Downstate (Playwrights Horizons)

By Harry Forbes

Here’s a gripping adult drama from Pulitzer Prize winner Bruce Norris (“Clybourne Park”) about four sex offenders -- all of whom have served their time in prison -- now living in a halfway house somewhere in Downstate Illinois. When the play opens, Andy (Tim Hopper), in tandem with his wife Em (Sally Murphy), has come to confront Fred (Francis Guinan) who, as a piano teacher, had abused Andy when the boy was 12, kickstarting the drama into high gear. 

As Andy nervously summons the courage to read the prepared statement articulating the hurt and guilt he feels every day, we meet the other residents: Gio (Glenn Davis), a fast-talking entrepreneurial type barreling over other conversations; Felix (Eddie Torres), a reclusive depressive who emerges from his screened off room only when necessary to use the bathroom or kitchen; and Dee (K. Todd Freeman), a former musical performer who warily watches over the activities in their apartment, and is particularly protective of Fred, now severely disabled.

Eventually, we meet Ivy (Susanna Guzmán), the tough but empathetic probation officer for the residents, who visits to make sure that all the men are abiding by the highly restrictive rules, which include no alcohol, cellphones, internet, or women. And in the second act, Gio comes home with Effie (Gabi Samels), a drug-taking co-worker from the Home Depot where they both work. 

The brilliance of Norris’s work here, beyond the sparky dialogue and compelling arguments weighing matters of justice and retribution, lies in creating characters that defy stereotypes. The perpetrators are not the monsters you might imagine (though their crimes are not for one second minimized), and even the victim, as personified by Andy who eventually shows himself to be hellbent on vengeance, is not as fully sympathetic as he might be drawn in another telling. 

The cast is uniformly superb. In fact, the men all originated these roles at Steppenwolf in 2018, and then London’s National Theatre.

Longtime Norris director Pam MacKinnon directs with an unobtrusively sure hand. Todd Rosenthal’s evocative set -- a dreary, strictly utilitarian residence, realistically lighted by Adam Silverman -- and Clint Ramos’ spot-on costumes are all pitch perfect. 

This is a tough one to watch -- the language is occasionally raw as befits the subject matter, and some may feel that empathy and nuance should be solely focused on the victim -- but the themes are profoundly thought-provoking and the drama never ceases to grip.

(Playwrights Horizons. 416 West 42nd Street;  playwrightshorizons.org; through Dec. 30)

Photo by Joan Marcus: (l.-r.) Francis Guinan, Sally Murphy, Tim Hopper

& Juliet (Stephen Sondheim Theater)

By Harry Forbes

Here’s an often witty and generally clever feminist riff on “Romeo and Juliet.” In this telling, William Shakespeare's strong-willed wife, Anne Hathaway, strenuously objects to the original ending of the play and insists that after Romeo dies, Juliet ought to survive and have a happy life free from the strictures of the male dominated Verona. What ensues is a marital battle of quills, as the action plays out before us.

This happens to be a jukebox musical loaded with familiar top 40 hits by the producer/songwriter Max Martin and various collaborators (sharply orchestrated and arranged by Bill Sherman). So we hear familiar chart-busters from the likes of Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Bon Jovi, Katy Perry, and Kelly Clarkson, among others.

That utterly incongruous and anachronistic juxtaposition of contemporary song and Elizabethan era script make for a lot of the fun.

Juliet (Lorna Courtney), in David West Read’s amusing book, is a feisty gal who knows her own mind and decides to buck her parents Lord and Lady Capulet (Nicholas Edwards and Veronica Otim) and hit the road with her sassy nurse Angélique (a delightfully sharp-tongued Melanie La Barrie), and non-binary BFF May (touching Justin David Sullivan).

As Will (Stark Sands) and Anne (Betsy Wolfe) argue about the script, they themselves assume characters in the play: Will as a coachman and Anne as Juliet's worldly-wise older girlfriend April. 

Off they flee to Paris, crash a party hosted by rich kid François (Philippe Arroyo) whose stern father Lance (Paolo Szot in a delightfully wacky change of pace) wants the boy to wed or face life in the military. But (wouldn’t you know?) it’s attraction at first sight for the conflicted François and May and…well, you can guess the rest.

I suppose it’s only a tiny spoiler to reveal that Romeo does, in fact, make a second act appearance but, in this telling, it’s not necessarily a sure bet that he’ll reconnect with his former bride. (He was played by strong-voiced Daniel Maldonado at my performance, subbing for Ben Jackson Walker.)

Read’s book is a politically correct mélange of female empowerment, gay pride and identity, presented in a light-hearted, audience-pleasing manner. The show mixes elements of “Six,” “Head Over Heels,” and “Something Rotten.”

