Michael Sommers

Shapiro directs her actors to play the comedy very truthfully but quickly on an impressive setting designed by Todd Rosenthal that rapidly flips between three different apartments. A metal staircase that zigzags towards the heavens, a vertical slice of Manhattan skyline and a vast, empty billboard frame looming above the action lends visual grandeur to a human comedy that some viewers are likely to recognize as being all too close to home.

A thoroughly professional endeavor, “Catch Me If You Can” is not the most brilliant or original musical ever to land on Broadway, but it confidently provides audiences with a tuneful diversion that flies along very agreeably.

Others perfectly in tune with the 1930s period include frisky John McMartin as a tipsy tycoon, a properly ripping Adam Godley as a British nobleman (who tears into “The Gypsy in Me” hilariously) and cutie-patootie Jessica Stone as the gun-moll who slays most of the crew. Speaking of whom, the ensemble is uniformly fleet in performance and sweet both to the eye and ear. Costume designer Martin Pakledinaz dresses everyone beautifully according to their characters and physical types. (Loved Reno’s perky halo hat worn when she boarded the boat!)

Depicting the philosophical tiger with grim humor, a gruff-voiced, soulful Williams submerges his bravura skills into the ensemble work of his fellow actors. Respectively playing the conflicted translator and increasingly cerebral Marine, Moayed and Fleischer unerringly chart their characters' evolutions. Titizian suavely portrays the amoral Uday's ghost - who totes his dead brother's head in a plastic bag - with a jaunty ferocity that's scary.

The featured players are good but their performances appear to be dialed down somewhat in deference to their star. John Larroquette makes an affable J.B. Biggley and Rose Hemingway looks pretty in pink as Rosemary. One wishes that Christopher J. Hanke provided a more eccentric spin on Frump but Tammy Blanchard’s relatively subtle turn as the helplessly sexy Hedy is sweeter than the usual vixen caricature. A droll Rob Bartlett is an endearing fellow both as a mailroom drudge and as a ranking tycoon.

The wonderful zest that everybody packs into their performances suggests that they love doing this brilliant show, and who can blame them? Let’s pray that the Messrs. Parker and Stone are dreaming up yet another original musical to brighten up dear old Broadway.

Devoted fans of John Leguizamo are likeliest to appreciate 'Ghetto Klown,' his latest solo piece, which opened Tuesday at the Lyceum Theater. As for everybody else, well, witnessing Leguizamo as he talks on and on - and on - for nearly two and a half hours regarding his well-known Latin-Queens roots and his spotty film career and his messy private life turns out to be an increasingly tiresome example of an egocentric actor getting so wrapped up in his lovely self that he forgets to be entertaining.

A wildly flashy musical version of a 1994 cult film, “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” sashayed into the Palace on Sunday, all fun, fantastic frocks and fabulousness – but not really all that much heart.

The revival’s design aspects are handsome – Donald Holder’s lighting nicely eases the transitions in time – while composer Corin Buckeridge’s piano music adds greatly to the show’s increasing wistfulness in mood. Keeping the play’s underlying emotions rather on the cool side, Leveaux grievously errs by usually pacing the conversations at a hasty clip. No doubt the director knows the play very well but he should not assume that American audiences can follow its British and Stoppardian intricacies quite so easily.

For all of their at times strenuous emoting, the actors cannot shout down the drama’s heavy creaking. Give “That Championship Season” another few decades to, well, season, and perhaps it will improve with further age. Unfortunately for now, it’s a former winner that should have stayed in retirement.

Designer John Lee Beatty’s sets include a church basement, Margie’s cluttered kitchen and a handsome arts-and-crafts style living room. Like everything else about Manhattan Theatre Club’s world premiere of “Good People,” Beatty’s artistry appears unassuming but is right on the money.

How lovely it must be to encounter this wonderful comedy for the first time - and in such a pleasant production as this one, which isn't flawless but certainly offers a nimble, clearly spoken rendering of the piece in pretty circumstances.

Wright furiously tears around as the flamboyant Jacques. Subtly depicting the fop's long-suffering servant Murmur, Mos also blazes for a bit as the fiery Toussaint.John McMartin wryly portrays a pragmatic Jefferson. Reg Rogers is very funny whether as Jacques' vengeful half-brother or the oily French diplomat Talleyrand. Veanne Cox and Peter Bartlettcomically contrast as aristocratic refugees upset by New Orleans' raffish society while Nicole Beharie is winsome as a spunky country girl who soon comes to love it. Paul Dano, Nick Mennelland Arnie Burton brightly materialize as various personages.

