“On the Aisle with Larry” 2 July 2020

Lawrence Harbison,The Playfixer, usually brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York; but in this column, Larry shares his thoughts on the Strange New World of streaming theatre.

“I can deal with this. This is a temporary situation.” Ken Jenkins, CHUG

And now, For Something Completely New and Different, I recently had my first experience with Streamed Theatre, a production of Molière’s TARTUFFE, presented online by Molière in the Park in association with Alliance Française. Maybe I will get used to this as I watch more streamed productions as this dreadful pandemic wears on; but I have to say, watching a play on my computer screen just ain’t the same as real theatre.

That said, this production of Molière’s classic about flim-flammery in the name of religion was a good choice in the Era of Trump as evangelical so-called Christians have drunk the Kool-Aid; so much so that a large chunk of them are under the delusion that this repugnant non-Christian is the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy. Lord, have mercy …

Back to this production: before it begins, we get not one but three introductions, one by the director, one by the Artistic Director and one by “Molière.” The first two make now-obligatory statements about how Black lives matter and how racial injustice has to end, etc., and finally “Molière” appears in a period costume, heavily made up and wearing a bright pink wig. My first thought was that he was Randy Rainbow, but I was disabused of this notion quickly as the actor (not credited in the program) was Not Funny, just annoying. When all three speeches were finished, the production began.

What I saw was a handsome interior set, up on my screen for a rather long time as I waited for the actors to enter. They didn’t. Instead, they started popping up in their own separate boxes. It took me a while to get used to this; but, finally, I did and sat back to enjoy the acting by the African American cast (except for Jennifer Mudge as Dorine, the saucy maid, and Raúl Esparza in the title role), which was actually pretty good given the limitations of Zoom. I’m not a fan of cross-gender casting, but I have to admit Samira Wiley was delightful as the deluded father, Orgon. Esparza was more than pretty good – he was terrific. All of the actors handled translator Richard Wilbur’s rhymed couplet verse extremely well.

While the actors do their thing in their boxes, a running chat board is at the right side of my screen, and many viewers use this to post commentary, most of it rather inane. After a while, I ignored this and just focused on the acting.

The whole experience made me more than a little sad, though. As Sir exclaims in THE DRESSER, “What have I been reduced to?”

This just in: TARTUFFE has been extended through 12 July, streaming on https://www.youtube.com/moliereinthepark

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

“On the Aisle with Larry”

Lawrence Harbison, the Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on MACBETH, THE LIGHTNING THIEF, SEARED, DR. RIDE’S AMERICAN BEACH HOUSE, EVERYTHING IS SUPER GREAT and ALL IS TRUE.

Macbeth, at CSC, is not Macbeth – it’s an adaptation of the play by director John Doyle, though this is not explained in the program which, by the way, you have to download from CSC’s website (are paper programs going to become a thing of the past?). The assumption, when directors do this, is that everyone in the audience knows Shakespeare’s original, whereas I’ll wager to say that a lot of people who attend Doyle’s production think they are seeing Macbeth as Shakespeare wrote it. I have no problem with Shakespeare adaptations – as long as the program makes it clear that that’s what they are (although how would a CSC theatregoer know that without a program?). Here, CSC would not have been able to afford to produce Macbeth. Too many actors. This production employs eight. My position is that if you can’t afford to do the text of the play as the playwright intended, don’t do it. This is a constant problem for CSC, an acronym for Classic Stage Company, as almost all classic plays require casts that are far larger than an Off Broadway company can manage. So, we often end up with hybrids like this Macbeth.

As anyone who knows the play knows, it begins with the three Witches (“Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble …”). In Doyle’s production, though, the witches are portrayed by the entire cast, except for Macbeth – including Lady M. This makes no sense, and undercuts the creepiness of Macbeth’s encounter with the Weird Sisters. The Porter has been cut (“Who’s there, i’ the name of Beelzebub?”). King Duncan and Ross are portrayed by women. Fleance is portrayed by what appears to be a transgender actor (although, who knows?). The list of Doyle’s liberties goes on and on …

All of the above said, the two leads acquit themselves well. Corey Still is appropriately weenie as Macbeth and Nadia Bowers appropriately creepy as Lady M.

The Lightning Thief, at the Longacre Theatre, a musical based on a young adult novel by Rick Riordan, the first installment in the “Percy Jackson & the Olympians” series, tells the story of Percy, a troubled teen being raised by his mother, his father having ditched them years ago. Percy keeps getting expelled from schools. Finally, he winds up at Camp Half-Blood, which he learns is for children one of whose parents is a Greek God. Percy finally learns that his father is Poseidon, and that someone has stolen Zeus’ lightning bolt. He goes on a quest with two other kids to discover the culprit, who they think is Hades, so they go by bus to Los Angeles, where the entrance to Hell is (perfect!). Along the way, they meet Ares. Did he steal the lightning? Eventually, they discover the real thief, and get the lightning bolt back – and Percy meets his father. It’s sorta Dear Evan Hansen meets Hadestown, which I assume won over investors, as both those shows won the Tony Award.

The kids are played by adults, unfortunately, though some of the performances are mighty fine, particularly that of Chris McCarell as Percy. The songs by Rob Rokicki are mostly unremarkable. The scenic design, by Lee Savage, consists of scaffolding, some permanent, some rolling in and out. It’s one of the ugliest sets I have ever seen on a Broadway stage.

If you are a fan of the Percy Jackson novels, I think you would enjoy The Lightning Thief. Everyone else, be prepared to sit there and roll your eyes.

Seared, Theresa Rebeck’s searing new play at the Robert W. Wilson MCC Theater Space/Susan & Ronald Frankel Theater, at MCC Theatre’s new complex of two splendid theatres (which I had the pleasure of visiting for the first time), is about a genius chef named Harry and his investor, Mike, who also serves as a waiter, this being a very small operation. The chef is difficult, to say the least. The restaurant has just received a glowing review in New York Magazine, with particular praise for the scallops so, naturally, the chef refuses to cook them the following day, much to the chagrin of his partner. Although they now start to do capacity business, they are barely breaking even. A rent increase could put them out of business. The partner brings in a brilliant woman named Emily who specializes in helping restaurants reach their maximum financial potential, and what ensues is a war of the wills between Harry, who resists any change because he doesn’t care about money and Emily, backed by Mike, who do.

Raúl Esparza is astounding as Harry, but David Mason (Mine) and Krysta Rodriguez (Emily) are almost as good, and W. Tré Davis has a nice turn as a waiter, Rodney. Moritz von Stuepfnagel’s taut timing in the direction is amazing, as is Tim MacKabee’s hyper-realistic kitchen set.

Seared is one of the gifted and prolific Rebeck’s best plays, and rockets to the list of my must-see list.

