Zachary Stewart — Theater Critic

Audiences looking for a bit of eye candy won’t be disappointed by this sincere yet somewhat dated look at the travails of closeted athletes in the early part of this century. The Pass is an unsentimental look at what one must give up in order to obtain fame and fortune in professional sports—a bet plenty are still willing to take. It’s not nearly as heartwarming as Heated Rivalry, but it’s a lot more honest.

David Blum does what all wise directors do when gifted with such solid performers: he gets out of the way. Ashley Basile’s pop-up set features the basics: a card table, two chairs, and a swinging loveseat (this last bit might not even be strictly necessary). She has placed little dressing areas off to each side for the actors to change, extending the performances to the transitions as we see each character prepare for their next encounter, with anticipation or dread (Michael Schaffner’s costumes offer a clue, like armor for senior citizens going into battle). Sarah Woods keeps the lights at a contemplative dim for these transitions, while Bart Fasbender underscores them with the sound of a visiting choir, a bit of tinny overkill that nevertheless underscores the indignity of their situation.

Who is this show for? Who in the off-Broadway audience still needs to be told that racism is wrong and gay people deserve dignity? Label•less gestures toward brave truth-telling but delivers a message so inoffensive it could be produced at most American high schools without much pushback (for all the show’s rainbow flag-waving, trans issues are conspicuously absent). It feels like something you might have seen onstage at the 2016 Democratic National Convention, an earnest song-and-dance routine celebrating pluralism and the fact that we’re Stronger Together. In 2026, that feels like an unsatisfying response to a world on fire.

Every little flourish and design choice has been carefully considered under Eric Tucker’s resourceful direction, which conveys so much with so little. Clifton Chadick’s much expanded set somehow manages to feel even more intimate than it did in the tiny West End Theatre, with music memorabilia and Christmas lights occupying every inch of wall space. Although the script takes us to multiple locations (a recording studio, Tammy’s trailer, Stucky’s mansion), we never fully leave the mystical sanctuary of the bar. It is a testament to Tucker’s steady directorial hand that this fantastical violation of the rules of time and space never leaves us confused, but arrives like a live film with jump cuts and cinematic montages.

The grand finale recounts the love quadrangle of Debbie Reynolds (Reyfel), Eddie Fisher (Pack), Elizabeth Taylor (Wilson), and Richard Burton (Adsit) using three different memoirs as source material. It’s fascinating to clock the contradictions, who catches whom in a lie and who reaches out first to bury the hatchet (spoiler: the subject of the memoir is always the bigger person). More than just a hilarious guilty pleasure, Celebrity Autobiography strikes at the unknowability of history, which is really just a record of the PR that sticks.

Director Jesse Berger never makes a firm commitment in favor of serious tragedy or tongue-in-cheek comedy, resulting in the uncomfortable cohabitation of gasps and guffaws, a familiar sensation in early imperial America. Emily Rebholz’s severe black-and-white military costumes are the stuff of a fascist nightmare, while Jiyoun Chang produces genuine moments of slasher-film horror in her lighting. But sound designers Adam Wernick and Shannon Slaton knew exactly what they were doing when they chose to underscore the horrific banquet scene with a gentle piano arrangement of “What a Wonderful World.”

But our two living protagonists leave the deepest impression. Equally humorous and thoughtful, Trash is a fascinating look into the lives of Deaf men in 21st century America, where anxiety around sex, work, and a creeping sense of obsolesce is aggravated by the daily struggle of existing in a world that has been primarily designed for the hearing majority. In this stark and perilous reality, clear and effective communication is essential. Caverly and Morrill tell a story and make it count with this surprise theatrical treasure.

It’s unexpectedly poignant, yes. But more importantly, it’s so much fun. We feel that from the moment the cats vogue down the runway (authentic and death-droppingly athletic choreography by Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons). The crowd goes nuts, cheering, clapping, and clacking fans in appreciation, making this event feel like a real ball.