Southa Gilmour’s set is a colorful delight of flashing lighting effects, moving platforms, and air-borne set pieces. Paloma Young’s costumes are cheekily 16th century with a modern-day twist.

Lauren Courtney, in a stunning Broadway debut, raises the roof more than once with her powerful vocals and great stage presence. She has great comedic timing, and this is a real star-making performance.

Sands and Wolfe are strong as the battling Shakespeares, with Read’s script giving them some humorously sharp ripostes. All get their opportunity to shine vocally.

Szot, in a delightfully silly departure from his roles at the Met and as Emile DeBeque in “South Pacific,” really lets down his hair particularly in a second act boy band number, and he and La Barrie make a wonderfully daffy pair. (It turns out Lance and Angélique had a thing years before.)

The show opened in Manchester and then London’s West End in 2019 winning three Olivier Awards and it continues to run at the Shaftesbury Theatre there. If the reaction of the audience at my performance was any indication, I predict it will enjoy a comparably healthy run here.

(Stephen Sondheim Theatre, 123 West 43 Street; andjulietbroadway.com)

Photos by Matthew Murphy: (top) (l.-r.) Melanie La Barrie and Lorna Courtney

Below: (l.-r.) Stark Sands and Betsy Wolfe

The Rat Trap (Mint Theater Company)

By Harry Forbes

Noel Coward’s first substantive play -- written when he was 18 but not produced for several years later (and then at Hampstead’s Everyman Theatre for a limited fringe run, rather than London’s West End) after he was a firmly established playwright -- is finally enjoying its American premiere courtesy of the adventurous Mint. (There had been a 2006 revival at London’s Finborough Theatre.) 

Though not in the same league as most of Coward’s later work, and not a comedy, in spite of some choice epigrams here and there, there’s much to admire in the young Coward’s precocious skill and talent. And the production will, of course, be of great interest to Coward and serious theater buffs. 

Coward himself delivered a clear-eyed assessment in the forward to one of his Play Parade compilations: "It is not without merit. There is some excruciatingly sophisticated dialogue in the first act of which, at the time, I was inordinately proud. From the point of view of construction, it is not very good, except for the two principal quarrel scenes. The last act is an inconclusive shambles…”  Yet, he fervently wished he could see a production of it, especially as he had been out of the country even for the Hampstead premiere. 

Those remarks are a bit harsh but, on the whole, accurate based on the creditable and enjoyable Mint production, smartly directed by Alexander Lass.  

The story concerns promising young novelist Sheila (Sarin Monae West), who’s already penned one bestseller, newly married to Keld (James Evans), a budding playwright, harboring the notion that they will nurture each other’s efforts in blissful harmony. Sheila’s observant friend and roommate Olive (Elizabeth Gray) is highly skeptical, and indeed her misgivings prove prescient when, six months later, the self-absorbed Keld becomes unpleasantly irritable at every domestic interruption from the stolid maid Burrage (a scene-stealing Cynthia Mace), and now not at all tolerant of Sheila’s writing efforts. He expects her to handle all the domestic details like a good wifey. 

The situation would seem to suggest a boldly feminist point of view, and for a while, Coward continues on that track. But all that comes to naught in that weak final act and denouement. 

Adding some levity and a different perspective to Sheila and Keld’s domestic strife are the secondary characters of Naomi (Heloise Lowenthal) and Edmund (Ramzi Khalaf), she a novelist and he a poet, who live in unmarried “sin” and harmony. Edmund was played in the original production by Raymond Massey.

There’s also a troublesome ex-Gaiety girl Ruby (amusing Claire Saunders) who has a part in Keld’s play and continues to badger him for more roles. She was originally played by Adrianne Allen who, a few years later, would marry Massey, and out of that union would come actors Daniel and Anna Massey. Their messy divorce 10 years later made headlines. But I digress.

The Mint’s cast, admirably and unobtrusively diverse, is quite capable, British accents are good, and everyone seems to have the measure of their role. West creates a very sympathetic portrayal of Sheila. Gray is especially solid as the wiser older friend. Though overall Evans is well cast in his role, his peevish outbursts in the second and third acts go beyond the realm of irritability and register as borderline psychotic, but it’s difficult to know whether the script would allow for a more nuanced interpretation. 

Khalaf and Lowenthal perform an interpolated Coward number, “Forbidden Fruit,” the playwright’s first important song, and just to close the historical loop, sung by Daniel Massey (as Coward) in the Gertrude Lawrence biopic “Star!” But the interlude is superfluous.

Vicki R. Davis’s set, Christian DeAngelis’ lighting, and Hunter Kaczorowski’s costumes are all pleasing.

