Tim Teeman

You want a big, loud, bright, shiny slice of Vegas on Broadway? The Cher Show, which opened tonight on Broadway at the Neil Simon Theatre, and-then-some delivers, with spangles, fishnets, big wigs, a 35-song strong jukebox of Cher hits primed, and even a fun autotune joke for when she gets to 'Believe.'

This slice of The Prom, directed (and sparklingly choreographed) by Casey Nicholaw, is a fun surf through actorly vanity and ego: the stars are not monsters but opportunists, and it just so happens that this opportunism intersects with a belief in equality they all share

There will be no spoilers here about how all this works out, but the tone and pitch of the comedy changes dramatically toward the end of the 90 minutes. It has to; one of Birbiglia's final revelations is that his new life means he now laughs in a new way himself. You think you could stay there even longer. Birbiglia is the kind of ribald, engaging storyteller you never want to stop.

If you have come for spectacle, you'll love (as I did, with a big, very stupid grin on my face) the impressive and thrilling feats of design and puppetry directed and choreographed by Drew McOnie, who I must presume­­-given the exertions of his leading ape­-has a chiropractor on 24-hour call.

No spoilers here, but that ending and the way the ending is phrased and treated (like a soap opera cliffhanger) instead of feeling real and raw, which I am sure was the intention, feels rushed and horribly exploitative. It struck this critic later that this ending is how the play may have more effectively begun from before peeling the layers away from this 'American Son' and his parents' marriage, and the police brutality and racism the play seeks to skewer and impeach.

But all the characters are set on a rinse-and-repeat sequence of impatience and anguish, which is very real when it comes to caring for a loved-one suffering from Alzheimer's but adds up to a hollow-feeling act of theatre that isn't sure if it wants its audience to laugh or cry, before queasily opting for both.

To be clear: Jez Butterworth's The Ferryman is a rollicking, moving, enveloping masterpiece, an emphatic herald of the strength and power of original playwriting on Broadway. It is deserving of every single award it won in London prior to coming to New York, and every award it should deservedly win while it is at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, where it opened Sunday night.

It is intelligent, thought-provoking, and challenging to the audience: the theatre equivalent of the best kind of fiendish board puzzle or chewy dinner-party topic. And yes, the ghost of Trump and his acolytes' words hang in the air, but more pronounced is the focus on what counts as fact and the perception of fact in what we read and visually and aurally consume every day.

The oddest thing about Pretty Woman is that it does all the things it needs to do badly, and the rare moments it skis off-piste away from the movie's central storyline are done so well. Such moments are rare and Bracco, the show's breakout star, features in every one-hence the deserved audience acclaim he and Thompson receive at the curtain call.

This is a show, directed with a loopy Labrador's energy by John Rando, that sells itself shamelessly to its intended audience. Perhaps in the next few weeks, the company will start handing out fliers at Penn Station. You'll roll your eyes at that repeated geographical gag, and at much else in this musical, not least its hackneyed rock 'n' roll, ageing dreamers, reclaiming-past-glories storyline.

However, Lee's wider point about privilege is sharply made. Straight White Men proposes that this privilege does not have to be enacted in a viciously spoken word, or an active and overt act of discrimination or cultural mastery. It can simply be a powerful silent presumption, and in the aimless Matt Straight White Men satirically toys with what the rejection of that presumption may mean.

Boys is a historical marker, a fascinating night in with a group of imperfect buddies, a dark night of the soul, and-in Mantello's supple charge-an exhilarating, investigatory night of many souls.

In this under-charged production of Shaw's 1923 play, first performed three years after Joan of Arc's canonization by the Roman Catholic Church, Rashad plays the iconic martyr as a lost-seeming, somewhat dreamy young woman. As directed by Daniel Sullivan, she is resolute, but gently so. She stays strong for sure, she leads an army, but our impression is of someone who is happier staring devotedly skyward.

