Naveen Kumar — Theater Critic

Not that anyone wants to think about the present day. The concept in “Schmigadoon!” of a literal portal through which to escape reality is undoubtedly part of its appeal. Even musical-theater haters would have to ask, why even bother trying to come back?

Not that anyone wants to think about the present day. The concept in “Schmigadoon!” of a literal portal through which to escape reality is undoubtedly part of its appeal. Even musical-theater haters would have to ask, why even bother trying to come back?

Miller’s traveling salesman is here something of a sad clown running out of gas. But like the handsome, burgundy Chevy that actually pulls up onstage (one curious anachronism among several), Lane doesn’t have the air of a beat-up workhorse. He is undoubtedly gifted and capable in the part: tender, forceful, and connected to the text. But his natural gentility is tough to dress down. It worked in his favor for his Tony-winning turn as the monstrous Roy Cohn in “Angels in America,” but buying him as an end-of-his-rope everyman taxes the imagination.

Miller’s traveling salesman is here something of a sad clown running out of gas. But like the handsome, burgundy Chevy that actually pulls up onstage (one curious anachronism among several), Lane doesn’t have the air of a beat-up workhorse. He is undoubtedly gifted and capable in the part: tender, forceful, and connected to the text. But his natural gentility is tough to dress down. It worked in his favor for his Tony-winning turn as the monstrous Roy Cohn in “Angels in America,” but buying him as an end-of-his-rope everyman taxes the imagination.

Fortunately, he’s been sprung from the giddy minds of his creators, including the comedian Amber Ruffin, and, as played by a terrifically unhinged Grey Henson, barrels his way through the campy musical wielding a stealth charisma. Doused in B-movie vibes and maximum goofiness by the director and choreographer Danny Mefford, his story is one of a humble and misunderstood outcast targeted by ignorance and greed. (“Awww!” would be the desired response from audiences at New York City Center Stage I, where the musical opened on Sunday.)

Fortunately, he’s been sprung from the giddy minds of his creators, including the comedian Amber Ruffin, and, as played by a terrifically unhinged Grey Henson, barrels his way through the campy musical wielding a stealth charisma. Doused in B-movie vibes and maximum goofiness by the director and choreographer Danny Mefford, his story is one of a humble and misunderstood outcast targeted by ignorance and greed. (“Awww!” would be the desired response from audiences at New York City Center Stage I, where the musical opened on Sunday.)

First, let’s keep Hanks’s co-star Kelli O’Hara above this fray where she belongs. As a wounded but warm and plucky divorcée, she is the lone lighthouse in this sea of slop. It’s easy to see why a few minutes with her character, as she kicks off her uncomfortable heels at the 1939 World’s Fair, would make a time-traveling man crazy to see her again. In fact, O’Hara’s delicate radiance in the role — and the devotion it inspires — is the only part of the story that makes sense.

What everyone is really here for are the handful of blow-your-hair-back, 1980s-style rock ballads sung by the love-triangulated leads. Whether or not you appreciate the outrageous decibels at which they are amplified here, the bangers are built to impress, with notes held for longer than most people can count in their heads.

In a way, “The Queen of Versailles” suitably mirrors Jackie’s extravagant unfinished estate: It, too, is an ostentatious token of excess that ultimately proves hollow. At least these particular horrors of capitalism potential ticket buyers have the option to escape.

But “Liberation” does more than appeal to resistance-frazzled nerves, an ameliorative quality it shares with last season’s “Good Night, and Good Luck,” the hit George Clooney vehicle about a free press holding the government to account. Wohl’s ensemble drama is a memory play about a social movement, full of arguments that will ring familiar to many. But it’s rooted in vibrant, complex characters who embody the individual stakes entangled behind efforts at solidarity.

Smart, returning to Broadway after some 25 years, brings astonishing clarity and depth to the part. Spinning an enticing yarn from shopworn material — the action is set in 1989, when it may have struck a modern tone — she delivers a performance that feels deceptively featherlight while demonstrating total command. She lends Izzy’s tin-eared poetry a soaring lyricism and Wax’s trope-heavy script the texture of a character study. Every expression feels alive, and the sum total is transfixing.

The non-musical show... is a chaotic fire hose of fan-service with enough sensory stimulation to make even the most experienced gamer want to puke just a little.

The non-musical show... is a chaotic fire hose of fan-service with enough sensory stimulation to make even the most experienced gamer want to puke just a little.