Props to the Mint for doing this Coward rarity, and here’s hoping they exhume more of them.

(Mint Theater Company, 131 West 55th Street   NYCityCenter.org or 212-581-1212; through December 10)

Photos by Todd Cerveris: 

Top: (l. - r.) Sarin Monae West and James Evans 

Below: (l. - r.) Heloise Lowenthal, Claire Saunders and Ramzi Khalaf 

A Man of No Importance (CSC Repertory)

By Harry Forbes

The first mainstream New York revival of the 2002 musical created by Lynn Ahrens (lyrics), Stephen Flaherty (music), and Terrence McNally (book) is a lovely one, perfectly suited to the cozy CSC stage. The original production at the (also intimate) Mitzi Newhouse Theatre starred the late Roger Rees in the role of an Irish bus conductor played, in turn, by Albert Finney in the 1994 non-musical film. 

This time around it’s Jim Parsons as Alfie Byrne, the closeted gay man in 1964 Dublin, harboring a secret crush on Robbie, the handsome bus driver on his daily route (played by A.J. Shively, so good in last season’s “Paradise Square”). Alfie is a theater buff who reveres Oscar Wilde as Ireland’s greatest playwright. And he runs the local theater group -- the St. Imelda’s Players in the local church hall -- with all his bus regulars taking enthusiastic part. 

They’ve played all the Wilde comedies, but now Alfie has his sights set on the atypical Wilde drama, “Salome.” When newcomer Adele (pure-voiced Shereen Ahmed), a shy young woman, takes the bus one day, Alfie is sure he’s found his ideal Salome. 

Alfie lives with his unmarried sister Lily (Mare Winningham) who, completely in the dark about her brother’s sexuality, continues to hope that he will find the right girl. She, in turn, is being courted by the local butcher Mr. Carney (Thom Sesma), The Players’ leading man.

CSC has assembled an excellent company that compares well with the original cast. Besides those mentioned, there’s Alma Cuevo (as Oona Crowe), Kara Mikula (Mrs. Curtin), Da’Von T. Moody (Bretin Beret), Mary Beth Peil (Mrs. Grace), Nathaniel Stampley (Father Kenny), Jessica Tyler Wright (Mrs. Patrick), Joel Waggoner (Ernie Lally), and Williams Youmans (Baldy O’Shea).

The thrust stage is, as always, an involving setting, and director John Doyle has his cast make full use of the aisles and stairs. As you might expect with Doyle at the helm, yes, several members of the cast play their own instruments which, on this occasion, seems fitting in establishing a sense of community, and, as in the musical “Once,” seems apt for the Gallic setting. 

Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flaherty’s modest but pleasing Irish-flavored score lends itself well to this treatment. There are no outright showstoppers though Robbie’s “Streets of Dublin” (memorably performed by Steven Pasquale in the original cast) gets a fine, rousing treatment by Shively. But hearing the score again, played and sung so well, confirmed its overall quality: the company’s jaunty “Going Up”; Adele’s plaintive “Princess”; Baldy’s wistful “The Cuddles Mary Gave” sung at his wife's grave; 

Parsons, younger than his predecessors in the role, makes the role his own, and reveals a fine singing voice and credible Irish accent. Winningham is also outstanding both dramatically and vocally, after demonstrating her musical chops in the recent “Girl from the North Country.”

Doyle himself created the minimal but effective scenic design lighted by Adam Honoré. Ann Hould-Ward’s period costumes add to the authentic atmosphere, while Sun Hee Kil’s sound design is a model of clarity, Music Director Caleb Hoyer conducts Bruce Coughlin’s orchestrations with spirit and sensitivity.

 

(Classic Stage Company (CSC), 136 East 13th Street; classicstage.org; through December 18)

Photo by Julieta Cervantes: (l.-r.) A.J. Shively, Jim Parsons

Almost Famous (Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

This musical adaptation of Cameron Crowe's 2000 semi-autobiographical film is slavishly faithful to its source, an approach I rate as a plus. To have gone a different route would have disappointed the Oscar-winning film’s many fans. (The film won Best Original Screenplay.)

Now truthfully, he film itself, which I watched just a couple of days earlier, doesn't exactly cry out for musicalization despite its rock world milieu. But composer-lyricist Tom Kitt, in tandem with Crowe himself, have come up with some quite decent numbers that nearly all take their cues from the film's dialogue, which is presented here with nearly line-by-line fidelity. In short, book writer Crowe has done everything possible to put his beloved film on stage.