I sat though Lisa Birkenmeier’s intermission-less Dr. Ride’s American Beach House, an Ars Nova production at the Greenwich House Theatre, wondering when the play was going to finally get going; but I think that must have been a guy thing. We’re big on dramatic action and conflict, short on plays in which a coupla white chicks basically do nothing but sit around, talking. They are on a roof, there for a meeting of the Serious Ladies Book Club, in which no books are discussed but a lot of venting is done. They are two BFF’s with college degrees in poetry who are working as waitresses, living in St. Louis. One of them, Harriet, played with touching simplicity by Kristen Dieh, has recently returned from Florida to visit her mother, who is dying, where she learns that NASA has a beach house near Cape Canaveral, where astronauts stay before they are shot into space, one of whom at this juncture in time is Sally Ride, the first female astronaut. Harriet’s BFF, Matilda (a stellar Erin Markey), has a husband and a baby, but there are hints that their relationship is more than “just friends.” Also in the mix is a very butch lesbian named Meg, who arrives thinking she has come to an actual book club, who provides a lot of the wit which ultimately sustains the play.

While I myself wasn’t wild about the play, I must report that it moved a female playwright friend of mine to tears.

Stephen Brown’s Everything is Super Great, at 59E59, is a wonderful comedy about a teenaged guy who works at Walmart, along with his mother. He is very angst-ridden, so the mom hires a psychologist to work with him who is highly unqualified, to say the least.

The acting is super-great, as is Sarah Norris’ superb direction.

This one, too, makes my must-see list.

Finally, I don’t usually comment on movies but I want theatre-lovers to know about All is True, produced and directed by Kenneth Branagh, who stars as William Shakespeare. Will has retired to Stratford shortly after his beloved Globe Theatre has burned down, leaving the world of the theatre behind with no regrets. He soon learns that many of the assumptions he had about his family are, well, not true.

Since little is known of Shakespeare’s final years, screenwriter Ben Elton includes much conjecture; though he makes this highly credible. His screenplay is, in a word, brilliant, as is Branagh’s performance. There are many great scenes in this film, such as one in which the Earl of Southampton (a wonderful Ian McKellen), to whom Shakespeare dedicated his sonnets long ago, arrives in Stratford to urge Will not to give up writing plays, during which it is subtly but yet abundantly clear that Southampton was the great love of Will’s life. I also loved a scene in which Shakespeare tells off a snide Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote, who has accused him of having engaged in trivial pursuits while he, Lucy, has been doing something that matters — running an estate. Will lays into him with a brilliant tirade describing everything it takes to run a theatre, which leaves Lucy, and us, speechless.

This film is a don’t miss, particularly if you know something about Shakespeare’s life.

MACBETH.  CSC, 136 E. 13^th St.

TICKETS: www.ovationtix.com or 212-677-4210

THE LIGHTNING THIEF. Longacre Theatre, 220 W. 48^th St.

TICKETS: www.telecharge.com or 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400

SEARED. The Robert W. Wilson MCC Theater Space/Susan & Ronald Frankel Theater,

511 W. 52nd St.

DR. RIDE’S AMERICAN BEACH HOUSE. Ars Nova at the Greenwich House

Theatre. Alas, closed

EVERYTHING IS SUPER GREAT. 59E59, 59 E. 59^th St.

TICKETS: 646-892-7999 

ALL IS TRUE. Available on DVD from Netflix.

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

“On the Aisle with Larry”

Lawrence Harbison, The Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on SLAVE PLAY, EINSTEIN’S DREAMS, FEAR, BRANDOCAPOTE and THE GREAT SOCIETY. 

Jeremy O. Harris’ Slave Play, at the Golden Theatre, is one of those plays where you think it’s one thing but then it turns out to be something quite different. In the first third of this two hour and 20 minute intermission-less drama, we are in the Old South, at a plantation. It starts off with a female slave and her sadistic overseer who, of course, rapes her. Next, we go inside the plantation house, with the randy plantation owner’s wife and a very handsome male house slave. She makes him strip butt-naked and get down in all fours, then takes out an enormous black dildo and sodomizes him with it. The third scene involves two men – one black, one white. The white guy plays the slave and the black guy plays his master. The master makes the slave lick his boot until he orgasms, which surprised the heck out of me as the black guy didn’t appear to even have a woody.

After these carryings-on, we go to the present. It turns out, what we have seen were fantasies of the contemporary mixed-race couples, participating in a sex-therapy workshop conducted by two women. What ensues is a lot of psychobabble, much of it incomprehensible.

The actors are fine, the direction’s fine; but the play is who-cares.

Einstein’s Dreams, at 59E59, is a musical about young Albert Einstein, a humble patent clerk, who falls asleep at his desk and dreams up the Theory of Relativity, inspired by a muse named Josette. The book by Joanne Sydney Lessner is sort of a Cliff Notes. Some of the songs by Joshua Rosenblum are pleasant, although one or two are not so. In “Now Backwards Moving in Time,” for instance, all the lyrics are sung backwards, to demonstrate how Time will eventually turn around and head back the other way.

Of the performers, Alexandra Silber is a standout as the Muse.

Fear, a new drama by Matt Williams at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, is a gripping cat and mouse game. At the start, a man (a plumber) drags a teenaged boy into a disused tool shed near a lake. An 8 year-old girl has gone missing, and he thinks the kid’s responsible. Another man, part of the search party for the girl, hears the ruckus and barges in to find the kid tied up and being choked. Turns out, he’s a college professor and the next door neighbor of both the kid and the guy choking him. He can’t call for help because he has no bars on his cell phone. Who’s telling the truth? Is the kid the culprit or, maybe, is it the plumber’s own son? And, what’s with the visits by the plumber to the professor’s house? Into this melodramatic framework, Williams grafts a brilliant examination of the all-consuming fear in which we all live in these dark times. 

Director Tea Alagić’s direction is taut, and there are terrific performances by Enrico Colantoni as the plumber, Obu Abili as the professor and Alexander Garfin as the scared-out-of-his mind kid. You won’t find better acting right now on a New York stage.

Don’t miss Fear.

As for BrandoCapote, by Reid and Sara Farrington, you could skip it unless you really like “experimental theatre” which here, as it usually is, is mostly imitation-Dada/surrealism. Inspired by an interview Truman Capote conducted with Marlon Brando in Tokyo during the filming of “Sayonara” the play, such as it is, uses the text of this interview to examine the similar troubled childhoods of both Brando and Capote. For some reason, most of Brando’s dialogue is heard as voice over done by the actor playing Brando, who makes no effort to sound like him, whereas much of Capote’s words are done live by Akiro Kumatsu, who does a killer Capote impression. All the actors are dressed in kimonos, and they spend a lot of time rolling up and then unrolling lengths of cloth, which they stretch across the stage.Why? Nobody knows. Sometimes, they pick up red mops and mop the floor furiously. Go figure.

BrandoCapote is only 60 minutes long, which I found blessedly brief.

Robert Schenkkan’s The Great Society, at the Vivian Beaumont Theatre, is a follow-up to his All the Way, which featured a towering performance by Bryan Cranston as LBJ. Here, Brian Cox assays the role. While he’s pretty good he’s hardly towering. 

The play focuses on Johnson’s attempts to pass the Voting Rights bill even as he is trying to get Congress to pass his Great Society agenda. The usual culprits, such as Governor Wallace and the Republicans stand in his way. Of course, the Vietnam quagmire eventually brings him down. Like All the Way, it’s a fascinating portrait of a brilliant politician pulling out all the stops. Bill Rauch’s direction is superb, as are all the actors – Richard Thomas as Hubert Humphrey, Bryce Pinkham as Bobby Kennedy and Grantham Coleman as Martin Luther King are particular stand-outs.

