Michael Sommers

A situation that does not develop its promise significantly, Five Models in Ruins, 1981 features plenty of period name-checking (Basquiat, Ungaro, Prince, Roxy Music, Parker-Bowles, “some girl named Madonna?” et alia), a dance party, a thunderstorm, and a protracted scene of caterwauling misery meant to be cathartic—and possibly even comical—but which mostly appears horrifying. It is difficult, frankly, to determine the author’s intentions because these sequences, the often terse, sporadically amusing conversations and several scenes of parallel action are poorly staged and erratically paced by Morgan Green, the director.

The final attraction of the 2024-2025 Broadway season, Dead Outlaw will remind theatergoers of Operation Mincemeat, the new British musical that likewise spins humorously around a corpse. Both based more or less in fact, they are odd shows performed by small ensembles evoking dozens of characters. The British musical may offer the stronger dramatic arc, but the American shaggy dog comicality of the Dead Outlaw story is strangely appealing.

Sporting mutton-chop whiskers in his dual role as Gilbert playing Major-General Stanley, David Hyde Pierce rattles through several patter numbers with perfect assurance and depicts the retired soldier with a befuddled dignity droll to behold. Robust and roguish as the Pirate King, Ramin Karimloo shows off his magnificent baritone and the gleaming chest from which it comes. Genial as Sullivan, Preston Truman Boyd amiably appears as the Sergeant of Police whose midnight gambols with the Stanley daughters and his tap-happy flatfoot platoon are highlights of the second act. Nicholas Barasch makes a perfectly ingenuous Frederic and sings the role handsomely opposite Samantha Williams’ flirtatious Mabel. Jinkx Monsoon ably cuts her good-natured Ruth along the mildly goofy lines of Andrea Martin, but gets stuck with one of Katisha’s arias from The Mikado reworked as a not so hot torch song; better had they simply given Ruth a new costume for act two. The members of the ensemble perform with fresh voices and considerable vitality. Finally, any child who witnesses David Hyde Pierce reel off “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General,” backed by the ensemble cheerily waving blue and white flags during the choruses, will either wake up screaming some night or will recall this sequence for the rest of their lives. Family audiences: Be warned.

Jordan’s splendid, angelically-pure voice, handsome all-American looks, and still boyish earnestness are perfectly suited to project this character... whose dream to achieve greatness twists into a phenomenon beyond his comprehension or in Floyd’s tragic case, beyond even his line of vision... Floyd Collins is a sorrowful musical drama that is illuminated by often beautiful music reflecting the story’s bluegrass and country & western environs... Although they may ultimately feel the show to be a terribly sad experience, they will not be at all disappointed by the touching performance here from the former star of The Great Gatsby.

These four servings of Churchill are staged extremely well by Macdonald in the varying styles they require. The ten-member company headed by O’Connell and Conlee very naturally enact tricky material. Excellent support is provided by the designers. Miriam Buether packs surprising angles in the scenery. Enver Chakartash fashions clothes that look true to character. Isabella Byrd creates lighting in many moods. Sound designer Bray Poor contributes subtle effects, bright music and clear reinforcement. With this inventive and cogent production of Churchill’s most recent plays, the Public Theater honors a remarkable writer whose mind-bending works have electrified its seasons on and off for nearly half a century.

Written farcically as a quasi-realistic cartoon, the showbiz shenanigans of Smash are meant to amuse, of course, but the unhappy complications of the script soon prove obvious and tiresome. A satirical plot thread mocking the taste of young, clueless influencers gets repetitious. Witnessing darling Ivy twist into a doped-out bitch is sad and doubly so since this crucial plot device dishonors Monroe’s legacy.

Midway through the tale as self-besotted Dorian plunges into a hedonistic rave of cocaine, disco music and fuchsia lighting, Snook raises on high a mobile phone and wildly whirls around the stage, grabbing selfies that light up all of the screens. The camera filters soon blow up Dorian’s features with grotesque lips and eyes; images initially comical and then growing monstrous, especially when projected across multiple surfaces. It is a disturbing, brilliant sequence reflecting the mad narcissism at the heart of the dark tale.