Fortunately, the new musicals built around their legacies are, first and foremost, splendid showcases for powerhouse performers. As the cartoon vixen sprung to life in “Boop!,” Jasmine Amy Rogers gives the most sensational star-making Broadway turn in years — funny, captivating, a total knockout. It would be impossible to take your eyes off her if the rest of the production, directed and choreographed with maximalist razzle-dazzle by Jerry Mitchell, weren’t such an eye-popping spectacle.

Fortunately, the new musicals built around their legacies are, first and foremost, splendid showcases for powerhouse performers. As the cartoon vixen sprung to life in “Boop!,” Jasmine Amy Rogers gives the most sensational star-making Broadway turn in years — funny, captivating, a total knockout. It would be impossible to take your eyes off her if the rest of the production, directed and choreographed with maximalist razzle-dazzle by Jerry Mitchell, weren’t such an eye-popping spectacle.

Fortunately, the new musicals built around their legacies are, first and foremost, splendid showcases for powerhouse performers. As the cartoon vixen sprung to life in “Boop!,” Jasmine Amy Rogers gives the most sensational star-making Broadway turn in years — funny, captivating, a total knockout. It would be impossible to take your eyes off her if the rest of the production, directed and choreographed with maximalist razzle-dazzle by Jerry Mitchell, weren’t such an eye-popping spectacle.

It pains me to say, as an admirer of thorny texts and risk-taking celebrities onstage, that “Othello” offers scant reward, even if your only sacrifice were time — and even that is arguably too precious. What does “Othello” have to say about “the near future,” where a projection at the outset places us? It’s a question that, by its own admission, the first Broadway revival in more than 40 years needs to contend with. But this staging from director Kenny Leon offers little provocation to suggest it’s even worth asking.

Rashad, a longtime Broadway performer and accomplished director, does excellent work with the actors and with navigating quicksilver vacillations in tone. Moments of real uncertainly — when it seems that just about anything could happen next — are a rare and wonderful feat. If a bit of patience is required in return, call it a fair trade.

Audiences of different ages crave different spins on love and death, and judging by the stage-door stampede following the buzzy Broadway revamp of “Romeo and Juliet,” young people are in a frenzy for tragedy. Or at least eager to catch a glimpse of stars Kit Connor and Rachel Zegler on the street. The enthusiasm is thrilling, even when it almost flattens you under foot. Unfortunately, the production’s rave-like, nihilistic drive does little to make up for its lack of clarity or a pulse.

Nicole Scherzinger’s radiance as Norma Desmond in “Sunset Blvd.” is difficult to overstate. She sings “As If We Never Said Goodbye,” an aching one-sided duet with fame, with such delicacy and gut-slugging power that even Barbra Streisand, who covered it the same year the musical came to Broadway in 1994, might consider retiring the song from her repertoire.

Nicole Scherzinger’s radiance as Norma Desmond in “Sunset Blvd.” is difficult to overstate. She sings “As If We Never Said Goodbye,” an aching one-sided duet with fame, with such delicacy and gut-slugging power that even Barbra Streisand, who covered it the same year the musical came to Broadway in 1994, might consider retiring the song from her repertoire.

Leon’s staging is lovely, but I found myself craving a daring challenge to the idea of convention rather than simply an inclusive version of it. Why should the picture of a “typical American life” remain so narrow? Why stuff it with more types of people rather than pull it apart? That’s a job for other storytellers — whose repudiation of norms will hopefully become the new one.

Perception, and who gets to control it, is at the heart of “Yellow Face,” which previously played off-Broadway’s Public Theater in 2007, also under the direction of Leigh Silverman. Hwang’s interest in setting the record straight can seem like an ego trip, and the staging, though pleasantly efficient, has a somewhat clinical feel. So many headlines appear in projection (designed by Yee Eun Nam) that occasionally the play reads like Hwang’s salvo in an ongoing beef with the New York Times.

But there’s a funny irony here: Celebrity vehicles about hot topics are proven Broadway cash cows, so isn’t “McNeal” itself the product of a predictive algorithm? Even if that’s some part of a meta point, the show is nevertheless a bloodless and convoluted mess.

Maybe that’s why Mendes’s production broods and thrums like it might suddenly turn into a Big Important Drama, or a potentially frightening one. The magnificent rotating set (by designer Rob Howell) features M.C. Escher-inspired stairways ascending as though into the great beyond. Deep, lingering shadows (lighting is by Natasha Chivers) and ominous swells of scoring (by composer and sound designer Nick Powell) drum up more intrigue than most of the story’s well-worn tropes. Even for a scene of imminent demise on the British coast, the dreariness is a bit overdone.