While The Great Society is not as great as All the Way, it’s still worth seeing even if you didn’t live through the events it dramatizes, as I did. 

SLAVE PLAY. Golden Theatre, 252 W. 45^th St.

TICKETS: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6210 or 800-543-4835

EINSTEIN’S DREAMS. 59E59, 59 E. 59^TH St.

TICKETS: 646-892-7999

FEAR. Lucille Lortel Theatre, 121.Christopher St.

TICKETS: https://www.ticketoffices.com/venues/lucille-lortel-theatre-tickets?discount-tickets&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI9vjCw9r75QIVhJ-zCh0xjwXBEAAYASABEgJ32fD_BwE or 844-379-0370

BRANDOCAPOTE. The Tank, 312 W. 36^th St.

TICKETS: www.thetanknyc.org

THE GREAT SOCIETY. Vivian Beaumont Theatre, Lincoln Center

TICKETS: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6210 or 800-543-4835 

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

“On the Aisle with Larry”

Lawrence Harbison, the Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on MOULIN ROUGE, THE HEIGHT OF THE STORM, and THE WIVES and Sam Bobrick.

I am reporting to you belatedly on the above, which I saw last month. My computer went belly-up but I am finally up and running with a new one. After many years of its running on www.smithandkraus.com, I am moving my column over to www.applausebooks.com,

the new website of Applause Theatre & Cinema books, which be operational this week. Applause is a much larger operation than was Smith & Kraus, with significantly more web traffic.

Moulin Rouge, at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre, is a spectacular version of the Baz Luhrman film about a dying chanteuse named Satine in Belle Epoque Paris and the two men who love her. Karen Olivo is phenomenal as Satine (though I have to say, she’s not as consumptive as the book calls for – well, what do you expect, this is musical comedy and who wants to see the leading lady coughing all night?). I thought she had left the business after her last Broadway outing in West Side Story, but if that’s true, I’m glad she changed her mind.

As in the Luhrman film, the score consists of over 80 contemporary pop songs, many of them mere snippets, all sung energetically by a wonderful cast, which includes Aaron Tveit as an impoverished songwriter, Tam Mutu as a wealthy British aristocrat and Danny Burstein as the owner of the eponymous nightclub, which is going under. If Satine chooses the villainous Baron, she can save the club; but she’s really in love with the songwriter. The Baron agrees to produce a musical written by the songwriter, which could save the club – but only if Satine agrees to become his mistress.

All three male leads are terrific, but I think the Main Events are the fabulous direction by Justin Timbers, the sumptuous costumes by Catherine Zuber, the sets by Derek McLane, the lighting by Justin Townsend and the wonderful choreography by Sonya Taveh. The show is a visual feast from start to finish. I expect it will be honored with several awards at season’s end.

As for Florian Zeller’s The Height of the Storm, translated by Christopher Hampton, at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre (Manhattan Theatre Club’s Broadway venue), well, I just didn’t get it, nor did many of my fellow theatregoers. It’s a family drama. In the present, the patriarch and matriarch are deceased, but both are major characters because we flit back and forth between the present and the past. Ordinarily, this would have been clarified with lighting changes but here, director Jonathan Kent employs none, perhaps because none are indicated in the script, and the effect on the audience is frustrating confusion although as you would expect, the terrific performances by Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins almost make this rather tedious play watchable.

Jaclyn Backhaus’ The Wives at Playwrights Horizons, which has closed, was a time-travelling comedy about the wives and mistresses of various historical figures such as the French King Henry IV and Ernest Hemingway. It was very inventively staged by Margot Bordelon.

Backhaus is a real comer – like many young female playwrights hugely influenced by the work of Caryl Churchill without being in any way derivative. This was the first play of hers I have seen, but I look forward to seeing many more.

Playwright Sam Bobrick has passed away at the age of 87. Sam, an old friend, was a very successful TV writer in the 1960s though the 1980s, whose credits include numerous episodes of “The Andy Griffith Show, “The “Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour and “Saved by the Bell,” which he created. In the 1970’s he turned to writing Broadway comedies, partnering with fellow TV writer Ron Clark, such as “Norman, Is That You,” “Wally’s Café” and “Murder at the Howard Johnson’s.” Though none of these succeeded on Broadway, they have proved popular with amateur groups, always on the lookout for plays which are just plain fun – for their actors and for their audiences.

Used to be, comedies (along with thrillers) were ubiquitous in every Broadway season; but then, the Broadway critics decided that these kinds of plays belonged on television, and began deriding them as “sit-coms.” About the worst thing a critic could call a play became “television.” Fortunately, Neil Simon came along before this attitude became prevalent; but by the time Bobrick and Clarke hit Broadway they were outta luck, at least on Broadway; but fortunately comedies were (and still are) very popular with the above mentioned amateur groups.

After parting with Clark, Bobrick continued to write plays, many of which have received numerous productions, licensed by Samuel French, and was writing right up until the end.

Sam was a wonderfully cranky old coot, and I miss him.

MOULIN ROUGE. Al Hirschfeld Theatre, 302 W. 45^th St.

Tickets: www.ticketmaster.com or 800-745-3000

THE HEIGHT OF THE STORM. Robert J. Friedman Theatre, 261 W. 47^th St.

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400.

THE WIVES. Playwrights Horizons. Alas, closed. 

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

Lawrence Harbison, the Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on Betrayal, Only Yesterday, Caesar and Cleopatra, American Moor, Sea Wall/A Life, Get on Your Knees and L.O.V.E.R.

I was unfamiliar with the work of British director Jamie Lloyd, whose production of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal at the Bernard Jacobs Theatre I saw last week. Based on this production, I have to say that Lloyd has vaulted to the very top of the list of innovative  directors. Although the acting is realistic, his production is not. All three principal actors are onstage throughout. There is no set – just 3 chairs – and she employs a slow-moving turntable for much of the play. The effect is to focus on the story in a way I have never seen before.

For those of you who don’t know the play, it’s the tale of an adulterous affair between a man named Jerry and Emma, the wife of his best friend, Robert. When it begins, the affair has been over for two years and the couple has not seen each other since. It goes back in time, and the final scene is when the affair begins.

All three actors are splendid. The chemistry between Charlie Cox, as Jerry, and Zawe Ashton, as Emma, is intense. Tom Hiddleston’s performance as Robert is very poignant, particularly so as he has known about the affair for a long time but continues to consider Jerry his best friend.

This is a magnificent tour do force production, and not to be missed.

I wish you could have seen Bob Stevens’ Only Yesterday at 59E59 but, alas, it has closed. The main characters were none other than John Lennon and Paul McCartney who, while the Beatles are on tour, have to wait out a hurricane in Key West. With little to do, they discuss songs they might write, play some covers, such as “Roll Over, Beethoven” and “Rock and Roll Music,” and talk about their lives, as hordes of teenaged girls have gathered outside the motel they’re stuck in to scream. One of them, a bird named Shirley, has managed to crawl into the air duck, where she’s stuck, so the lads banter with Shirley and actually play a couple of songs for her. One of these, “How Do You Do It,” was not released by the Beatles in 1964, when this play takes place but by Gerry and the Pacemakers, so I thought it an odd choice. I also thought it odd that they changed a lyric in “Roll Over, Beethoven.” Other than these minor quibbles, this was a wonderful production, with superb performances by Christopher Sears as John and Tommy Crawford as Paul, as well as a nice turn by Olivia Swayze as the teen in the air duct.