For those who need reminding, the story tells of 15-year-old William Miller (the fictional stand-in for young Crowe played here by Casey Likes) who, like Crowe himself, aspires to be a rock music writer, for Rolling Stone. William’s mother Elaine (Anika Larsen), a college professor, disdains that goal but nonetheless warily and lovingly indulges his efforts. 

She allows him to travel with the (fictional) Stillwater band fronted by Jeff Bebe (Drew Gehling) to write a piece for Rolling Stone’s editor Ben Fong-Torres (Matthew C. Lee) who has no idea how young William really is as they've only spoken over the phone. And, of course, the projected four days William tells his mother he'll be away turns out considerably longer.

He's taken in caring hand by a groupie not much older than he is named Penny Lane (Solea Pfeiffer) who is smitten with the handsome guitarist for the group, Russell Hammond (Chris Wood). Penny’s pack of fellow fans include Estrella (Julia Cassandra), Sapphire (Katie Ladner) and Polexia (Jana Djenne Jackson), all well played here.

William’s mentor, seasoned rock critic Lester Bangs (Rob Colletti taking Philip Seymour Hoffman’s film role), warns the boy not to become friends with the band as they will use him to glorify their image, and of course that is exactly what begins to happen.

All the casting seems to have been done along with the film’s cast in mind. Without resorting to imitation, Likes, Larsen, Wood, Pfeiffer, and Gehling manage to channel Patrick Fugit, Frances McDormand, Billy Crudup, Kate Hudson, and Jason Lee. 

They're all good, and Pfeiffer in particular is remarkably successful at recreating Hudson’s charismatic luminosity in the film. She also has some of the prettiest numbers here such as “Morocco,” her paean to her pipe dream destination; and “The Night-Time Sky’s Got Nothing on You” (a duet with Wood). 

This being a musical, young William has his share of songs, too, which at first seems a bit odd as his character is written as the wide-eyed observer. But Likes is a strong vocalist, and it would have been disconcerting for him not to sing.

The score is a mix of newly written songs by Kitt and Crowe and a handful of others heard in the film.

Director Jeremy Herrin is, on the whole, successful at creating a cinematic fluidity (even including the film’s bus and plane scenes), and scenic and video designer Derek McLane’s set pieces come in from the wings and the flies at various times for scene changes. David Zinn’s costumes entertainingly capture the 1970s ethos.

A few of the band’s numbers are played at rock concert decibels, but the dialogue and book songs otherwise play out at comfortable levels in Peter Hylenski’s crisp sound design

The show does seem a tad long but I'd be hard pressed to know what cut without losing one of the key scenes from the film.

The audience at my performance seemed to have a rousing good time, which must have been gratifying for Cameron Crowe who watched the show from the back of the house.

(Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, 242 West 45th Street; Telecharge.com or 800-447-7400)

Photo by Matt Murphy: (l.-r.) Casey Likes, Solea Pfeiffer

The Piano Lesson (Ethel Barrymore Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

August Wilson’s Pulitzer Prize-winner, which premiered at the Yale Repertory Theatre in 1987 and then came to Broadway in 1990) is receiving its first Broadway revival, and it’s a first-rate one. Samuel L. Jackson, John David Washington and Danielle Brooks head an accomplished cast under the savvy direction of first-time Broadway director LaTanya Richardson Jackson (wife of Samuel).

Hotheaded Boy Willie (Washington) and his sidekick Lymon (Ray Fisher) noisily burst into the home of Willie’s widowed sister Berniece (Brooks) who lives with their railway worker uncle Doaker Charles (Jackson) early one morning in 1936 Pittsburgh. They’ve driven up from Mississippi to sell a truckload of watermelons, but Willie’s principal motive is to sell the antique piano with which Berniece adamantly refuses to part as it's a family heirloom with profound significance. With his half of the sale earnings, Willie hopes to buy the farm where their ancestors toiled as slaves, and make something of himself. Doaker eventually relates the piano’s history in a lengthy speech beautifully delivered. (In fact, all the characters have their major moments.)

We learn the piano is adorned with carvings of the Charles family’s ancestors from slavery times, and Willie and that Berniece’s father died in stealing it from Sutter, the descendent of the slave owner who owned it. Subsequently, their mother treasured the piano as it was her most tangible keepsake of their father. Willie stubbornly believes a solid future is more important than preserving the past. 

Apart from Berniece’s young daughter Maretha (Nadia Daniel at my performance) playing it, the instrument stands idle. Berniece refuses to touch it. And the house is, in fact, haunted by the spirit of Sutter whose ghost is witnessed by Berniece and Maretha. (Yes, this is a bona fide ghost story.) Even Doaker confesses he’s sometimes heard the piano playing when no one is around.

