Thom Geier — Theater Critic

As with many a reimagining of a classic, not all of Fish's gambits entirely work. That Act 2 dream ballet, reworked since the show's run last fall at Brooklyn's St. Ann's Warehouse, is overlong and dramatically muddy. And his most radical departure from Oscar Hammerstein's script comes in the finale with the decidedly understated return of Jud at the wedding of Curly and Laurey.

Would that Gold's production had showed a similar resolve. But he seems to be one of these young Turks who comes to a classic text with ideas - so, so many ideas. And the result is a cluttered mess of a revival that too often threatens to overpower the poetry of the Bard's text and the strengths of some of the production's performances, Jackson's in particular.

Schreck is an engaging storyteller with a delivery that seems improvised even when she is sticking to her winding but always-focused script. Again and again, she manages to explore the politics of constitutional rights through the lens of the personal. And of the individuals left out as Americans saw their rights expand.

Where Sorkin succeeds is in getting us to rethink an American classic without any fussiness or archness. Director Bartlett Sher, who's best known for his Tony-winning work on big musicals like 'South Pacific' and 'My Fair Lady,' strikes the right balance between the epic and the intimate. And he smartly mimics the breakneck pace of Sorkin's film and TV projects, cramming Lee's large and sprawling story in a production that runs just over two and a half hours but seem to just fly by. Despite its infelicities, this 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is crackerjack entertainment.

When Birbiglia runs down a numbered list of his arguments against having kids, most revolve around his own insecurities and suspected shortcomings as a dad. 'If we're being honest with ourselves, kids hold us back,' he says, before edging into more charged waters. 'My best example of this is the history of women.' This is just one of the outrageous, did-he-just-say-that? shockers that Birbiglia laces into his routine - one that he quickly walks back with a convoluted explanation about how 'women are smarter than men, their brains are more sophisticated, and they make 21 cents on the dollar ... How did this HAPPEN!? The answer is...children.'

Director Kenny Leon keeps the action taut during the 90-minute running time, perhaps too taut. There isn't much breathing room in the production - and the ending is so abrupt that it's a wonder the curtain drop doesn't give the actors whiplash. This is the rare show that would benefit from a longer running time, from more scenes exploring the characters in greater depth.

Tom Stoppard's 1974 play 'Travesties,' which opened Tuesday at Roundabout's American Airlines Theatre in a spirited, quick-paced revival, is a showcase for modern theater's ultimate teacher's pet.

The very concept of 'Rocktopia' feels so dated, like a glorified field trip to the local symphony hall for a High Art-meets-Low Art lesson in music appreciation. (The idea of blending rock and Rachmaninoff is not new.)

The wonderful Emmy-winning actor has been touring versions of the show - sometimes one act, sometimes two - for about a decade now. And he's gotten it to a good-as-it's-gonna-get place. But this modest celebration of the joys of storytelling, which opened Thursday, is at its heart a chamber piece that feels woefully out of place in a Broadway theater.

Even for audiences inclined to feel jaded about revisiting a story from a long-ago school reading list, this '1984' manages to pump new, discomforting life into the mother of all dystopias. Icke and MacMillan also hit on some home truths that feel all too pertinent at a time when so many are called to 'resist' authority. 'The people will not revolt,' O'Brien notes. 'They will not look up from their screens long enough to notice what's really happening.'

'The Play That Goes Wrong' sometimes threatens to outstay its welcome and dissipate its considerable charms over time. There is, after all, a fine line between repetition for comic effect and the tedium of beating a punchline until it is good and dead. But the Broadway production is considerably tighter than the one that played two years ago on London's West End...For much of its two-hour running time, 'The Play That Goes Wrong' offers a hilarious tribute to the spirit of the theater and the mantra that the show must go on - served up with a thick slice of ham.