In Tommy, who cheerily proclaims “I’m independent as a hog on ice,” Childress paints a bold portrait of a confident Black woman who asserts she will always be “cussin’ and fightin’ and lookin’ out for my damn self ‘cause ain’ nobody else ‘round to do it, dontcha know.” Olivia Washington’s vital performance reveals Tommy’s sensitive nature glimmering beneath her brash manner. Grantham Coleman’s easy charm makes the rather insufferable Bill somewhat palatable. Brooks Brantly and Lakisha May neatly depict the superficial neighbors. Designer Dede Ayite dresses everybody with a keen eye, while Nikiya Mathis’ wig and hair design proves essential to Tommy’s character.

Extended silliness such as this musical escapade needs to be grounded in a few quiet minutes of genuine emotion, and ironically this moment occurs in Operation Mincemeat when a fake identity for the corpse is being forged. As an item to pack into the guy’s wallet, the starchy spinster Hannah volunteers to produce a letter from his girlfriend, which develops into the tender ballad 'Dear Bill.' As Hannah writes ever more intimate domestic details, it becomes clear she is addressing her own sweetheart who did not return from the Great War. Jak Malone’s simple, oh-so-touching rendition likely nabs him awards later this spring.

Giving authenticity to this latest jukebox show, notable Hispanic artists appear among the dozen musicians who grace a bandstand usually kept at center stage during the proceedings. They masterfully deliver variously swinging or sorrowful or sensual arrangements of vintage heartbreakers like 'Dos Gardenias' that illustrate and/or decorate a nostalgic, at times dramatic, storyline set mostly in mid-1950s Havana as the coming Cuban Revolution smolders. I am no authority on Afro-Cuban anything, but it is wonderfully easy to drown in the dreamy music lovingly being made by the artists who light up the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre.

The playwright, director Sam Yates, and scenic designer Rosanna Vize are credited along with the actor as co-creators of the production. Their fine contributions, plus James Farncombe’s shadowy and strategic lighting design, provide for a seamless staging that showcases Scott’s virtuosity. While Vanya ultimately turns out to be more about Andrew Scott’s performance than Anton Chekhov’s drama, it is unlikely that most spectators will mind.

Much of the play is serious in nature, but just like that heavenly apparition, funny moments sporadically occur. Not all of the elements and themes of The Great Privation meld, nor does the patchy story conclude so much as simply stop when the characters inexplicably erupt into a Shabooya sort of roll call chant that blends into the actors’ bows. Although the playwright cannot (or perhaps chooses not to) tie together its myriad parts, The Great Privation retains interest as an ambitious if not always compelling work. For better or worse, the play represents the kind of challenging composition from a fresh voice that audiences expect from Soho Rep.

As the story heads into its seemingly inevitable conclusion, the playwright and director, backed by their designers, summon up the spiritual gods of sumo in an attempt to ratchet earthly matters into a higher power of significance. Yet despite the crash course in mythology and sumo wrestling that began the play—or perhaps because such an information overload is hard to recall, let alone appreciate, more than two hours later—the climactic scene proves to be something of a fizzle.

Packing a nice surprise towards its conclusion, the play is crisply staged by Jack Serio, the director, within purposefully stark environs designed by the dots team that enable Stacey Derosier’s lovely lighting design to bridge continents and to overwhelm individuals in emotional shadows. Background sounds designed by Christopher Darbassie contribute to the production’s easy naturalness. Hunter’s conversational dialogue and Serio’s staging both invest Grangeville with a sense of forward movement even as much of its story recounts the characters’ past.

A Knock on the Roof is strong stuff. The well-written monologue’s repetitive motifs of packing and running propel both Mariam’s harried narrative and Ibraheem’s urgent performance. In depicting a seemingly frail young woman in baggy mom jeans and white running shoes who turns obsessive in her pursuit of safety, Ibraheem creates the voices of Mariam as well as her several loved ones. Possessing a rich, alto voice matching her dark-eyed looks, Ibraheem speaks with a Middle Eastern accent that may be challenging for some members of the audience to comprehend, likely depending on where they are seated at New York Theatre Workshop. (During certain passages of the performance, I was losing every fourth or fifth word.)

