontrolled desire.

'I thought it was a gradual slope,' Alex explains, while describing his first scuba diving experience, unprepared for the sight of how the ocean's floor just suddenly drops down hundreds of feet. That sudden, terrifying shift is an apt bit of symbolism for the first of two extraordinarily touching and achingly human monologues that comprise Sea Wall / A Life, a beautifully acted double-bill directed with delicate sensitivity by Carrie Cracknell.

Of course, inserting the pop hits into the period Parisian setting is the whole point of the venture, and Moulin Rouge! is certain to do very well at the box office without pleasing this reviewer's desire for an integrated score that would help the excellent company of actors achieve more fully-realized performances. There are certainly worse ways to spend and evening than with a musical so visually gorgeous and vibrantly performed.

Director Arin Arbus' production, which handily deals with the 1987 piece's moments that might cause uneasiness with contemporary audiences, floats lovingly across the Broadhurst stage as co-stars Audra McDonald and Michael Shannonskillfully explore the delicate details of the many ways we may choose to expose ourselves to one another.

Bertie Carvel repeats his Olivier-awarded performance as the Australian mogul-to-be in director Rupert Goold's tense and slickly-paced production that originated at London's Almeida Theatre and transferred to the West End. He and co-star Jonny Lee Miller, playing the exploitative editor, lead a terrific ensemble of 18 actors, popping in and out of multiple roles as projection designer Jon Driscoll splashes headlines above them.

Following in the footsteps of NETWORK and TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, the musical comedy Tootsie continues this Broadway season's welcome trend of adapting classic, decades-old source material into brand new stage pieces that examine familiar stories through a contemporary lens. It's also a flat-out laff-riot from start to finish, featuring a cast packed with expert stage comedians landing bookwriter Robert Horn's archly-humored gags, enhanced by David Yazbek's muscularly-rhythmed jazz score that propels his attractively glib lyrics, occasionally giving way to sparklingly sincere poetics.

Contrasting with video designer Jeff Sugg's horrific clips of doomed airplanes plummeting to the ground, O'Brien's production is decidedly low-key. Letts' Joe is an unremarkable everyman, happy to retire comfortably. Bening's Kate, living in an era when wives don't have much choice in the matter, determinedly stands by her husband's claims of innocence, knowing that her personal future is dependent on his. Walker's Chris, whose wartime experiences may have instilled a greater empathy for others, is an earnest voice of emerging ideals.