Into this already heady mix come Avery (understudy Charles Browning at my performance), a novice preacher who hopes to marry Berniece, and Doaker’s shifty brother Wining Boy (outstanding Michael Potts), an alcoholic itinerant piano player/singer. 

Washington gives an explosive performance, comparing favorably to Broadway originator Charles Dutton. (Interestingly, Samuel L. Jackson played that role in the Yale production, and was Charles Dutton’s understudy back in 1990). 

Doaker is a contained character, but Jackson exudes quiet power whenever he speaks or even when he simply sits in the adjoining kitchen observing the action around him.

Fisher makes a marvelously guileless Lymon, and the scene in which Avery cons Lymon into buying an ill-fitting, garish silk suit (1930s costumes by Toni-Leslie James) is as amusing as his subsequent flirtation with Berniece is touching. The versatile Brooks is, as always, terrific.

There’s good work too from April Matthis as good time girl Grace both Willie and Lymon hope to seduce.

Wilson’s prose is often dense, and there’s a good deal of expository dialogue. And at first the heavy regional accents prove challenging but eventually the ear adjusts. 

Beowulf Boritt’s two-level set, lighted atmospherically by Japhy Weideman, is striking. And Jeff Sugg’s projection design includes some bravura ghost effects in the play’s climactic moments. 

The 1995 Hallmark Hall of Fame TV production with Dutton and several other members of the original cast makes for interesting viewing and is available as of this writing on YouTube. Wilson opened up the play a bit for the screen and the performances are outstanding. But there were some cuts and edits for television. I'm glad to know the present production will be preserved, and is currently in the pre-production stage.

(Ethel Barrymore Theatre, 243 West 47th Street; Telecharge.com or 212-239-6200; through January 15)

Photos by Julieta Cervantes

Top: (l.-r.) John David Washington, Samuel L. Jackson

Below: Danielle Brooks

Gabriel Byrne: Walking with Ghosts (The Music Box)

By Harry Forbes

Gabriel Byrne’s acclaimed memoir has been turned into a viable and engrossing theater piece by the fine Irish actor. And I would say the evening is recommended even for folks, like myself, who don’t particularly relish one-person shows. 

Economically but cannily staged by actor/director Lonny Price -- who previously directed Byrne in a New York Philharmonic concert performance of “Camelot” broadcast on “Live from Lincoln Center” in 2008 -- Byrne’s play reveals a classic Irish gift for poetry and storytelling.

Sinéad McKenna’s scenic and lighting design is a simple one, apart from the occasional theatrical flourish like a lighted proscenium, and utilizes the most basic of props: a bench, stool, table and chairs. The focus is squarely on Byrne as he takes us back to his childhood in Ireland where he conjures up the ghosts of his past, vividly reenacting his home life with his parents and siblings, his beloved grandmother who first took him to his first movies (a life-altering experience), his aversion to school, first Communion, seminary training (at the time, he felt a genuine vocation for the priesthood), through his early days as an actor after odd jobs as a plumber and dishwasher, and subsequent drinking problems. Sinéad Diskin provided the mood-setting sound design and original music.

Byrne's tale may put you in mind of other Irish memoirs, like Frank McCourt’s “Angela’s Ashes,” though Byrne’s upbringing was not imbued with the dire poverty of the McCourts. The show runs two hours and 20 minutes with one intermission, and both acts have their share of heartache. But there’s no shortage of humor along the way.

Though the focus is on those early years, the theatrical side of his career is not ignored. The most lighthearted sequences of the evening involve his early days as an actor. He was at loose ends when he came across a want ad for actors -- “no experience necessary” was the initial incentive -- and, in short order, found himself warmly embraced by a local company which taught him the thespian ropes. 

After early success on television, he lands a golden opportunity to appear with his boyhood idol Richard Burton. The project is not mentioned by name, but it appears to have been the starry TV mini-series “Wagner,” based on the composer’s life. (It aired on PBS in 1983.) Burton was a welcoming colleague but his alcoholism would serve as a prescient warning to young Byrne who would have his own struggles with the bottle.

Byrne doesn’t trace his career any further than the Burton encounter, nor his romantic involvements or marriages; perhaps a sequel will cover those later years.

His narrative also includes poignant recollections of the death of his parents, both movingly told.

Throughout, the "In Treatment" star proves himself a natural mimic, and his impersonations of his parents, teachers, apprentice acting colleagues, a lecherous priest at the seminary and, of course, Burton, are highly entertaining. 

Though one of the more modest offerings currently in a major Broadway theater, the queue for entry stretched far down 45th Street, affirming Byrne's charismatic appeal.

(The Music Box, 239 West 45th Street; Telecharge.com or 212-239-6200; through December 30)

Photo by Emilio Madrid.