Although I have read it, I have never seen a production of Shaw’s Caesar and Cleopatra, so I booked the Gingold Theatrical Group’s production at the Theatre Row Theatre. I still haven’t seen Shaw’s play. What I saw was a pared-down adaptation by director David Staller, though this is not stated in the program, which identifies the play as Caesar & Cleopatra (sic), reducing Shaw’s large cast to 7 actors, all of whom are costumed in white, so there is no visual differentiation between the Romans and the Egyptians. The play is supposed to take place in Cleopatra’s palace, which is represented by what appears to be wooden construction scaffolding. I won’t mention the names of the actors. It’s not their fault.

There are inventive directors like the aforementioned Jamie Lloyd, and then there are inept ones like David Staller. Great that he digs Shaw, but if you can’t do his plays without mauling the text – don’t do them.

The premise of American Moor at the Cherry Lane Theatre (now closed), written by and starring Keith Hamilton Cobb, was that an African American actor is auditioning for the role of Othello, for a white director who sits in the audience. His audition goes on for an hour and a half, during which he exhibits various kinds of hostile behavior, mostly having to do with being a black man in a white’s man’s world. Had Cobb dropped the audition premise and done just the rant he might have been annoying but at least he might have been credible; but no, he insists this is an audition. Nobody would hire an actor with a chip on his shoulder the size of the iceberg which sank the Titanic.

Sea Wall/A Life, at the Hudson Theatre, which has also closed, was two lengthy narrative monologues. In the first, Sea Wall by Simon Stephens, Tom Sturridge tells the tale of his daughter’s death. In A Life by Nick Payne, it’s Jake Gyllenhaal’s turn to tell us a story, this one about the birth of his daughter simultaneous with the death of his father. As both characters were pretty much hapless wimps, I got more and more annoyed by them. These are portraits of contemporary masculinity? Puh-lease …

I caught one of the final performances of comedienne Jacqueline Novak’s stand-up act, Get on Your Knees, which was mostly about blowjobs. Really. I swear to God. The women sitting around me were yukking it up. Most of the men (myself included) sat there stone-faced. Novak spends most of the show pacing back and forth with a rather nervous energy, which I guess gives it some visual variety, but which I found rather trying.

L.O.V.E.R. at the Signature Center, written by and starring Lois Robbins, is also an autobiographical one-woman show about sexual awakening, though it deals with a lot more than just sex. Robbins deals with her on again-off again relationships with various men before finally finding the Right One. She is delightful, funny and sometime poignant. Most of the audience at the performance I attended were middle-aged women and they seemed to identify with Robbins’ trials and tribulations; but I don’t think L.O.V.E.R. is only for men, because I enjoyed it, too.

In my next column, I’ll give you my thoughts on Moulin Rouge, and The Height of the Storm, all of which are still running.

Betrayal. Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, 242 W. 45th St.

Tickets: www.telecharge.com or 800-447-7400

Only Yesterday. 59E59. Alas, closed.

Caesar and Cleopatra. Theatre Row Theatre, 410 W. 42nd St.

Tickets: fuhgeddaboudit

American Moor. Cherry Lane Theatre, 38 Commerce St. Closed

Sea Wall/A Life. Hudson Theatre, 141 W. 44th St. Closed

Get on Your Knees. Lucille Lortel Theatre, 121 Christopher St.

L.O.V.E.R. Pershing Square Signature Center, 480 W. 42nd St.

Tickets: www.ticketcentral.com

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

Lawrence Harbison, The Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on AIN’T TOO PROUD, KISS ME, KATE, BE MORE CHILL, BEETLEJUICE, HADESTOWN, NANTUCKET SLEIGH RIDE, HILLARY AND CLINTON, INK, THE PAIN OF MY BELLIGERENCE and GARY: A SEQUEL TO TITUS ANDRONICUS. 

For theatregoers my age (old) the music of the Motown group The Temptations was part of our youth, but I think younger audience will flock along with the geezers to the Imperial Theatre, where Ain’t Too Proud is in residence for what will probably be a long run. Like Jersey Boys and The Cher Show, this is a bio-musical, working in the group’s greatest hits as it tells their story. Dominque Morissseau was the perfect choice to write the book. She’s a wonderful playwright, the recipient of a MacArthur grant and she’s from Detroit! She has done a terrific job of seamlessly weaving those great 60s songs into what becomes a rather dark story. More on that later. 

The story is narrated by Otis Williams, the last surviving original member of the Temps, as we used to call them, played by Derrick Baskin, and he’s terrific – but so are the other members of the group; particularly, Ephraim Sykes as David Ruffin, a great soul singer but a troubled man. Sykes’ rendition of Ruffin’s signature song, “My Girl,” took me back to my boyhood and made me long for my own girl. 

As you might expect, the choreography by Sergio Trujillo, who seems to specialize in what are often derided, unfairly in my opinion, as “jukebox musicals,” captures perfectly the Temps’ slick moves, and the whole thing has been put together perfectly by Des McAnuff who, you might remember, also directed Jersey Boys and The Who’s Tommy. 

The only problem with the show is the second act as, one by one, the Temps die off, Ruffin in a drug overdose when he was only 28. It’s bummer after bummer but, fortunately there are a lot of great songs to get us through the tragedies. 

Director Scott Ellis has come up some new ideas to stage Kiss Me, Kate, the Cole Porter and Sam & Bella Spewack musical at Studio 54. For one thing, he’s had orchestrator Larry Hochman add music to some songs, like “Too Darn Hot,”  to enable choreographer Warren Carlyle to turn them into big dance numbers. He’s also “fixed” the ending, which is right out of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, adding new lyrics to “I Am Ashamed that Women Are So Simple,” in which star Kelli O’Hara is ashamed that people are so simple. There are other PC touches, some of which work, some of which don’t, but essentially this is a first-rate production. O’Hara is sensational, as she always is, but she’s matched by her co-star Will Chase, who has great fun with the role of Fred. 

Be More Chill, at the Lyceum Theatre, is a transfer from Off Broadway last season, It got great reviews then, less than great in this incarnation. It’s a teen angst story about a kid who takes a mind-altering pill to cure his awkwardness and, of course runs into trouble. I liked this show – a lot. I liked Joe Iconis’ songs, Joe Tracz’ book. I liked all the performances. I liked Chase Brock’s choreography. I am at a loss to understand why it’s been slammed. 

I also liked Beetlejuice at the Winter Garden Theatre, based on the Tim Burton film about a jolly ghoul who longs to be brought back to life – if he can only get a living person to say his name three times. Alex Brightman is hilarious in the title role, and Sophia Ann Caruso is touching as a troubled goth teen who misses her recently deceased mother, as she sings in the show’s first song, “Dead Mom.” Eddie Perfect’s music & lyrics capture the tone of the film perfectly, as does Alex Timbers’ direction. P:raise must also go to David Korins’ shape-shifting set. 