Her musical voice pitched low and conversationally, Rabe depicts a very smart Portia who's well aware of the princess image she needs to project in Belmont, which interestingly makes her later decision to masquerade as a young scholar seem natural. Portia's amused composure during the challenge scenes — nice to see Charles Kimbrough's cameo as an elderly dandy — turns flustered and deeply ardent when she encounters Bassanio.

No masterpiece but often a fun show, this cheerful old-school musical faithfully traces the film's saga of Buddy, a gangling 30-year-old reared by Santa's elves at the North Pole, who decides to find his father in far-off New York City.

From its Pledge of Allegiance opening to a typically moonstruck ending, 'The Pee-Wee Herman Show' is certain to blast 20-and-30-somethings back to their youth for their very first taste of nostalgia, complete with a 'Penny' cartoon in the middle. Newcomers to the Pee-wee cult are likely to be dumbfounded by it all, but fans of Reubens' whimsical artistry should expect a lot of dandy fun - infinity.

Spinning through the history of the civilized world in 75 clever minutes, Quinn claims society's bad habits today basically stem from our genetic pool. 'Our ancestors are not the people who starved to death waiting for their turn on line,' he says. Aside from adding some fancier visuals and making a few tweaks to the nicely-shaped text, Quinn and his smart director, Jerry Seinfeld, present the same entertaining show I reviewed last August.

A yummy confection of silly romantic comedy, seductive Latin music, alluring visuals and high-powered performances, 'Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown' is a musical comedy certain to amuse anyone craving frivolous, tuneful entertainment on Broadway.

The unerring expertise in writing, staging, design and performance that makes this show so exciting is a striking reminder how musicals crafted well in the classic Broadway style remain more satisfying than the newer rocky horror likes of 'Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson' and 'American Idiot' put together. 'The Scottsboro Boys' proves once again that the old school still rules.

Thankfully there is no attempt to tell a story. Every so often one of the musicians yells something like, 'Hey, New York, get on your feet — it's time to rock and roll!'

A 'little play' in that its emotions are understated and its brief scenes are mostly everyday situations, 'Driving Miss Daisy' could easily be overwhelmed by actors of such magnificence as Redgrave and Jones, but they unerringly provide honest and nicely-detailed performances that befit the modest story.

Swigging Pepto-Bismol, a handsomely grizzled Lauria looks very much like the squat, paunchy Lombardi and easily assumes the coach's thundering ways. Often very funny, yet poignant, Judith Light creates a wry, poker-faced Marie whose wisdom shines behind an alcoholic haze. Always a dynamic actor, Keith Nobbs lends McCormick a strong sense of urgency (plus a hard-edged Jersey accent that sure doesn't sound like Bergen County to my Oradell-bred ears). Easygoing Bill Dawes is very much a sporty golden boy as Paul Hornung, solidly backed by Chris Sullivan and Robert Christopher Riley respectively as teammates Jim Taylor and Dave Robinson.

The original Broadway production of 'La Bete' was an extremely stylish but fatally under-performed folly of a comedy that shut like a bad clam back in 1991. Believe me, I saw it (and smelled it). David Hirson's play returned on Thursday, still very much a folly as a piece of stagecraft, but now acted to much finer effect by Mark Rylance and a smart company at the Music Box Theatre.

Tall, dark and very handsome Benjamin Walker is beyond charismatic as Jackson, portraying him more like a rock idol than a crusty Presidential icon. A dozen other youngsters depict a hundred other folks while singing the blazes out Friedman's pulsating emo-cratic score banged out by a three-man band. Dear Kristine Nielsen drolly rolls around as the show's cozy narrator until she is gunned down by — well, you'll have to see 'BBAJ' to get the joke behind her murder. And to be reminded by the authors how the native population was systematically slaughtered during those glorious times by Jackson and other Americans expanding the nation's boundaries.

Wonderfully assured in manner — until later in the story when Robert begins to falter — the craggy-faced Stewart suggests a rather florid artiste of the old school, complete with rich, plummy, vocal accents. Bouncing with youthful energy as John, Knight displays a puppy-dog eagerness that turns more reserved as he matures. The actors' personal interplay backstage might be expressed more intimately than it is here, but apparently director Neil Pepe intends to keep this production on the lighter, brighter side.