Topdog/Underdog (Golden Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

Suzan-Lori Parks’ Pulitzer Prize-winning 2001 play, essentially concerning brotherly love and family identity, and imbued with a symbolism that is never heavy-handed, is now enjoying a highly absorbing 20th anniversary revival. 

The narrative concerns whimsically named brothers Lincoln and Booth uneasily living together in a single room where they plot an uncertain future and rehash their painful past. This production features two absolutely superb performances from Corey Hawkins and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II in roles originated by Jeffrey Wright and Don Cheadle at the Public Theater. (Mos Def assumed Cheadle’s role when the play opened on Broadway the following year.)

I didn’t see that production, but I can’t imagine that the roles’ originators could have been better than the present cast who balance comedy and underlying sadness with masterful aplomb. 

Elder brother Lincoln (Hawkins) works in an arcade as, with supreme irony, a white-face Abraham Lincoln impersonator where patrons can pretend to reenact the latter's assassination; his brother Booth (Abdul-Mateen) is a shoplifting hustler who’s never had a real job in his life, but dreams of joining forces with his big brother Lincoln who had previously excelled as a three-card monte con artist, bilking passers-by with enviable skill. (in fact, Booth announces with total solemnity that he wants to change his name to 3-Card.)

Lincoln, however, wants nothing more to do with the cards, though he fears he’s about to be made redundant by a wax likeness of Abe, and rehearses some extra business for his impersonation that just might persuade his employer to keep him. Booth, for his part, returns home wearing layers of spiffy clothes guaranteed to impress the ladies, especially a gal named Grace. His preparations for a date with Grace is a comic high point. 

Along the way, there are sobering revelations about their childhood: abandoned by their parents while the boys were still teenagers and having to fend for themselves. The frequent tonal shifts from the humorous to the poignant are masterfully handled by the two actors under the assured direction of the great Kenny Leon.

The enactments of the much discussed card scam, played out on a sheet of cardboard over a couple of milk crates in full view of the audience, are authentically executed, a marvel in themselves.

There’s a good deal of interstitial music, some at rock concert decibels. But within the play, Hawkins gets to perform a compelling blues number accompanying himself on guitar. A lovely moment, even though there’s a sinister subtext to the scene.

Arnulfo Maldonado’s claustrophobic and very plausible boarding house set is framed, paradoxically, by an elegant gold curtain  Dede Ayite’s costumes, from Lincoln’s presidential costume to the cool duds shoplifted by Booth are a show in themselves.

So who’s the top dog and who’s the underdog? Lincoln or Booth? Parks keeps us guessing right up to the end, in a most thoroughly entertaining fashion.

Highly recommended.

(Golden Theatre, 252 West 45th Street; Telecharge.com or 212-239-6200; through January 15)

Photo by: Marc J. Franklin: (I.-r.) Corey Hawkins, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

Cost of Living (Manhattan Theater Club)

By Harry Forbes

Martyna Majok’s deeply moving play relates parallel caregiver and patient stories before ultimately converging poignantly. That simple precis may not sound appealing on the face of it, but trust me, this is theater at its very best.

I hesitate to give away more of the plot as events unfold so compellingly, and really, the less you know going in, probably the better. But, suffice to say, “Cost of Living” -- which premiered at the Williamstown Theatre Festival in July 2016, played MTC’s Stage 1, and won the 2018 Pulitzer Prize for Drama -- is beautifully and delicately nuanced, qualities that are mirrored every step of the way in the superb performances. Both Gregg Mozgala and Katy Sullivan, disabled in real life,  were deservedly acclaimed in the Off-Broadway run, and now, David Zayas and Kara Young match them brilliantly.

There’s Eddie (Zayas), an out-of-work truck driver, caring for his quadriplegic ex-wife Ani (Sullivan) who has lost her legs in a car accident, while the well-to-do John (Mozgala), incapacitated by his cerebral palsy, is persuaded, despite initial qualms, to hire the inexperienced Jess (Kara Young) to assist him with his daily ablutions. 

I was familiar with Zayas from his excellent work in Showtime’s “Dexter” and many other series, but I wasn’t prepared for what an incredibly potent stage actor he is, too. He opens the play with a lengthy, expertly acted, monologue about the intense loneliness he feels after losing his wife, after which the action takes us back to the events of the past several months. Young, so charismatic in last season’s production of Lynn Nottage’s “Clyde’s,” impresses mightily once again as the spunky but all too vulnerable cocktail waitress turned home health aide. 

Both plot strands involve scenes where the caregivers tenderly bathe their charges. And these are among the most moving I’ve ever seen.