Although this has been nominated for the Tony Award for Best Musical, it’s a long shot to win, as all the momentum is with Hadestown, but I have to say I had the best time at Beetlejuice than at any musical this season since The Prom. 

Shows which lose in the Tony Roulette tend to close quickly thereafter. I hope this will not be the case with Beetlejuice. 

Hadestown, at the Walter Kerr Theatre is, like Be More Chill, a transfer from Off Broadway, but it’s the show which everyone seems to love, and it has the most Tony nominations. It’s a retelling of the Orpheus myth. The whole shebang – book, music and lyrics – are by Anais Mitchell, and it’s directed by hot young director Rachel Chafkin, whose direction of Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 wowed the critics but was not enough to entice audiences to buy tickets after star Josh Groban left. 

The reviews are, as I said across-the-board raves, and everybody I have talked to, with the exception of my companion the night I attended, thinks it’s the bee’s knees. Not me. I just don’t get it. I liked some of the performances, notably Amber Gray’s as Persephone and Eva Noblezada’s as Eurydice, but Patrick Page as Hades growled through most of his role, and his songs, few and far between, were for me the least interesting, musically. 

Ah well – who cares what I think? I just hope I am not becoming what I promised I would never be – an Old Fart. 

At the Mitzi Newhouse theatre, John Guare’s Nantucket Sleigh Ride, his first play in several years, is being given a fun, whimsical production by Jerry Zaks, starring John Larroquette as a one-hit wonder playwright, now a businessman, who goes back to 1975, in Nantucket to relive many painfully hilarious memories. 

It’s true, Nantucket Sleigh Ride is often confusing, but I for one appreciate an absurdist farce once in a while. 

Hillary and Clinton, at the Golden Theatre, is sort of about the Clintons and sort of not. It’s another whimsical play by hot hot hot playwright Lucas Hnath, whose A Doll’s House, Part Two was a hit last season. Laurie Metcalfe and John Lithgow make no effort to impersonate the Clintons and, in fact, Metcalfe is giving pretty much the same performance she gave as Nora in A Doll’s House Part Two. 

The play takes place on the eve of the 2008 New Hampshire primary. Hillary is behind in all the polls and it looks like she will lose to Sen. Obama, which will effectively be the end of her candidacy, particularly as she is out of money – which is why she summons her husband, who has stayed away from her campaign, up to New Hampshire in hopes he can come up with the cash to keep her in the race (which, of course, he does – he being Bill Clinton after all). Obama shows up to offer her the nomination as Vice President if she will agree to drop out in the interest of party unity. Will she take him up on it or won’t she? 

Hillary and Clinton seems rather lightweight, certainly compared to A Doll’s House II. Still, it’s a more or less enjoyable 90 minutes. 

James Graham’s Ink, at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, was a huge London last season and has been brought over with it’s two leads intact, again directed brilliantly by Rupert Goold.  The play takes place in the 1960’s. Australian newspaper magnate Rupert Murdoch is determined to make a ton of money in London by buying a failing newspaper, the Sun, and hiring a brilliant editor named Larry Lamb, who’s been excluded from the top executive level because he’s an outsider to a club which consists mostly of old fuddy-duddies. Together, Larry and Rupert change newspaper publishing forever, turning the boring Sun into the first tabloid, proving that sleaze always trumps honest reporting. Fittingly, Larry overtakes the best selling newspaper in the country, like David bringing down Goliath, putting the Sun over the top by, fittingly, publishing a picture of a naked woman (well, a semi-naked woman but you can see which way the wind blows) on page three. 

Bertie Carvel and Jonny Lee Miller are sensational as Murdoch and Lamb, and there is strong supporting work from the Americans in the cast. 

I liked Halley Feiffer’s latest, The Pain of My Belligerence, wherein Feiffer plays a journalist who falls for the husband of a woman she has interviewed, even though he is obviously a bad boy and possibly a serial adulterer. Why would a woman fall for such a man? Who knows? I have to say that the fine actor, Hamish Linklater, almost makes this credible with his raffish charm, and I think Feiffer is giving a very courageous performance. 

The play has been given a fine production by Trip Cullman, whose work I have always loved, and is well worth seeing. 

Finally, I have arrived at Gary: A Sequel to Titus Andonicus by downtown performance artist Taylor Mac, which takes place in the aftermath of the carnage in Shakespeare’s play but multiplies it to the nth degree. Nathan Lane plays the title role, a failed clown who is hired as a maid to help clean up the mess, something at which head maid Janice is most adept. Also in the play is Carol, a midwife, played by Julie White, who wanders in and out appearing to be bewildered that she’s in such a weird play. Lane is sometimes funny, sometimes not, as Gary, and Kristine Neilson goes even more over the top than usual as Janice. I usually like all her mugging, but here she’s more than too much. 

If you’re a fan of Taylor Mac and his peculiar sensibility I think you will enjoy this. Everyone else, be prepared to be appalled.

AIN’T TOO PROUD. Imperial Theatre, 249 W. 45th St.

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

KISS ME, KATE. Studio 54, 254 W. 54th St.

Tickets: www.roundabouttheatre.org

BE MORE CHILL. Lyceum Theatre. 149 W. 45th ST

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

BEETLEJUICE. Winter Garden Theatre, 1634 Broadway

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

HADESTOWN. Walter Kerr Theatre. 219 W. 48th St.

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

NANTUCKET SLEIGH RIDE. Mitzi Newhouse Theatre, Lincoln Center

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

HILLARY AND CLINTON. Golden Theatre, 252 W. 45th St

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

INK. Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, 261 W. 47th St.

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

THE PAIN OF MY BELLIGERENCE. Playwrights Horizons, 416 W. 42nd ST

Tickets: 212-279-4200 or www.ticketcentral.com  

GARY: A SEQUEL TO TITUS ANDRONICUS. Booth Theatre, 222 W. 45th St.

Tickets: 212 -239-6200 or 800-447-7400 or www.telecharge.com

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

Lawrence Harbison, the Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on Network, American Son, Clueless, The Lifespan of a Fact and King Kong.

Happy New Year!

If you think our country is going to hell in a handbasket and you’re mad as hell and aren’t going to take it anymore then Network, Lee Hall’s adaptation of the Paddy Chayefski screenplay from 1977 which garnered several awards, including one for Best Original Screenplay for Chayefski, you don’t want to miss the stage version at the Belasco Theatre. Directed by Ivo Van Hove and featuring a phenomenal performance by Bryan Cranston as Howard Beale, the deranged anchorman on a nightly news show who becomes a Jeremiah-like prophet, Network is one of the best things you’ll see this season.

Van Hove and his designers, most notably Jan Versweyveld (set and lighting) and Tal Yarden (video), have come up with a concept that almost makes the audience feel as if they are on the newsroom set, a perfect realization of Chayefski’s cogent demonstration of how people come to see what’s on TV as reality. Eager beaver and totally unscrupulous producer Diana Christensen sees that allowing Howard to rant on camera is a ratings gold mine – until, that is, Howard goes completely off the rails. Tatiana Maslany is terrific as Diana, though not as terrific as Faye Dunaway (who won an Oscar) was in the film. Tony Goldwyn is just OK as Max Schumacher, a jaded producer, which, if memory serves, was William Holden’s last appearance on film.

