Robert Hofler

Wheeldon's approach is sophisticated, especially his decision to cast classically trained ballet dancers for his leads, Fairchild and Cope, both making their Broadway debuts. They're competent actors and singers, but when Fairchild dances he recalls the European tradition of classical ballet - unlike Gene Kelly, who recalls the all-American tradition of being a hoofer. Someone forgot to put the American in this 'Paris.'

For starters, watching these two plays...is nothing like reading the novels. In the latter, Mantel creates a magnificent panorama of Henry's England, but she doesn't always bother to introduce her characters or let you know who's speaking some of the time. The plays, on the other hand, are '16th Century England for Dummies,' even for Americans who think Thomas and Oliver Cromwell are one and the same. While Poulton is brilliant at disguising tons of exposition as genuine dialogue, 'Wolf Hall' takes a good 90 minutes and one intermission to settle into what might be called a good drama. The swirl of characters and incidents is so intense that watching 'Wolf Hall' turns theatergoing into grandiose scorekeeping...That shift of power from the Henry to Cromwell is when 'Wolf Hall' genuinely begins to fascinate...Miles...maintains an implacable façade regardless of what he's thinking, and that Miles rivets our attention for six hours makes his performance a masterclass in minimalist acting.

Refashioned for the 'High School Musical' generation, 'Gigi' has been scrubbed and polished so that its heroine is now sassy, headstrong, and spunkier than a barrel of Disney princesses. The one thing she's not is French, and, of course, there's nothing terribly risqué or even controversial about her situation anymore. As Gigi, Vanessa Hudgens sings and moves well and looks stunning, and if ever they get around to turning 'Pretty Woman' into a Broadway musical, she won't have to change a thing...That Gigi holds out for marriage and the greater security it provides, well, that's the real story of a modern material girl. Despite presenting such a newly ambivalent character, Clark emerges as the only actor on stage who evokes turn-of-the-century Paris...While Cott has a great singing voice, his tenor turns squealy when he shows much emotion, and at times he comes off more petulant than Gigi herself. Since it involves such a small directorial touch...couldn't Hudgens's all-American rambunctiousness been dialed back a bit?

Since Askins possesses such a warped sense of humor, he'll probably take this as a compliment, but by far the most interesting characters in 'Hand to God' are the puppets, not the humans. Except for Timothy, they aren't that vivid, although Stiles is outrageously droll when it comes to having her hand puppet Jolene service Tyrone...'Hand to God' is a good night in the theater, but it does not offer the consistently inspired insanity of Christopher Durang's 'Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike,' wherein all the characters rivet us with their individual madness. The big difference, of course, is that Durang is a veteran and Askins, at age 34, is making his Broadway debut. The theater of the absurd (or the ridiculous, the bizarre, or whatever it's being called today) is in good hands, and the mantle has been passed to very capable hands.

Nighy's performance is deliriously over the top, and the night's biggest laugh comes when Mulligan does a spot-on impersonation of her co-star

...Wasserstein clearly sees TV as a big sell-out for her lead character, a revered art historian teaching at Columbia University. So why has Pam MacKinnon directed most of the supporting players around Moss as if they're on a 1980's sitcom? This approach might have worked on Broadway years ago, but in 2015 cable TV turns out far edgier fare on a weekly basis than the theater, on or off Broadway...Moss succeeds in making Heidi's dilemma vivid and crucial, even though here's an art history major who gets tons of grants, can pick between teaching at Columbia or Carleton College, and is offered a TV gig that she never pitched and rejects because it's too insignificant in light of her research on female artists of the 18th Century...Wasserstein must have known she'd turned her heroine into a whiner...

The 1976 Broadway musical by Cy Coleman, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green needs stars to reach full locomotion speed. And the current Broadway revival, which opened Sunday at the American Airlines Theatre, has at least one in tip-top form, Kristin Chenoweth.

It's why Mirren and Morgan have to spend all of act two trying to reestablish some audience empathy with a figurehead who barely registers as a human being despite Mirren's valiant efforts to distract us with several quick-costume changes. If you've seen Mirren in 'The Queen,' also written by Morgan, there's no reason to see 'The Audience.' Princess Diana provides the dramatic conflict that drives the movie, and her presence is sorely missed in the play, where's there's absolutely no dramatic conflict.

