Steven Suskin

Significant Other does not sound like a traditional Broadway comedy hit in the manner of-say-Neil Simon, given that the leading man is desperately seeking a man to love. But the play is about friendship and loneliness, neither of which have gone out of style; and the good-natured feelings just about spill over the footlights to envelop the audience. Mix Harmon's warm-hearted script with Glick's superb performance and the artfully flavorful assistance of Mendez and Barrie, and you've got an exceedingly winning Broadway comedy.

Gyllenhaal is very good; so good, in fact, that we needn't say 'very good for a movie actor.' George-James Lapine and Stephen Sondheim's musicalized version of the pointillist painter Georges Seurat-is an introverted and anti-social fellow, who seems to only find comfort when he is at canvas or sketchpad. Gyllenhaal, while properly self-absorbedly as he perennially tries to 'finish the hat,' gives George an inner gleam of vulnerability and sensitivity which is sometimes overlooked in the role. (Hidden in the script is the comment that the women 'all wanted him and hated him at the same time.') Gyllenhaal shows us this inner layer, which has not always been visible in past productions, and properly carries it over to the 20th century George in Chicago.

This free adaptation of an early and not-quite-finished student play by Chekhov is a homegrown effort from the Sydney Theatre Company, an indication of the sort of fiery work Upton and Blanchett (who have been married since 1997) did during their recently-ended term as co-artistic directors. Three of Upton's other STC adaptations-Hedda Gabler, Uncle Vanya and Genet's The Maids-have made brief New York visits, thanks to Blanchett's star-power. Her presence in The Present makes it an instant event on Broadway; but the play and production are more than worthy, thank you very much. What's more, the excellence of the entire acting company of thirteen makes it abundantly clear why the U.S. producers went to the expense of importing them from Australia.

The formerly promising young songwriters Pasek and Paul, who created an interesting score for Dogfight and a surprisingly accomplished one for the holiday show A Christmas Story, are promising no more; their talent is thoroughly realized with Dear Evan Hansen, one of the strongest scores in years. The songs are not merely tuneful and funny and touching; Pasek and Paul can plumb the inner depths of their characters and rip through emotions in words and music. And as contemporary as their new score is, it should be added that their three musicals have demonstrated that they are equally adept in varied musical theatre styles.

A Bronx Tale is unlikely to work without a strong performance in the central role of the gangster Sonny. (Palminteri played all the roles in the one-man show; he was Sonny in the film version.) Fortunately, Nick Cordero carries the musical with aplomb. This is the actor who appeared out of nowhere in 2014 and practically nabbed a Tony in the Woody Allen-Susan Stroman Bullets on Broadway, as the bodyguard Cheech. (Not incidentally, this role was created in Allen's 1994 film version by: Chazz Palminteri.) Last season Cordero appeared as the villain-of-a-husband in Waitress, a role with which he could not do much. In Bronx Tale, Cordero is smooth as glass with a jagged edge, with charm to spare.

This production, happily, fires on all cylinders. We can't exactly call the cast of twenty-one (plus bit player/understudies) an all-star cast; they are not, all, what we might consider stars. But they are comic all-stars, anyway. To say that Walter Burns-that iconic, hard-boiled city editor who set the mold for hard-boiled city editors on stage and screen for the last eighty-eight years-is played by Nathan Lane is to give you a pretty good idea of what director Jack O'Brien has in mind. No matter that Lane doesn't enter, in the flesh, until well into the evening; his presence permeates the play from the moment we hear him bellowing over a battered and bruised candlestick phone.

Oh, Hello is not a play, exactly; it is more of a personal appearance by the Messrs. Faizon & St. Greegland, who blithely refer to themselves as 'the orange pekoe teabag staining the countertop of American culture' and who 'were recipients of a 1997 restraining order keeping us 100 feet at all times away from America's greatest actor, Mr. Alan Alda, baby.' That's all you need to know. The evening also incorporates a haphazardly wispy play-within-a-play. The action is also filled out with altogether too much tuna, if you know what I mean; but I don't expect you will know what I mean unless you've seen the thing. And yes, there is too much tuna.

We now have a second Irving Berlin movie-turned-musical, this one derived from the 1942 'Holiday Inn,' which also starred Crosby (with Fred Astaire as his song-and-dance partner/rival). A decidedly better and more enjoyable film than 'White Christmas,' it is rather surprising to find that Holiday Inn-offered as the Roundabout's big fall musical-makes a decidedly weaker stage attraction.