But the stars of the show are Cranston and Van Hove.

American Son by Christopher Demos-Brown, at the Booth Theatre is a powerful, gut-churning parable about the thorny, insolvable dilemma regarding race. It begins with a  black woman, Kendra, waiting late at night at a police station, to which she came when her son Jamal, didn’t come home. She is stymied by a young white police officer who is unable to provide her with information as to Jamal’s whereabouts. She has called her estranged husband, and when he arrives we are surprised, along with the policeman, that he is white. Eventually, the police are able to ascertain what has happened to Jamal, and it’s a tragic ending to this brilliant, strident new play.

Kerry Washington and Stephen Pasquale are very strong as Jamal’s parents, as are Jeremy Jordan as the police officer, and Eugene Lee as an older policeman, and Kenny Leon has directed the play with a steady, unobtrusive hand.

Like Network, American Son is a don’t-miss. I wouldn’t be surprised if it wins this year’s Pulitzer Prize.

Clueless, at the Signature Center, is a musical-ization by Amy Heckerling of her cult film of the 90s about a group of Beverly Hills teenagers. Heckerling has chosen popular songs of the era but given them new lyrics, a device which I found very clever. Kristin Hanggi has done a fine job of staging the show and Kelly Devine’s choreography is sprightly and witty, and Dove Cameron is charming as the  central character, Cher. Yes, folks, this is another Cher show.

The reviews for Clueless have not been all that hot. Several critics took it to task for Not Being The Movie. Well, I never saw the movie, so I responded to this musical version with fresh eyes and ears, which may be why I enjoyed it so much.

The Lifespan of a Fact, at Studio 54, is a fine new play by Jeremy Kareken, David Murrell and Gordon Ferrell. Cherry Jones plays the editor of a prestigious literary magazine who has contracted to publish an essay by a prominent writer about the suicide of a young man. She gives an intern the job of fact-checking the essay, and little did she know the ramifications of this decision, as he turns out to be an obsessive-compulsive young fellow who takes the job very seriously, to the point of coming up with 137 pages of notes which put into question the veracity of just about everything in the essay.

Daniel Radcliffe as Jim the fact-checker here adds another wonderful performance to his stage resume and Cherry Jones is also terrific as the editor, Emily, who has to decide whether to go with Jim’s version Truth or the essayist John’s defense of bending the facts in the name of poetic justice. As for Bobby Cannavalle as John, I am a big fan of this terrific actor who was sensational in The Motherfucker with the Hat, but I had difficulty buying him as a brilliant writer. Director Leigh Silverman has done a fine job with the other two actors, but couldn’t make Cannavalle credible.

Still, this is a very entertaining cerebral comedy and well worth seeing.

Finally, we come to the musical version of King Kong, at the Broadway Theatre. You know the story so there is no use summarizing the preposterous plot, because this show is all about the special effects, mainly the enormous puppet that is Kong, who makes Joey, the horse from Warhorse, look like a sock puppet.

Make no mistake Kong, manipulated by several people, is the star of the show. One of the things that amazed me the most was how his designer, Sonny Tilderss has made his face able to show emotion, from tenderness to rage.

The score by Marius de Vries is unmemorable, as are the performances. But Kong is amazing. 

NETWORK. Belasco Theatre, 111 W. 44th St.

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400

AMERICAN SON. Booth Theatre, 222 W. 45th St.

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400

CLUELESS. Signature Center, 480 W. 42nd St.

Tickets: www.ticketcentral.com or 212-279-4200

THE LIFESPAN OF A FACT. Studio 54. 254 W. 54th St.

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400

KING KONG. Broadway Theatre, 1681 Broadway

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400 

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

“

“On the Aisle with Larry”

Lawrence Harbison, our very own critic, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on The Hard Problem, The Waverly Gallery, The Prom, Downstairs, and The Cher Show.

The Hard Problem, at the Mitzi Newhouse Theatre, British playwright Tom Stoppard deals with the science of how the brain works and asks a lot of Big Questions – what is altruism, is coincidence really just coincidence and, ultimately, what exactly is meant by “consciousness?” It’s a lot to follow, as the ideas come at you fast and furious. Fortunately, Stoppard also manages to create compelling characters, whose stories are the hooks which grab us, even as we struggle to digest all the complex science. Chief among these characters is Hilary, a grad student who gets a dream job working at a brain science founded by a hedge fund gazillionaire named Jerry, beating out another student, Amal, a mathematics whiz who’s hired at the hedge fund to predict market fluctuations. It soon becomes clear that Hilary is a most unusual scientist, in that she actually believes in God. Hilary had a baby when she a teenager, a daughter who gave up for adoption. Jerry has a daughter at just the right age. Is this Hilary’s child? Are there such things as coincidences?

Australian actress Adelaide Clemens is terrific as Hilary, under Jack O’Brien’s slick, unobtrusive direction. The Hard Problem asks more questions than it answers, but I found it fascinating. Yes, it’s not primo Stoppard, but when you compare it to the trivial American plays our playwrights produce so often pen, it stands out and is well worth seeing.

As is The Waverly Gallery by Kenneth Lonergan at the Golden Theatre, which features a brilliant performance by Elaine May, playing a wealthy elderly woman named Gladys who keeps busy by running an art gallery in the West Village. Gladys is gradually losing her marbles, much to the consternation of her grandson, who is the play’s narrator and who is touchingly played by Lucas Hedges, her daughter and the daughter’s husband, played beautifully by Joan Allen and David Cromer, and May’s depiction of this is heartbreaking, one of the greatest performances I have seen in many a moon. Also touching is Michael Cera as an artist who gets Gladys to exhibit his work, who lives in the back room because he has nowhere else to go. Gladys has a show for him, to which nobody comes.

The Waverly Gallery is not a new play, as it was originally produced off Broadway several years ago, but I expect it to be a contender for the Tony Award for Best Revival.

After seeing two weighty dramas, it was a relief to see something just plain silly and fun. Such a show is The Prom, at the Longacre Theatre, a musical comedy about a group of narcissistic actors and who decide to counteract the career-threatening bad publicity dumped on them for a flop musical about Eleanor Roosevelt which closed on opening night. They decide they need a cause to champion. They find one in a teenaged Midwestern girl whose prom has been cancelled because she wanted to bring her girlfriend.

The book by Bob Martin and Chad Beguuelin is hilariuous, and Beguelin’s lyrics the same, and Matthew Sklar’s music is delightful. The show has been wonderfully directed and choreographed by A-list director/choreographer Casey Nicholaw. As for the performers, Beth Leavel and Brooks Ashmanskas steal the show as a Broadway diva and her gay gay gay leading man. Caitlin Kinnunen is touching as the girl who just wants to go to the prom with her squeeze. Also good is Christopher Sieber as a waiter/struggling actor who went to Juilliard years ago and wants everyone to know it.

I loved loved loved The Prom. Unless you are a sourpuss, I think you will too.