Here and there, 'Honeymoon in Vegas,' the musical, is better than good, with most of the good being Jason Robert Brown's very plentiful score, which shows him in a much lighter, less ponderous mood than his work on 'Parade,' 'The Last Five Years,' and 'The Bridges of Madison County'...He's committed to writing a traditional Broadway comedy score, and he fully succeeds, offering up witty lyrics with the occasionally laugh-out-loud rhymes, as well as jaunty tunes, some of which are sly riffs on beloved standards...Sad to say, the show also needs some radical recasting. Smarm needs charm, and none of the three principals have the latter...McClure doesn't delight, he just grins manically. O'Malley delivers one good silent comic moment, playing Tommy's overly tanned dead wife, but as Betsy she is made up to look like one of the more desperate Housewives of Orange County, which pretty much sums up her approach to the role. Danza can't sing or dance, but he seems to be enjoying himself immensely on stage. It's a kind of charm.

At least Glenn Close is entertaining and fun to watch in the new, blunt revival of Edward Albee's 'A Delicate Balance'...Close has this way of turning her black-button eyes into tiny holes that don't so much see out as burrow their way into her skull...Her performance is also why this 'Delicate Balance,' directed by Pam Mackinnon, is blunt and unsubtle. And turning Agnes into an uncompromising gargoyle is only part of the monochromatic scheme at work here. Not entertaining and fun are Plimpton's merely loud Julia and Duncan's monotonous Claire, a performance that exposes a serious flaw in Albee's play: Claire, besides being clairvoyant and delivering a few amusing wisecracks, serves no function in act three...Back in the 1960s, Albee was accused of turning his female characters into harridans. Mackinnon's work with these three actresses, unfortunately, makes that case...Lithgow and Balaban give some semblance of playing human beings. Lithgow's delivery of Tobias' famous cat speech is especially multi-faceted.

Condon shows musical-theater veterans how it's supposed to be done...Back in 1998, the Tonys nominated the two actors playing Daisy and Violet, but gave them only one nomination to share. It's a credit to Condon, Davie, and Padgett that the Tonys probably won't repeat that mistake; these are two utterly different, equally riveting performances, and Davie and Padgett take divergent paths to win our empathy...Henry Krieger's songs, a few of them new, never sounded this good...Krieger's plaintive melodies now have their own space in which to shimmer. Not fixed, unfortunately, are some of Russell's more pedestrian lyrics, which bring ordinary rhymes to some very extraordinary emotions. But those looking for perfection in the arts should stay home and read Yeats. 'Side Show' now takes its place in the pantheon of great American musicals.

Jackman's performance is credible, which is an immense accomplishment considering the perky twin cheerleaders, Jumbo and Donnelly, who play his love interests here, under Ian Rickson's direction. Their portentous talk weighs down the fragile twist in the story, and in the end, the never-resolved mystery isn't so much ambiguous as it is 'trickery,' Butterworth's word for the art of fly-fishing.

Gyllenhaal...absolutely grounds 'The Real Thing,' making Annie's arguments every bit as convincing as Henry's. McGregor walks on stage as if in a comedy by Noel Coward, with the style and grace to play Coward as well. He's almost flighty in his goodwill and quick repartee, and it's soon obvious that he's using his intellect to distance himself from what he really feels. It's an interpretation that's immensely entertainment, but one that might fail if not for Gyllenhaal, who always brings his character's exhilarating, often eccentric, verbal flights back to earth...Meanwhile, the world around them on stage is sometimes a bit off kilter -- and not always in a good way...Gold's directorial flourish isn't lethal, but it gets the play off to a bumpy start...This revival isn't perfect, but McGregor and Gyllenhaal are definitely The Real Thing.