The sequence involving Eddie and Ani is highlighted by a wonderfully affecting childhood remembrance from Eddie, accompanied by a haunting piece of music by Mikaal Sulaiman whose original score for the play is another asset. During this sequence, I’m quite sure there was nary a dry eye in the house, as they say. And yet those profoundly affecting moments are followed by an incredibly harrowing episode, mercifully brief, but all the more powerful for coming after such a heartrending scene.

Wilson Chin’s spare turntable scenic design, sensitively illuminated by Jeff Croiter’s lighting design, and Jessica Pabst’s spot-on costumes are just right.

Jo Bonney’s direction maintains the exquisite delicacy of Majok’s writing with its aching themes of loneliness and connection, and she elicits, as indicated, pitch perfect performances. 

It’s a sad story, yes, but such a relatable one and so finely done, that one leaves the theater not depressed but exhilarated. 

(Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, 261 West 47th Street; Telecharge.com, by phone at 212-239-6200; through November 6)

Top  (l-r) – Katy Sullivan, David Zayas Photo credit © Julieta Cervantes

Below (l-r) – Gregg Mozgala, Kara Young Photo credit © Jeremy Daniel

                                  

1776 (Roundabout Theatre Company)

By Harry Forbes

I approached Jeffrey L. Page and Diane Paulus’ all female -- that is to say, female, transgender, and nonbinary -- production of the enduring 1969 Sherman Edwards-Peter Stone musical with no little trepidation. Surely this was wokeness run amok. 

In the Playbill, Roundabout Artistic Director Todd Haines writes of placing “our shared foundational mythology in the hands of a talented group of artists who reflect multiple representations of race, gender, and ethnicity.” And Page speaks of blurring “the lines between the occluded and the included,” and illuminating “new dimensions of our national story.” And so on.

That sounded like much the same familiar rhetoric heralding the arrival of “Hamilton” and other shows in its wake. But, much to my surprise, I found this “1776” a thoroughly enjoyable and commendable piece of work which does respectful justice to the show, while at the same time, yes, validating the creative team’s stated goals.

Casting and overall concept notwithstanding, the production is still very much the show as written. The narrative unfolds in its customary way, and there’s no camping or sense of “look at us; we’re dressing up as men.” This is a straight reading of Peter Stone’s book, though the staging takes a very fresh approach. Page has devised much clever choreography and coordinated movement which gives the production an admirable fluidity even as, of course, Philadelphia’s Chamber of the Continental Congress remains the centerpiece.

 

For the record, the production marks the second time around for “1776” at the Roundabout. Their excellent 1997 revival (which transferred to Broadway for a healthy run of 300 plus performances) was cast along traditional lines, and resulted in a fine recording. 

Here, Scott Pask’s versatile set design -- which also accommodates the Jefferson house, and various Philadelphia locales -- includes diaphanous curtains pulled across the stage during scene changes, and lively projections by David Bengali. Of the central characters, Crystal Lucas-Perry captures the irascibility of John Adams. Patrena Murray is the model of a curmudgeonly Benjamin Franklin, rather in the mode of Whoopi Goldberg. And Elizabeth A. Davis makes a patrician, appropriately recalcitrant Thomas Jefferson. 

The score, though reorchestrated by John Clancy, remains a delight. The opening sequence “Sit Down, John,” and then John Adams’ “Piddle, Twiddle, and Resolve” has lost its operetta-like period charm, which I missed, but thereafter, the arrangements adhere more satisfyingly to the original in spirit, albeit with a piquant freshness.

Thus, John and Abigail’s “Till Then” and “Yours, Yours, Yours” play as touchingly as ever in the hands of Lucas-Perry and Allyson Kaye Daniel. And Martha Jefferson’s “He Plays the Violin,” wherein she explains the charms of husband Tom, is sung quite beautifully and traditionally by Eryn LeCroy, though with perhaps too obvious an emphasis on the double entendre lyrics. Shawna Hamic’s Richard Henry Lee delivers “The Lees of Old Virginia” with its customary bravado. 

Dramatically, Carolee Carmello is very strong in the important role of Pennsylvania's John Dickinson, who stubbornly holds out on declaring independence, and leads a highly choreographed revamp of “Cool, Cool Considerate Men.”  Liz Mikel’s John Hancock (who served as President of the Congress) is also a strong presence. 

The Courier’s anti-war ballad, “Momma Look Sharp” is sung in a gorgeously orchestrated choral arrangement, but at the same time, I did think Imani Pearl Williams’ words were rather clouded by the florid arrangement and her soulful embellishments. And Sara Porkalob (as Edward Rutledge) leads an elaborate and powerful staging of “Molasses to Rum.” 