This is an ambitious saga, and one which in other hands might likely be doomed to the 'good intentions' department. But the show has been devised, written and staged by Wolfe (director of Angels in America and Caroline, or Change) with choreography by Glover (who collaborated with Wolfe on Bring in 'da Noise, Bring in 'da Funk). Effortlessly avoiding the familiar or cliché, they have come up with a fascinating, colorfully grand entertainment.

Lange-who first played this role in an unrelated 2000 production in London-is matched by Michael Shannon, as the wastrel brother Jamie. Shannon (Bug, Killer Joe and the recently opened 'Elvis and Nixon') is one of those actors who seem incapable of giving a less-than-mesmerizing stage performance. O'Neill filled this role with despair, and Shannon serves it to us drink by drink. But Shannon and Lange, with a partial victory by Byrne, are not quite enough. John Gallagher, Jr.-a Tony-winner for Spring Awakening-simply doesn't work out as stand-in for the playwright. The wrong actor in the wrong production, he doesn't seem tortured, frail-with-consumption, or part of the family Tyrone whatsoever.

It shall be interesting to see whether Tuck can overcome its shortcomings and build itself into a hit; there are some who opine that this well-loved tale with an indomitable red-headed heroine will attract all those mothers & daughters who flock to Wicked. Perhaps it will, although it has a disadvantage of opening amidst a throng of late-season musicals. Another issue: if it's a rollicking, woodsy, folksy, down home, 18th century slice of Americana you want, you can find one a couple of blocks away at The Robber Bridegroom. With Steven Pasquale, charm galore, and a wildly more tuneful score.

The third item in Sara Bareilles' score is what might be Broadway's first song about an e.p.t.; that is, an early pregnancy test. This suggests, early on, that this new musical-with score, book, direction and choreography by a quartet of women-is going to offer a somewhat different take on things. Which wouldn't matter if the results were subpar; but they are above-par, considerably so. The key statement is not that Waitress is a musical from a team of women, but that Waitress is a good musical from a creative team who happen to be women. (Jeanine Tesori and Lisa Kron's Fun Home-with one of Broadway's finest scores of the last quarter century-has already established the fact that gender has nothing to do with musical theatre excellence.)

Langella keeps astonishing; and the passing years-he is now 78-only seem to deepen his power to draw us in and make us feel. In The Father, he adds something new to his well-honed arsenal of actorly skills. After lulling us into thinking, over the first hour of this ninety-minute play, that this is just another one of those excellent failing-old-men performances, the ground slips from under him (and us)-at which point the actor, and his audience, feel an altogether new kind of terror.

Chief among the pleasures of this revival are the leading players, who take the innately charming material and add their own personal magic. Amalia is a soprano's dream; Barbara Cook created the role, turning the big aria 'Ice Cream' into something of a standard for hard-singing heroines. (Cook originated not only 'Ice Cream' but Leonard Bernstein's 'Glitter and Be Gay' from Candide, two numbers that serve as something of a trial by fire for musical comedy leading ladies.) Here we have Ms. Benanti, who can match just about anyone in the vocal spotlight. What sends her performance over the top is her comedy skills; there is humor in the role, yes, but Benanti makes it downright funny. The bedroom scene, for instance (leading to 'Ice Cream'), plays like high comedy. Let it be added that the book by Joe Masteroff-who later turned his hand to Cabaret-works marvelously well.

I myself would not call Disaster! 'Broadway's biggest disaster ever!'...but it does, indeed, founder and sink kind of like cardboard in an overflowing street drain...The show comes from Seth Rudetsky, that ever-rambunctious jack-of-all-trades who most likely emits witty cracks, bell-shaped tones & campy lines in his sleep...Disaster! does make a musical, methinks; but it's one of those small-scale, tongue-in-cheek romps suited for a cabaret bar or way off-Broadway...The best parts of the evening come from the principal cast, who seem to be members of the Rudetsky B'way Circle on the one hand and nifty farceurs on the other...All have been known to carry shows on their own, and all herein chew their way through that cardboard scenery. They...make Disaster! watchable, at least.

The Academy Award-winning actor Forest Whitaker...is an actor we want to see and who's work we want to see. Unfortunately, he is now at the Booth playing Eugene O'Neill's stemwinding character Erie Smith, a character he hasn't been able to crack...Hughie--as the playwright suspected--is not quite workable as a stage piece. A character study, and a rich one; but not a satisfying play...Whitaker appears to have the thing properly memorized, and has developed something of the swagger of a washed-up small-time gambler. His rendition of Erie Smith, however, never begins to come alive.

Apologies are in order, yes. Here we have another geriatric comedy--of the genre popularly known as 'the Linda Lavin play'--pleasantly steaming along, courtesy of heavy lifting by Linda Lavin herself. Suddenly, a big mystery emerges; without said big mystery, there'd be little upon which to build the second act. To wit: the fellow playing the man with whom the mother of the title is having the affair, says 'I'm David Greenglass.'