The theater might not have entertained such a party gone bad since George and Martha invited Nick and Honey over for drinks in 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?'...Akhtar comes at every question with guns firing from all four corners. Two minutes into the dinner party, his ethnic construct doesn't seem contrived. It recedes, the Indian -- and African American characters turn out to be the foursomes' bona fide conservatives, and soon there's much more violence on stage than ever entered the heads of George, Martha, and guests. But, and this is a significant 'but,' there's another 30 minutes to 'Disgraced.' Akhtar brackets his dinner party from the Ninth Circle with scenes between Amir and his nephew (Danny Ashok)...It's baffling and more than a little unsatisfying to have a minor character undergo the play's greatest metamorphosis and to do so offstage when the major characters are fighting it out onstage.

In 'The Last Ship,' director Joe Mantello gives us one scene in which workmen stomp around (intense choreography by Steven Hoggett) and brandish blowtorches (big sparklers, actually) that literally scorch the air around them. But nothing really happens. Eventually, something like a ship is vaguely indicated when the stage rises, everybody jumps aboard singing, there's light from heaven, and a tsunami of sound envelopes us. It's all as visually stunning and earsplitting as Mantello's staging of 'Defying Gravity' in 'Wicked.'

Rando brings a whimsical irreverence to everything he directs, often with a healthy dollop of vulgarity, and for 'On the Town' he doesn't stint on emphasizing the randiness of the New York City streets during World War II. And that's just the broads, as they say in the Navy!...Beowulf Boritt's set and projection designs are sparse yet expansive; they tantalize with the visual suggestion that the vast stage is always about to be filled with dancers, great dancers. The 1,800-seat Lyric Theatre is never kind to comedy; its cavernous space eats up the laughter, but Rando brings the action downstage and into the auditorium as often as possible, and as soon as the chorus breaks into dance the theater bursts with contagious energy. The new Lyric Theatre, something of a white elephant, works for the first time in its short history on 42nd Street...Whenever Comden and Green's book begins to sag, there's another great ballet, not to mention Bernstein's music, just waiting around the corner.

If only it were a better play...A lot has changed on Broadway in 30 years, but for McNally it all comes down to changing not much more than a few tons of famous names. McNally doesn't just drop names -- he stomps on them, too...These put-downs comprise act one. In act two, the characters take turn reading the bad reviews. Brantley takes more jabs, but frankly, his New York Times reviews are much funnier than McNally's imitations. Many of the jokes would fail if not for Lane, Broderick and their savvy director, Jack O'Brien...Somehow the vet actors deliver and the new talent keeps coming, and it's nice to report that this revival offers not one, but two, spectacular Broadway debuts.

It's also not a good idea to have your wisest character reprimand another character for 'sounding like a Lifetime movie' when, in fact, Margulies turns his second act into a Lifetime movie...After Danner's playing good cop to Robert De Niro's bad cop in all those 'Focker' movies, it's fun to see her let go with a bad-momma character. Actually, Anna's not even a bad mom; rather, she's just a little chilly. And Danner plays chilly with real panache...'The Country House' is actually two plays: the sentimental drama of the second act, and the sitcom comedy of the first act. No wonder director Daniel Sullivan can't make sense of it. He has no choice but to open the play with broad performances to replicate what's happening in the cute twists of the overly complicated plot.

'We don't associate Jones with comedy, but he displays the lightest touch here (unlike the sodden Lionel Barrymore in the film). Has the word 'pixilated' ever been used to describe a basso profondo? Jones at times gives the impression of a two-ton hummingbird, and he appears to float whenever he opens his mouth... The great character actors of Hollywood's golden age have nothing over these legit troupers, well known to New York audiences, and that includes the always rollicking Kristine Nielsen, Annaleigh Ashford, Reg Rogers, and Julie Halston, who chews every step as she crawls up designer David Rockwell's magnificent staircase.

Aside from being prescient, Gurney is not a subtle playwright. Melissa and Andrew's childhood exchanges are as cute as they are dull...She's born rich, he services the rich. So what's their problem? Unlike Farrow, Dennehy doesn't affect a kid-like sing song voice for his early readings. But this actor could read the phone book and be engaging. Instead, he's performing 'Love Letters,' so we don't have a choice. Farrow has the far juicier part...Farrow gets to show evidence of alcoholism, substance abuse, artistic failure, and the pressures of being the Other Woman to a well-known politician. Gurney may have written a caricature, but Farrow colors it with a heartfelt performance...Hopefully Farrow's month-long stint in 'Love Letters' leads to future Broadway assignments.