Theresa Rebeck in on quite a roll this season. First there was the Roundabout of her Bernhardt/Hamlet on Broadway, featuring a wonderful performance by Janet McTeer in the titular roles. Currently running is Downstairs, produced by Primary Stages at the Cherry Lane Theatre, featuring brother and sister Tim and Tyne Daly as, well, a brother and sister. Tyne, heretofore known for playing strong women, plays a timid housewife named Irene who takes in her brother when he loses his job. Soon it becomes clear that Teddy, the brother, is not well, mentally. He is able to access an old computer though, and what he finds on it is very disturbing. When Irene’s husband Jerry comes down to the basement, we learn why she is so timid – he’s one scary guy. We never learn what is on the computer, but is it enough to get Jerry out of Irene’s life?

All three actors are superb under Adrienne Campbell-Holt’s subtle direction, making Downstairs well worth seeing.

As for The Cher Show, it’s a bio-musical about the flamboyant diva, taking her from obscurity to stardom, to the bottom and then back on top again. Cher is played by three actresses and all three are sensational, though I particularly enjoyed Stephanie J. Block as the mature Cher. Jarrod Specter is perfect as Sonny Bono, and Emily Skinner very strong as Cher’s mother (she also has a nice turn as a practically calcified Lucille Ball. The costumes by Cher’s designer Bob Mackie (who also is a character in the show) are spectacular. I thought, Cher was Lady Gaga before Lady Gaga was even born.  Fans of Cher will not be disappointed.

That’s it for now. In my next column, I’ll tell you about King Kong, American Son, Network, The Lifespan of a Fact and Clueless. Then I’m taking a break for a while.

THE HARD PROBLEM. Mitzi Newhouse Theatre, Lincoln Center

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400.

THE WAVERLY GALLERY. Golden Theatre, 252 W. 45th St.

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400.

THE PROM. Longacre Theatre, 220 W. 48th St

Tickets: www.telecharge.com, 212-239-6200 or 800-447-7400.

DOWNSTAIRS. Primary Stages at the Cherry Lane Theatre, 38 Commerce St.

Tickets: https://web.ovationtix.com/trs/pr/99682 or 212-352-3101

THE CHER SHOW. Neil Simon Theatre, 350 W. 52nd St.

Tickets: www.ticketmaster.com or 800-653-8000 

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

Lawrence Harbison, The Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on Bernhardt/Hamlet, What the Constitution Means to Me, Apologia and The True.

It looks very much like 2018 is going to turn out to be the Year of the Woman. More women than ever before are running for office across the nation, and many political pundits are forecasting that if the Blue Wave happens, it will be in large part because of women who are appalled by the behavior of the President and his lackeys in Congress. We’ll see.

In the theatre, more plays by women are turning up on the boards than ever before. On Broadway, you can see Theresa Rebeck’s Bernhardt/Hamlet (at Roundabout’s American Airlines Theatre), Alexi Kayer Campbell’s Apologia (at Roundabout’s Off Broadway space, the Laura Pels Theatre) and What the Constitution Means to Me, written by and starring Heidi Schreck (at NY Theatre Workshop).

“Historical plays” are rare these days. Playwrights Horizons has come out and said they don’t produce them, and many other theatres have the same attitude, which is a shame. Rebeck’s play is, I think, her first play not set in the present. It’s about the great 19th Century French actress Sarah Bernhardt as she prepares to take on the greatest role in the classical repertoire, Hamlet. Her last venture, L’Aiglon by Edmond Rostand, which she financed with her own money, lost it all and now The Divine Sarah desperately needs a hit to replenish her coffers. Great artist that she is, she has decided to take on Hamlet, much to the consternation of the critics of her time (all, of them male of course). Max Beerbohm went to far as to write, “Creative power, the power to conceive ideas and execute them, is an attribute of virility; women are denied it, in so far as they practice art at all, they are aping virility, exceeding their natural sphere. Never does one understand so well the failure of women in art as when one sees them deliberately impersonating men upon the stage.”

Daunted by Shakespeare’s poetry, Bernhardt commissions a French prose adaptation by Edmond Rostand, her lover and the author of Cyrano de Bergerac. Still she has set herself a daunting task, and over the course of the play we watch her build her performance in rehearsal. We also are treated to a great performance by English actress Janet McTeer, although she eschews the melodramatic acting style typical of the 19th Century, playing Bernhardt playing Hamlet as if she herself were playing Hamlet today. This was probably the right choice by McTeer and director Moritz von Stuelpnagel, as a Bernhardt performance today would look awfully hammy.

The supporting players are first rate. Dylan Baker is amusing as Bernhardt’s leading man, Constant Coquelin (who would go on to triumph as Cyrano), and Jason Butler Horner is also terrific as Rostand. That fine young actor Nick Westrate has a wonderful one-scene turn as Bernhardt’s son, Maurice.

Rebeck has been bedeviled all her career by male critics who just don’t “get” her. Frank Rich called her first play to be done in New York, Spike Heels, mere “pillow talk,” for instance. She has been quite outspoken about the sexism women playwrights face, which has pissed ‘em off even more. Here, in her play about a courageous actress willing to take a risk in service of her art, damn the critics and full speed ahead, she has fought back in the best way an artist can – with her art.

When she was a teenager, Heidi Schreck went around the country competing in speech contests sponsored by the American Legion, winning enough money to finance her college education. In What the Constitution Means to Me, she recreates the sort of speech she used to give, though she makes no effort to impersonate the teenager she was when she gave it, occasionally interjecting stories about her life. The set, by Rachel Hauck, appears to be the stage of an American Legion hall, replete with photographs of many legionnaires – all of them, of course, men. When she was a kid, Schreck didn’t much consider the Constitution as a document created by men, but now she does, and is both amusing and enlightening  as to how it has pertained to women since it was signed and went into effect.

A highlight for me was when Schreck engages in a debate with a contemporary teenager, on a specific topic of constitutional law, and then the audience gets to vote on who won. At the performance I attended, this student was portrayed brilliantly by Thursday Williams.

At the end, each audience member is given a copy of the U.S. Constitution. I mailed mine to President Tweet, as obviously he has never read it.

This just in: What the Constitution Means to Me is moving to the Greenwich House Theatre later this month for a much-deserved extended run.

Meanwhile, Roundabout has another strong showing, Apologia at its Laura Pels Theatre, starring one of our greatest stage actresses, Stockard Channing, as a radical ex-pat American art historian named Kristin. Her adult children converge on her country house for her birthday, which far from being a celebration of Mom is a litany of recrimination and resentment. Son Peter is a banker who despoils third world countries, much to Krsitin’s horror. Also to her horror, Peter has recently married a Midwestern girl who is a serious Christian. Kristin is, of course, just as serious an atheist. She has recently published a memoir called “Apologia,” in which she goes on and on about Giotto but doesn’t mention her sons. Her refusal to accept what her fierce political determination has done to her family forms the core of the play.

Channing is witty, supercilious and ferocious as Kristin, and there is strong supporting work from Hugh Dancy, who plays both sons and from John Tillinger as an elderly gay friend always ready with a bon mot.