McGregor is confident and sexy, using badinage as a bandage over wounds he'd rather not examine too closely. Nixon...is a worthy foil, wearing dowdy dresses and a look of wry resignation. Gyllenhaal, a pixie-cut dream girl, has a chillier but still effective presence. But director Sam Gold's fussy production blurs the distinction between scenes with a single drab set and cast-sung interludes of '60s pop. Not only is it harder to follow the tricky plot (and its plays-within-plays), but the songs suggest a kumbaya solidarity among the characters that undercuts the show's message about the challenges of forging connections. B+

Akhtar packs a lot into his scenes, in terms of both coincidence-heavy personal drama and talky disquisitions on religion and politics, but he usually manages to pull back from the edge of too-muchness. Director Kimberly Senior...shows an admirable restraint in her well-paced scenes...Dhillon, an American-born actor who's spent much of his career working in the U.K., shows more stiff-upper-lip reserve in the early scenes, merely pacing and fidgeting to signal Amir's discomfort in his own skin. It's an approach that doesn't go far enough to establish Amir's coiled volatility. The rest of the cast seem more attuned to the demands of the material; Mol in particular radiates a sensuous intelligence that is enormously appealing. B+

Andnow it's landed on Broadway at last in a hilarious and star-packed evening of theater in-jokes that often plays like a nonmusical version of Forbidden Broadway...Director Jack O'Brien's production reteams Tony winners Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick, who these days pack a bigger punch at the box office than in terms of natural onstage chemistry. The two play old friends...But while Lane commands the stage with his quippy narcissism (abetted by some of McNally's strongest meta-jokes), Broderick continues his recent run of stiff, somnambulent, and overly mannered stage performances. The energy and pace of the show deflate whenever he opens his mouth...The rest of the cast, though, enlivens characters who can border on the thanklessly one-dimensional...Despite McNally's considerable revisions, there's just not enough plot here to sustain a two-and-a-half-hour show -- and what plot there is can seem thinner and more obvious than Abraham's toupee...It's Only a Play is a poison-pen mash note to New York theater, at once gleefully bitchy and affectionate. B+

Dennehy, a two-time Tony winner, has been a steady presence on Broadway in the last few decades--and he brings a stalwart, hunched-over gravitas to Andrew, a self-serious young man who's brief youthful indiscretions naturally give way to a Rockefeller-Republican conservatism. The real surprise here is Farrow, returning to the Main Stem for the first time in 18 years...She's a real actress, and she uses her considerable tools and her wonderful voice to evoke Melissa's girlish naivete, her teenage petulance, and then her grown-up insecurity...Love Letters reminds us that class can not only us in our place, but thwart any effort to forge real connections outside of ourselves. B+

Culkin is sensational as Dennis, a talkative schemer whose occasional stumbles in no way impede his innate sense of self-confidence. Cera is nearly as strong as Warren, a willfully quirky boy who collects action figures and vintage toasters and who endures Dennis' poetic rants of invective against him like a pound puppy who craves attention no matter what form it takes...At 18, Gevinson is closer to her character's age than her castmates--but she can seem less at ease on stage for reasons that have nothing to do with Jessica's natural discomfort hanging out in a strange apartment with a virtual stranger.

Just how edgy can Hedwig remain on the Great White Way? There is, after all, a bit of cognitive dissonance in a supposed outcast selling out a giant theater filled with fans screaming, 'I love you, Neil!' While director Michael Mayer's tricked-out production abandons the show's seedy origins, there's still a satirical edge that reflects the more upscale venue...Purists may balk at Harris' punk-lite vocals on Trask's infectiously rockin' score -- he's less Iggy, more pop -- and his threats to 'cut you, bitch' come off with more of a wink than actual menace. But in a bravura performance, the actor proves the perfect instrument for Hedwig's transition into world-class superstardom. He's honed his showmanship on four Tony Awards gigs, of course. But he's looser here, and lewder, more spontaneous and quick on his pumps. A-

Thanks to McDonagh's clever writing and the sharply drawn performances by Radcliffe & Co., these seeming stereotypes keep upending our expectations - and their own - as they spin their yarns and shade some closely held truths. This is one of McDonagh's lighter works, without his usual burst of Tarantino-esque violence, but there's enough edginess to pull the story back from the cliff's edge of sentimentality. A-

In his Broadway debut, Franco shows a relaxed stage presence and real charisma, though his occasional explosions of anger or frustration seem to rely more on turning up the volume dial rather than digging for any deeper nuance...The real surprise in Anna D. Shapiro's finely staged production is Chris O'Dowd (Bridesmaids) as George's mentally challenged travel companion, Lenny. The gifted comedic actor brings a studied and skillful physicality to Lenny, a gentle giant with a stubbly shaved head who's not aware of his own strength even as he compulsively touches soft things -- a scrap of velvet, a puppy, a young woman's neck. O'Dowd's riveting performance is a study in underdeveloped impulse control: He frequently reaches out his hand with crooked fingers, then just as quickly withdraws. Though his native Irish accent occasional pokes through, O'Dowd makes Lenny sympathetic without ever stooping to caricature.