As with the nearby 'Rocky,' the best thing about 'Holler' is the new seating configuration, which is startlingly effective in giving us a predatory hawk's eye view of the bleak street scene below. Otherwise, this show keeps falling prey to almost every cliché that has made the jukebox musical such a maligned genre in the theater. It's not just that Todd Kreidler's book can't match the power of Shakur's stark and bracing poetry. Kreidler keeps subverting those lyrics with a storyline that makes a contradictory mess of its principal characters. 'Holler' is not a travesty like the super-successful 'Mamma Mia!,' where only the first line of every Abba song refers to the action at hand and the rest of the lyrics go on their merry, aimless way. But all too often, Shakur's lyrics only comment on the emotional content of the characters' lives. As with most jukebox musicals, the lyrics rarely further the action. Which leaves Kreidler's book with way too much explaining to do.

With this 2014 'Cabaret,' audiences will come to see Fraulein Schneider and Herr Schultz, and that's the big change with Mendes and Marshall's remounting...At Studio 54, Linda Emond and Danny Burstein take the middle-aged Schneider and Schultz and turn them into mature star-crossed lovers whose hearts beat more passionately than any teenagers' ever could...Michelle Williams also begins well, as the third-rate chanteuse who will never graduate from the Kit Kat Klub...One thing is clear: This Sally will do anything to succeed, and as cookies go she's too tough to crack in the arms of any man, gay or straight...Alan Cumming is back in the role that Joel Grey made famous. Despite several returns to the Emcee, Grey always remained a nasty little imp. Cumming, on the other hand, is now giving a self-referential performance that softens the character considerably.

In the Playbill, Fierstein tells us not to call his characters 'drag queens' or 'female impersonators.' And that's not the end of his sermonizing...From 'La Cage aux Folles' to 'Kinky Boots,' Fierstein has created some very sympathetic hero-victims. With 'Casa Valentina,' those victims are looking more pathetic than sympathetic. He's the master of the long, bigoted diatribe that helps make the audience feel superior but leaves the poor character who's the object of all this verbal abuse simply battered and abused. There's much more nuance in Joe Mantello's direction of his actors, although even he doesn't succeed in softening Fierstein's sledgehammer when, late in the play, a transvestite's daughter (Lisa Emery) arrives to tell off the owners of the Catskills resort.

Hedwig, lead singer of the Angry Inch, is forever telling people how he gets down on his knees to give thanks. 'Hedwig and the Angry Inch' opened Tuesday on Broadway at the Belasco Theatre, and its creators, John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask, should get down on their four knees to thank star Neil Patrick Harris and director Michael Mayer...Mayer might have kept a touch of that low-rent tawdriness, but no matter. He goes for the Ziggy Stardust/David Bowie glam that inspires Hedwig, and so turns Mitchell and Trask's little tuner into a big Broadway extravaganza that burns as hot as a bruised bottom after an especially rough night of S&M sex...And there is Harris, first and foremost. His voice is ideal for the three or four notes of Trask's songs. He's edgy, angry, bitchy and also very funny.

Since every other song is geared to bring down the house, it's a surprise the American Airlines Theatre still stands. Several spare but lovely melodies continue to run through Tesori's music; one thing that the original Violet had going for it was simplicity, and the composer didn't overreach with a big Rosa's Turn the way she did with the eleven o'clock numbers in her subsequent shows Caroline, or Change and Fun Home. Some of that unadorned lyrical beauty remains in Violet's ballads, nicely sung by Sutton Foster. She succeeds in not competing with the showbiz brashness surrounding her, although the actress's signature can-do spunk doesn't always jibe with Violet's self-image. Perhaps that little inconsistency doesn't matter. The generic hillbilly twang that everyone sports is just make believe. Give these country folks a song, and they can't help but turn into Broadway babies.