I also enjoyed Sharr White’s The True, produced by the New Group at the Signature Center, another play with a terrific central female role. She is Dorothea “Polly” Noonan, a behind the scenes manipulator in Albany politics fighting for the re-election of the Governor even as other political operatives want to replace him and think it’s time for her to go. Edie Falco was phenomenal in this great role, and although the play has now closed reportedly it’s moving to Broadway, so look for it to resurface there, if not this season then next.

BERNHARDT/HAMLET. American Airlines Theatre, 227 W. 42nd St.

TICKETS: www.roundabouttheatre.org/tickets or 212-719-1300

WHAT THE CONSTITUTION MEANS TO ME. NY Theatre Workshop, 79 E. 4th St.

TICKETS: 212-460-5475

APOLOGIA. Laura Pels Theatre, 111 W. 46th St.

TICKETS: www.roundabouttheatre.org/tickets or 212-719-1300

THE TRUE. Alas, closed 

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt

Lawrence Harbison, The Playfixer, brings you up to date with what’s hot and what’s not in New York. In this column, Larry reports on The Ferryman, Girl from the North Country, The Nap, Summer and Black Light. 

Three imports from London, all hits last season, have opened in New York, Jez Butterworth’s The Ferryman (at the Jacobs Theatre), Richard Bean’s The Nap (at the Friedman) and Conor MacPherson’s Girl from the North Country (at the Public Theater). Butterworth, an Englishman, has spun a tale about the Northern Irish troubles; MacPherson, an Irishman, has set his play in Depression-era Duluth Minnesota. The Nap I can only describe as a dark farce, which sounds like an oxymoron but it isn’t. The Ferryman features the London cast, whereas the actros in Girl from the North Country are Americans. The cast of The Nap is mix-and-match., though mostly American.

The Ferryman takes place in 1981, during the hunger strike led by Bobby Sands, and focuses on a farmer and former IRA soldier named Quinn Carney whose brother Seamus disappeared 10 years ago but whose body has just been discovered in a bog – with a bullet hole to the head. Quinn has a large family, which includes a depressed wife, an aunt who goes in and out of  dementia, another aunt who’s an anti-English radical whose brother was murdered by the English, several children and Seamus’ wife Caitlin, who for 10 years has held out the hope that her husband will return and to whom Quinn is strongly attracted (the feeling is mutual), and Caitlin’s son Oisin. A leader of the Irish Republican Army, the sinister Mr. Muldoon, wants Quinn to shut up about who might have murdered Seamus. If he doesn’t, he’ll wind up just like his brother. 

The Ferryman clocks in at over 3 hours, but it never drags as so much is going on. There are 22 actors, one baby, one live goose and one live rabbit. Beautifully-directed by Sam Mendes, it features a uniformly outstanding cast headed by Paddy Considine as Quinn and Laura Donnelly as Caitlin.

The Ferryman is one of the greatest plays of this century, and not to be missed.

I also enjoyed Girl from the North Country, though not as much as I did The Ferryman. It’s set in a boarding house, and is about the denizens therein. Songs by Bob Dylan are incorporated throughout. They are beautifully orchestrated by Simon Hale; but they seem rather arbitrary. Play stops, insert song, play resumes. It’s been wonderfully directed by the playwright, though, and there are terrific performances by the likes of Stephen Bogardus, Mare Willingham and David Pittu, though I didn’t get Willingham’s character. She’s the wife of the guy who runs the boarding house (Bogardus), who alternates between lucidity and catatonia.

You might enjoy this if you love Bob Dylan’s songs; but for me the play itself seemed rather flat.

You can’t describe The Nap as “flat.” It’s about a champion snooker player (snooker is a variant on pool, very popular in Britain) named Dylan Spokes who gets, well, snookered by a one-armed con artist named Waxy Bush, a formerly male gangster who’s had a sex change operation and is now a woman. Waxy has accomplices, include two bogus cops, Dylan’s own mother and a slick con man who poses as Mom’s Irish boyfriend. The con involves a bet Wazy has made for Dylan to lose in the fourth frame of the championship match. Dylan takes snooker very seriously and refuses – until Waxy threatens his mom. We see Dylan on a screen in the fourth frame, against a guy who, it turns out, is an actual snooker champion.

Alexandra Billings, an actual transgender performer, is sensational as Waxy and Ben Schnetzer is wonderful as Dylan. There is also strong supporting work from Thomas Jay Ryan (one of Waxy’s accomplices) John Ellison Conleee (as Dylan’s ne’er-do-well Dad, Johanna Day (as his mum) and the beauteous Heather Lind, heretofore best known for playing Shakespeare in Central Park, as part of the con who poses as a female detective who used to be a pole dancer.

The costumes by Kaye Voyce are amusingly spot-on, and the direction by Daniel Sullivan is absolutely delightful.

I promise you a very good time at The Nap.

I finally caught up with Summer, the bio-musical about disco diva Donna Summer, conceived and directed by Des McAnuff  at the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, a holdover from last season which lost out in the Tony Roulette but which has managed to hold on anyway. This is an amazing achievement, but I’m not surprised as the show shines with disco glitz without ever being tacky and is wonderfully performed by three actresses, Storm Lever, Ariana DeBose and LaChanze, who portray Summer at various stages of her life.

I wasn’t much of a disco fan in its era, but I have to admit the music is infectious and all of Summer’s hits are here, such as “Heaven Knows,” “On the Radio,”  “Bad Girls,” “She Works Hard for the Money,” and “Bad Girls.”

The direction is first-rate, as is the choreography by Sergio Trujillo.

Even if you are not a disco fan, I think you will enjoy Summer.

Speaking of divas, there’s another one lighting up the stage at the Greenwich House Theatre in Black Light, featuring a transvestite performer named Jomana Jones, book and songs by Daniel Alexander Jones who, it turns out, is the one and only Jomana Jones. Jones’ telling of “Jomana’s” story is very compelling, as is his performance, backed up by two wonderful singers, Trevor Bachman and Vuyo Sotashe, who are just about the gayest gay boys you’ll ever see.

I expected the audience to be mostly gay men, but on the night I attended there were a lot of straight people, couples mostly, who seemed to really enjoy themselves. Black Light is not for everyone, but if you are in the mood for Something Completely Different, you couldn’t do better than to hie yourself down to the Greenwich House Theatre.

THE FERRYMAN. Jacobs Theatre, 242 W. 45th St.

Tickets: www.telecharge.com or 212-239-6200

GIRL FROM THE NORTH COUNTRY.  Public Theater, 425 Lafayette St.

Tickets: www.publictheater.org/tickets

THE NAP. Friedman Theatre, 261 W. 47th St,

Tickets: www.telecharge.com or 212-239-6200

SUMMER. Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, 205 W. 46th St.

Tickets: www.ticketmaster.com or 800-653-8000

BLACK LIGHT. Greenwich House Theatre, 27 Barrow St.

Tickets: www.ovationtix.com or 866-811-4111 

“It requires a certain largeness of spirit to give generous appreciation to large achievements. A society with a crabbed spirit and a cynical urge to discount and devalue will find that one day, when it needs to draw upon the reservoirs of excellence, the reservoirs have run dry.”

                                                                                      — George F. Will 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who actually does strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

                                                                                    — Theodore Roosevelt