While McDonald's vocal inflections can seem a tad overstudied in the show's opening number, 'I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone,' as she spits out breaths at the end of each musical phrase, the actress quickly settles into the role and erases all memory of her operatic belter's soprano and her naturally bubbly personality. In their place: a voice both smoky and breathy, and a demeanor that suggests a hard-lived life in the first half of the 20th century. The physicality of her portrayal is similarly remarkable.

The show's exploration of fate and chance seldom rises above Hallmark-card sentimentality - and the characters have no more depth...But as even John Travolta must know by now, the real star here is Menzel, and she delivers a powerful bipolar performance that often masks the shallowness of the material. In her triumphant final ballad, 'Always Starting Over,' she proves she doesn't need to defy gravity to win over fans. With her feet planted on terra firma, she can shake the rafters and pierce your heart all at once.

The revelation is Ramin Karimloo, an Iranian-born Canadian who is well known in London but makes his Broadway debut here. As Jean Valjean, the petty criminal turned respected citizen still on the run from the law, Karimloo projects a masculine authority that cannily reveals hidden pockets of vulnerability. He's blessed with matinee-idol looks and a crystalline tenor that pierces the back rows of the Imperial Theatre. With apologies to Hugh Jackman, his may be the best sung, best acted Valjean I've ever seen. Will Swenson (Priscilla Queen of the Desert) has never sounded better as the by-the-book Inspector Javert, who has been chasing Valjean for decades, though his performance at times edges toward the bombastic...The rest of the cast is mostly solid...In [Karimloo's] solos, 'Who Am I?' and particularly 'Bring Him Home,' not only does he inject each phrase with feeling and musicality but he fully embodies the message of the song. There's not a gesture, not a head bob out of place. At the end of the day, he brings the most luster to this stirring revival.

As in many a Disney stage production, the big showstopper isn't even human: During 'A Whole New World,' a flying carpet carries our lovers aloft in a night-time ride, swooping and spinning with how'd-they-do-that wonder. (Jim Steinmeyer and Jeremy Chernick are credited with designing the onstage illusions and special effects.) It deserves its own curtain call.

Despite the high-tech stagecraft, director Alex Timbers remains faithful to the indie spirit of the 1976 Oscar winner that made a star of Sylvester Stallone...At times the show plays less like a splashy Broadway musical than a Clifford Odets revival...The real trouble is that, unlike 'Eye of the Tiger' or the snatches of Bill Conti's triumphal theme, Stephen Flaherty's bland new songs merely shadowbox at melody and never land the pop-rock punch they often seem to be seeking...Even so, Rocky delivers edge-of-your-seat thrills - particularly in the final 15 minutes - that underscore the fact that fans of boxing and live theater share some DNA: They love to see their stars battered, bloodied, but still standing. B

It helps that Jason Robert Brown (Parade, The Last Five Years) has written a lush and deeply romantic score, filled with rich and melodic duets that show off its leads' terrific voices - their second act rafter-shaker 'One Second & a Million Miles' is destined to become a cabaret staple. The tunes help compensate for Marsha Norman's more problematic book, which stumbles whenever the spotlight isn't on Francesca and Robert. The story has no real villains, or even antagonists, to work up a plot worth sustaining for 2 hours and 45 minutes...Director Bartlett Sher does his best to fill the space in the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre. Ultimately, this is a chamber musical that is both introspective and modest at its core. But when O'Hara lets her guard down and opens herself up to the possibility of romance, and when her magnificent soprano belts out Brown's swooping melodies, even a small space can seem as wide and expansive as an Iowa cornfield. B+