Today's report -- and it's a happy one -- is that this Noises Off is splendidly delirious fun. Director Jeremy Herrin...turns up with a perfectly-calibrated production which brings full value to Frayn's text while adding layers of visual humor that leaves audiences hooting with delight. The Roundabout...has in this case been content to restrict itself to talented stage actors who have heretofore displayed comic flair. This works out capitally well, and results in one of the finest Roundabout outings since Twelve Angry Men...Martin, naturally, leads the cast; as always, she need merely lift her eyebrow to garner laughs...Megan Hilty...plays Brooke, the vapid actress who continually loses her dress and her contact lens. This has always been a show-stopping role...and Hilty succeeds handily, comporting herself like a perpetually posing beauty queen-turned-game show hostess trying to get us to choose the prize behind Curtain #3.

Fiddler continues Sher's streak with revivals of musical classics. (His original musicals, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and The Bridges of Madison County, were beset by numerous problems--including the directorial concepts.) Here, he has decided to start from a new canvas, wiping away memories of Robbins; but he has simultaneously shown respect to the material. (Sher was raised a Catholic, although at fifteen he learned that his father was Jewish.)

Mamet has come up with something that is not quite an extended monologue, but almost so...China Doll is almost exclusively Pacino on the phone having endless conversations with unseen characters. The advantages of this are several...We never hear what the other people are saying, although one imagines that Mickey Ross--in context--doesn't listen to what other people are saying, anyway...In Act Two, though, we fall into a web of plotting that becomes more and more intricate...As the events spin out, we wonder if maybe the playwright is purposely keeping things enigmatic so he doesn't have to do the work of concisely figuring it out. Ultimately, it feels like a stunt; by keeping the other side of the discussion silent, the playwright doesn't have to justify what Mickey is saying...If China Doll has its weaknesses--and it has--it also has Al Pacino. And Al Pacino, on this occasion, is enough.

Playwright Mike Bartlett's conceit is to give us a fanciful forecast of the next chapter of the House of Windsor, devised and written in the best Shakespearean style. Bartlett--working with visionary director Rupert Goold, who originated this production at the Almeida Theatre--has made a smashingly good job of it, and King Charles III is smashingly good. Here is a new Shakespearean tragedy, and one at which you won't likely be dozing off.

Skinner directs Dames at Sea as well, but it is his choreography which keeps the show on its toes from beginning to end. He has stacked the deck with an ingratiating cast, including two standout performances. So there is plenty for musical comedy audiences to be happy about, especially at a time when there is nothing else on Broadway in this category...The big joke, in the case of Dames at Sea, was that the creators -- along with a cast of six and designers working with a crimped budget in a crimped space -- were giving us a tongue-in-cheek, postage-stamp version of those Warner Bros. movie musicals of the 1930s...The surprise, today, is that the show remains viable; this first Broadway production is impeccably staged and loaded with entertainment, and should delight its target audience.

There's talk in Washington of displacing A. Ham. from the $10 greenback; even so, the man seems to have a considerably wider smile this morning. As for Miranda, I don't recall anyone writing music, lyrics & book and starring in a hit musical since George M. Cohan last gave his regards to Herald Square. Miranda's demonstration of talent, skill and savvy earn him a well-deserved gold star, and a goldmine too.

Amazing Grace earns a place right alongside the Aimee Semple McPherson musical, Scandalous, and the Shroud of Turin musical, Into the Light; not because of the faith-based subject matter, but due to the overall effect. There is nothing wrong with bringing to Broadway a new musical written by a newcomer; both The Music Man and 1776 came from first-timers, although both were professional musicians with pop song hits to their credit (and both had composed incidental music for Broadway plays). In this case, the program bio of Christopher Smith--'the concept creator, composer, lyricist and co-author of the book'--proudly states that this is his 'first work of professional writing.' While there is indeed a lightning strike on the stage of Nederlander, it comes courtesy of the electrician.

What remains--from my seat on the aisle, anyway--is non-gripping, non-chilling and non-savage; a toothless shell of the Dürrenmatt, with the bite removed. We do get four characteristically interesting Kander & Ebb songs ('I Walk Away,' 'You, You, You,' 'I Will Never Leave You,' 'Love and Love Again'), and the 82-year-old Chita in what could well be her final Broadway musical. Not enough. An interesting show, to be sure; but in this crowded April, with at least ten intriguing new productions on view, I wonder whether this Visit is quite worth the visit.