Travesties lays all their intellectual roustabouts on thick, studded with delightful moments of confrontation and simple confusion. Limericks pop out of mouths, sections of the play come in Joycean rhyme, the acting comes with gleeful sides of ham.

To be clear, the clunking weirdness of this jukebox musical devoted to the 'queen of disco' has nothing to do with the three singers representing Summer at different stages of her life. Storm Lever as young 'Duckling Donna,' Ariana DeBose as 'Disco Donna,' and-most stage-commandingly -LaChanze as 'Diva Donna' do all they can to animate and give variously fierce or smooth fuel to the show's retinue of Summer's standards; the same goes for the hard-working, hard-dancing ensemble. (LaChanze particularly stands out. The poor dancers labor through some really odd choreography.)

Harry Potter is on Broadway! As a Potter newbie, I was wondering how much I would 'get,' and how much I wouldn't. But you can really go to this as not a fan and still have a very enjoyable time at the theatre. Of course, being a fan means you get all the 'greatest hits' of returning characters and plot points and references only a fan would know. Well, whoever you are, you get around five hours of really astonishing on-stage magic-overseen by Jamie Harrison-alongside some well-drawn paternally-themed and past-tragedy drama. The Cursed Child is split into two parts: You can watch both on one day, as we did, or break the two parts up however you choose.

The current Broadway production, which opens Thursday night directed by Jack O'Brien, does not stint on the darkness of the source material, and it doesn't resolve or make easy for a modern audience one of its most pronounced storylines-the violence Billy Bigelow (Joshua Henry, who will surely be Tony-nominated for a third time for his excellently sung performance) shows to his wife, Julie Jordan (the Tony-winning Jessie Mueller), and his repeated lack of repentance for it.

The play is set, we are told, in the mind of James, and on stage he orbits between the world of the play and narrating and addressing us. That might explain Derek McLane's design in this production directed by Kenny Leon, a series of proscenium arches that act as both practical exits and entries to a classroom, a park, or James and Sarah's home, but also the many psychological chambers the play occupies.

If you loved the movie, if you found it as 'fetch' as Plastics sub-lieutenant Gretchen Wieners (here played by Ashley Park) would wish, then you will also love this musical, directed and choreographed with characteristic verve and juiced-up passion by Casey Nicholaw. The book by Tina Fey still has all the sly, biting brilliance and precise observational humor of the original movie, which she also wrote.

Three Tall Women, directed with a sublimely paced grace by Joe Mantello, is very funny and very sad. It charts the progress of a life, and a discussion of the self as it ages, from the vantage point of knowing everything, down through the middle age of knowing quite a bit, and then the young person not knowing much at all.

What pretty, plush new seats the Hayes Theater has. This compact Broadway house, the smallest on the Great White Way, has been renovated under its new owners Second Stage and reopened as a non-profit. Sadly, Lobby Hero, starring Chris 'Captain America' Evans and Michael Cera and directed by Trip Cullman, does not blazingly usher in the new dawn.

Each character, so precisely played, is worthy of investment. This is seven and a half hours of luxurious dramatic immersion, and in no way arid or plodding.

There at the end are two women leading the company into their bows, playing two characters not needing men to complete them, who are confident in themselves and loving of each other. Elsa and Anna are leaders and examples. That exhibition of female power-still, sadly, a radical concept in Hollywood and on Broadway-is to be welcomed, and particularly for young girls and boys to see, but this musical feels oddly frozen in its delivery of it.

Do you have to be a fan of Jimmy Buffett to love the jukebox musical Escape to Margaritaville? No, but it certainly helps. Make mine something lividly colored and very cold, please barman. And keep them coming. It may be the only way to get through this.

If you like radio drama, or audio drama (and if you do, listen to Martin Jarvis, 'the Olivier of book readers,' as described by Graydon Carter), then you may love Stories By Heart. But you have to focus harder because you are not lying in bed, or driving in a car, listening to a voice. You are in a theater, with all that space demands of both performer and audience.