Although the actors mesh wonderfully as an ensemble, two artists offer exceptional performances. Anchoring the play as the school’s conciliatory though increasingly harried principal, Bill Irwin employs his eloquently craggy face and elastic body to melt down or freeze up in subliminal comical reactions to circumstances. So poignant in the pivotal role of Suzanne, a sweet, ardent social activist and mom, Jessica Hecht initially is very funny when blithely dealing out woke terms and then later, well, she breaks your heart. Both of these actors and the play and probably other elements of the production are likely to figure prominently in various theater awards come this spring. Certainly they bring great distinction to the current Broadway season.

While the psychology beneath the story may not be entirely sound, Trip Cullman, the director, effectively illuminates the poignant and ironic qualities that appear throughout Headland’s text. These beautifully sung carols, festive traditions and longstanding jokes (for instance, the lamb roasting in the oven always is pronounced by the Dahls as “lam-buh”) observed since childhood contrast against the grown-up siblings’ personal miseries today. Expect no satisfying resolution for these people, who for the most part remain stuck in the deep grooves of their upbringing.

Not a particularly subtle family drama, The Blood Quilt is overstuffed with content and its resolution seems a tad far-fetched in timing, frankly, but the playwright’s fine gift for natural conversation keeps things rolling along agreeably. If The Blood Quilt is not among Hall’s better plays, at least it is a pleasant work that provides good roles for actors. Observed at a preview last weekend, the production staged by Lileana Blain-Cruz had not completely flowered. The performances were all right, quite capable even, but that crucial emotional fusion that transforms actors into an ensemble, particularly when they’re depicting a family, had yet to happen. A climactic scene involving a ritual appeared more chaotic than meaningful.

Let’s be relatively brief because it’s mean to keep beating a dead duck like Tammy Faye, poor thing. A surprisingly flat-liner musical involving tunes from Elton John scarcely composing in top form and a sorrowful cartoony story about American TV evangelist Tammy Faye Bakker, the production that opened Thursday at the Palace Theatre does not promise to become a longtime Broadway attraction.

Lately there’s been audience complaint – if chat boards can be believed – how some recent Broadway musicals blast out hellishly loud, banging music. Maybe Happy Ending is surely the balm for any such feelings, since its sometimes jazz-inflected score is orchestrated gently for mostly strings, keyboard and woodwinds with exceptional grace by the composer.

Gatz is a once-in-a-lifetime event that will scarcely appeal to every taste, but it is likely to be an extraordinary experience for ardent lovers of novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald and The Great Gatsby, and for imaginative theatergoers willing and able to appreciate the atmospheric magic generated by this remarkable production.

The episodic play mostly follows a direct path as Harry and a small group of substance abusers experience their rocky eight-week journey towards sobriety. Harry addresses the audience directly at times to annotate the characters and their actions. Every so often between scenes, voiceover segments by recovered alcoholics share their stories, some humorous, others not.

Composed mostly in relatively terse exchanges that contrast against the reflective monologues, In the Amazon Warehouse Parking Lot achieves its power by evoking a miserable existence and observing the ways strangers are able to endure it by bonding in familial relationships. How these survivors are variously queer, trans or whatever in nature seems nearly beside the point of depicting the kindly, hardy humanity they share in the awful face of catastrophe.

Everybody knows he’s a fine actor, but who knew that Adam Driver could be so gosh-darned charming? Driver’s delightful performance as a showbiz superstar melting down in an existential crisis rockets Hold on to Me Darling into hot-ticket status at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, where its production opened on Wednesday. Already the show is said to be practically a sell-out for the remainder of its two-month run at the 299-seat Off Broadway house.

Opening on Thursday in the 99-seat Shiva space at the Public Theater, Deep History initially registers more like an absorbing illustrated lecture than a dramatic performance, as Finnigan reflects upon the ways humanity has somehow survived ice ages, volcanoes, plagues and other natural catastrophes. Finnigan vows to be “optimistic and constructive and forward looking” about how to successfully face up to dangerous climate change. “Survival is possible,” he asserts, scrawling that phrase in magic marker on a sheet of brown paper pinned to a board. Finnigan later adds another note, “Not everyone will make it.”