Michael Musto — Theater Critic

It's thin stuff and difficult to pull off because a lot of the action happens offstage and is merely recounted, but this production has moments, while not really soaring into the absurdist yet warming stratosphere. Jim Parsons has the right earnest, bemused decency as Elwood, making you believe he believes while conversing with what looks like thin air. But Jessica Hecht is strange casting as Veta Louise. Hecht is an excellent actress, but she's best at sensible, analytical roles, not ones that call for being daftly flustered. (The pseudo aristocratic accent she goes for here sounds especially forced.) Fortunately, she--like the whole production--gets better in the second half, especially when she unravels while noticing, to her dismay, that her mother's portrait on the wall has been covered by one involving Harvey.

The Columnist, it turns out, is well written, nicely designed, talky, and a little bit dull. The whole show is Lithgow, who--in his gray suit, bow tie, and specs--gets to the heart of a man full of withering sarcasm, humor, jingoism, and rages. He's terrific. And I'm gladder than ever that I'm out of the closet.

In all of its shades, Emily Mann's production mines the rich humor in the play (yes, Williams wanted you to laugh a lot) while also going for a grounded, conversational approach that avoids hokey mannerisms...Mann takes [the cast] (and Daphne Rubin-Vega as the conflicted Stella and Wood Harris as the disillusioned Mitch) through a Streetcar whose straightforward approach deprives us of a central battle royale but whose admirable affection for the text still merits the kindness of strangers.

You wish they'd throw out the second half of the script and just keep rolling around and improvising. Still, Guvnors often has you hoarse from laughing, and allows you the rare chance to brag about seeing something extremely tony that also happens to be incredibly 'Benny'.

You wish they'd throw out the second half of the script and just keep rolling around and improvising. Still, Guvnors often has you hoarse from laughing, and allows you the rare chance to brag about seeing something extremely tony that also happens to be incredibly 'Benny'.

The comedy varies ('You like me! You really, really like me!' Ugh) and the switch to total earnestness at the end doesn't fly, but in digging into the roots of a familiar tale, Peter catches enough stardust, especially when it's at its most wicked.

So while Broadway's original Evita was more spectacular, innovative, and starry, this one has a bracing intimacy and vigor that makes you feel the truth is, she never left you.

By the end, you might feel this is over the top rather than over the rainbow, but you still admire the talent and chutzpah that never got away.

A couple of legends, some TV stars, a few Broadway types, and Giuliani's ex wife--all together in the original outing play. It's as mixed a bag as it sounds. It's the new production of The Best Man, which is as timely as ever, seeing as it's set at a convention where corruption and dirty politics hang over every word.

Not greatly altered since its New Jersey stint, this Disney Theatrical Production stage version of a cult movie is a cheerfully old-fashioned mix of a stirring story with a catchy score. And did I mention that the dancing by a terrific ensemble is mighty awesome? And then some!

Not greatly altered since its New Jersey stint, this Disney Theatrical Production stage version of a cult movie is a cheerfully old-fashioned mix of a stirring story with a catchy score. And did I mention that the dancing by a terrific ensemble is mighty awesome? And then some!

Like I said, it's not deep--and it sort of just ends--but it's zippy fun, and it's so expertly done, I might even write about it in the pape too. Extra! Extra! Newsies is a hit.

Like I said, it's not deep--and it sort of just ends--but it's zippy fun, and it's so expertly done, I might even write about it in the pape too. Extra! Extra! Newsies is a hit.

McAnuff's presented the show in a sleek, clean way that reduces gimmicks and makes it all move very quickly, while getting to the heart of the betrayed-icon rock operatics.

Philip Seymour Hoffman doesn't look the part of the 63-year-old salesman at the end of his rope, but he's not afraid to play the character's unsympathetic traits and he's poignant when Willy uncharacteristically realizes he's furthering his own destruction before diving right back into it. ... Yes, there have been better Salesmen, but this production is a solid reminder of the play's sturdy brilliance in dissecting the dark side of the American dream

At 84, [Harris] is at the top of her game in the revival of Athol Fugard's 1984 play The Road To Mecca, about an eccentric widow who lives among her concrete statues in a South African village where she's been ostracized and misunderstood. Harris is riveting, even when sitting still and absorbing the other two characters' thoughts. (And there are a lot of them.)

By the end, you've become intrigued enough by the sexuality complications stemming from the Doctor/David dynamic to almost forget the relative jumble that preceded it. Connick is especially touching as he's forced to confront the death of his various lady loves and move on.

Their evening strips classic musical theater down to the human element, allowing them to dabble in a couple of their showstoppers (particularly in Act Two), but more often to engage in some lovely interacting by digging into the meat of the music, stripped of the traditional flash and eagerness to please.

The truth about Seminar?' Well, the young writers' banter initially crackles, as they humorously toss around words like 'reductive,' 'associative connection,' and 'interiority.' But other times their language becomes surprisingly flat, with too many seminar-discussion utterances of 'I liked it' or 'It's good.'

Dancy's portrayal is handsome but the range of Arianda's fluent performance is astonishing. Arianda's heartbeat transitions between that dizzy Vanda and the elegant dominatrix she depicts are hilarious, even while her glinting eyes hint at a greater force lurking behind those characters. Talk about seductive stage magic: Arianda is one of those chameleons who looks homely at one moment and then gorgeous in the next. Phew. Where do I sign up for the fan club?

Her vehicle is not all smoothly entertaining--the play within a play is less riveting than the actor-versus-playwright dynamic, and without an intermission, it's a long sit--but for a pristinely acted literary sex comedy, it's hard to beat Venus In Fur, except with a stick.

But the show's switches from goofy to glum are as awkward as ever, and while the Jesus (the surfer-dude-looking Hunter Parrish from Weeds) has a silkily beautiful voice, he can't make the dramatic parts as profound as they want to be.

Baitz's initial banter is fun, but in Act Two dimensions are added and the play becomes Tennessee-Williams-like in its recriminations, revelations, and shifting loyalties, going beyond the scope of the usual 'Someone's spilling the beans' drama. As the rage boils to a head, the characters (two of whom love saying 'I know myself') find that they never really knew each other, and they're in for a few shocks that are well played by a cast of well-knowns.

There's a lot of talk in Chinglish and keeping up with it, while always looking to the subtitles, makes for a challenging evening. But it's refreshing to see a play that's so willing to communicate the truth about the potential trickiness involved in cross-cultural communication.

Is a serviceable Follies good enough? Yes, because the 1971 classic is such a rich, dark leap into regret, with a witty and poignant Sondheim score--and besides, the Eric Schaeffer-directed production rises to the occasion for Act Two. It's still Follies, and with its go-for-broke emotionalism, this production is definitely worth a visit before they tear down the Marriott and make it a parking lot.