The signing of the Declaration at the show’s end is as moving as ever, and my Sunday matinee audience gave the show a rousing ovation. While I wouldn’t want this version to become the standard performing edition of “1776,” and nor will it be, for the time being, it’s an exciting variation well worth your time.

(American Airlines Theatre, 212-719-1300 or roundabouttheatre.org; through January 8)

Photo by Joan Marcus: The company of Roundabout Theatre Company's 1776

Leopoldstadt (Longacre Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

Tom Stoppard, arguably Britain’s greatest living dramatist, has an undeniably stellar track record, and his latest -- lauded in London and now on Broadway with an almost all American cast -- is no exception. And unlike some of his other works, which can be intellectually challenging, the main hurdle for audiences here is keeping track of the myriad characters and their relationships to each other. 

For this is a multi-generational story of two blended families in Vienna’s Jewish district which gives the play its name. By the time we get to grandchildren and great-grandchildren, one’s mind is a muddle. And this despite Stoppard applying all this considerable dramaturgical skills to allow an audience to identify and differentiate the characters. 

But no matter. The principal relationships in each scene -- which take place in 1899/1900, 1934, 1948, and 1955 respectively -- are clear enough. And though there is, at times, rather too much exposition, starting with a lengthy exchange between mathematician Ludwig and brother-in-law business tycoon Hermann about assimilation, for the most part, this is very much an identifiable human story with as much action as cerebral talk.

The play is two hours and 10 minutes without a break, a longish stretch that would not, I would venture, be damaged by a standard intermission after the second scene. Bladder considerations aside, the break might even allow audience members to consult their programs, and parse the characters’ relationships amongst themselves.

The first scene (1899) is an elaborate Christmas celebration; yes, Christmas, as a couple of the family members have Christian spouses, illustrating how Christmas and Hanukkah were at that time casually intermingled as when young Jacob (Hermann’s son) impishly places a star of David on the tree. The second revolves around a largely comical bris of Ludwig’s niece’s infant son. The third takes place the violent night of anti-semitic demonstrations and violence known as Kristallnacht and the Nazis at last breaking into the family’s cozy domain. And the last act, with three of the descendents meeting at the now stripped down location of the earlier acts, reveals the sad fates of nearly everyone in the family. 

We’ve seen variations of this story many times before, to be sure, especially in films, so the ending is perforce predictable, but told through the prism of Stoppard’s superlative pen, it’s a worthy addition to those Holocaust-themed stories of the past. And it’s also the most personal statement about Stoppard’s own Jewish background of which, like young Leo in the final scene, he was mostly ignorant as he was raised in England. 

Richard Hudson’s luxurious scenic design for the spacious apartment where the action takes place, warmly lit by Neil Austin, and Brigitte Reiffenstuel’s richly textured period costumes are all you could wish for. Isaac Madge’s black and white projections provide vivid scene setting between scenes.

Playwright/director Patrick Marber (“Closer”), a Stoppard veteran, directs with a predictably skillful hand, not only eliciting fine performances from his large ensemble but blocking the actors for maximum comprehension, at least as much as Stoppard’s dense panoply of characters allows. The play opened in London in 2020, winning the Olivier Best Play award, and there’s already been one of those National Theatre Live video relays, one which was blacked out in the states presumably because of the incoming Broadway production. But it would be fascinating to compare the two casts. (The holdovers from the London are Faye Castelow as Herman’s adulterous wife Gretl, Jenna Augen as Ludwig’s sister Wilma and, later, her daughter Rosa, Aaron Neil as Ludwig’s brother-in-law Ernst, and Arty Froushan as arrogant dragoon Fritz and later Ludwig’s clueless grandson Leo, who’s more or less the Stoppard prototype.) And the narrative would no doubt be aided by close-ups.

This is such a seamless ensemble of 38 players, it’s difficult or even wrong to single out individual performances, but Brandon Uranowitz is particularly dynamic as Ludwig, and David Krumholtz outstanding as Hermann, his character sadly confident that he has cracked Viennese society and that anti-Semitism is on the wane. The former shows up in the last scene as his grandnephew Nathan. The stories of Ludwig and Hermann dominate the first scene and as such, register as predominant characters.

No matter how often we’ve seen stories like this dramatized, from “The Diary of Anne Frank” onwards, they never fail to provide a gut punch, and in the hands of a master like Stoppard, the effect is ineffably moving and devastating.

(Longacre Theatre, 220 West 48th Street; Telecharge.com or by phone at 212-239-6200.; through March 12)

Photo by Joan Marcus:

Brandon Uranowitz (Ludwig), Aaron Shuf (Young Jacob), and David Krumholtz (Hermann)