Most popular New York theater and Broadway shows

Theater review by Raven Snook  There's an enchanting new chanteuse at Moto Moto, a sultry hot spot in Mombasa, Kenya, where people from all walks of life go to dance the night away. Played by Amber Iman, who is stunning in voice and stature, Nadira is a truly heavenly creature: the human form of Marimba, the goddess of music, in hiding from her tyrannical mother, the goddess of evil. Marimba is looking for love, and she finds it. As she casts a spell on the mortals who hear her sing, she's enthralled by them in return—and particularly by Omari (Austin Scott), the scion of a conservative political dynasty who plays sax on the sly at Moto Moto. Before long, these two rebellious kids are making beautiful music together. Goddess | Photograph: Courtesy Joan Marcus That's the setup for Goddess, a musical loosely inspired by an African folktale that has captivated the Kenyan-born director and book writer Saheem Ali since he was a teenager. When the exuberant cast and band are performing Michael Thurber's fabulous score—a seductive blend of Afrobeat, Taarab, R&B, soul and jazz that reflects Kenya’s multicultural makeup—the show soars to the skies. But Goddess’s nonmusical scenes weigh it down with an unfocused narrative and an array of underwritten stock characters: a jilted fiancée (Destinee Rea), a domineering father (J Paul Nicholas), a worried mother (Ayana George Jackson), a lecherous club owner (Jason Bowen), an all-knowing shaman (Reggie D. White). Goddess | Photograph:...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Cole Escola’s Oh, Mary! is not just funny: It is dizzyingly, breathtakingly funny, the kind of funny that ambushes your body into uncontained laughter. Stage comedies have become an endangered species in recent decades, and when they do pop up they tend to be the kind of funny that evokes smirks, chuckles or wry smiles of recognition. Not so here: I can’t remember the last time I saw a play that made me laugh, helplessly and loudly, as much as Oh, Mary! did—and my reaction was shared by the rest of the audience, which burst into applause at the end of every scene. Fasten your seatbelts: This 80-minute show is a fast and wild joy ride. Escola has earned a cult reputation as a sly comedic genius in their dazzling solo performances (Help! I’m Stuck!) and on TV shows like At Home with Amy Sedaris, Difficult People and Search Party. But Oh, Mary!, their first full-length play, may surprise even longtime fans. In this hilariously anachronistic historical burlesque, Escola plays—who else?—Mary Todd Lincoln, in the weeks leading up to her husband’s assassination. Boozy, vicious and miserable, the unstable and outrageously contrary Mary is oblivious to the Civil War and hell-bent on achieving stardom as—what else?—a cabaret singer.      Oh, Mary! | Photograph: Courtesy Emilio Madrid  Described by the long-suffering President Lincoln as “my foul and hateful wife,” this virago makes her entrance snarling and hunched with fury, desperate to find a...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Elmer McCurdy wanted to be somebody. Born out of wedlock to a teenage mother in late-19th-century Maine, he grew up dreaming of infamy. (“I’m the outlaw Jesse James! Bang bang—!”) He got drunk, got in fights, moved out west; he joined a gang of Oklahoma train robbers, and he died in a shootout at the age 31. But that’s not where his story ended. McCurdy’s corpse got embalmed and wound up traveling the country as a ghoulish sideshow attraction. (“There’s something ‘bout a mummy that everybody needs.”) It changed hands for decades before landing in a California amusement-park ride, painted DayGlo red and hanging naked from a noose. In 1976, a crewman on TV’s The Six Million Dollar Man ripped an arm from it and only then discovered that this prop was once a man. Exactly which man it had been was by that point a mystery; by then it was just some body.  The weirder-than-fiction true story of McCurdy’s preservation and degradation is the subject of Dead Outlaw, a rowdy and darkly hilarious picaresque musical by the team behind 2016’s bittersweet The Band’s Visit: book writer Itamar Moses, songwriter David Yazbek (joined here by Erik Della Penna) and director David Cromer. These two shows couldn’t seem more different at first pass, but they share a deep curiosity and wry humanity; they embrace the complex and the unknown. “No one knows if it was cuz of that he started getting into trouble,” Dead Outlaw’s Bandleader (a perfectly gruff and rascally...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  The scene most closely associated with David Mamet’s electric 1983 drama Glengarry Glen Ross is probably the “Always Be Closing” tirade delivered by Alec Baldwin in the 1992 film adaptation: a brutal dressing-down of the salesmen in his scammy real-estate operation, including some veteran sellers who may have forgotten their ABCs. The ongoing resonance of that movie, especially for straight guys, is surely one reason that Mamet’s play keeps returning to the stage in major productions. Glengarry is now being mounted on Broadway for the third time in 20 years; only Macbeth, another brief play about cutthroat ambition, has been revived on Broadway more often in this century. (The most revived musical, Gypsy, is also about strivers.) And it will keep coming back as long as there’s money to be made on it. Glengarry Glen Ross: Always be opening.  Funnily enough, Baldwin’s corporate-taskmaster character and his famous speech do not appear in the stage version of Glengarry Glen Ross; Mamet added them for his screenplay. If that’s a bit of a bait-and-switch for fans of the movie, well, that’s what Glengarry is about: Everyone in the real-estate office is peddling the unreal—trying to pull a fast one, sometimes more than one at once. I’ve occasionally wondered why Mamet hasn’t added the lecture scene to the play, which is not exactly too long as it stands; even including an intermission after the 35-minute first act, it’s still not much more than an...

Nearly three decades after its brief orginal run in the West End, this British musical about the American film industry gets a second life—not unlike its main character, a would-be starlet of the silent-film era who dies en route to a screen test but returns as a ghost half a century later to possess the woman who now inhabits her old apartment. Stephen Keeling wrote the music; Shaun McKenna wrote the lyrics and co-wrote the book with Steven Dexter. Andrew Winans directs and choreographs this modest production, which stars Kelly Maur in the title role. 

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Oliver (Darren Criss) is a Helperbot, and he can’t help himself. A shut-in at his residence for retired androids in a near-future Korea, he functions in a chipper loop of programmatic behavior; every day, he brushes his teeth and eyes, tends to his plant and listens to the retro jazz favored by his former owner, James (Marcus Choi), who he is confident will someday arrive to take him back. More than a decade goes by before his solitary routine is disrupted by Claire (Helen J Shen), a fellow Helperbot from across the hall, who is looking to literally connect and recharge. Will these two droids somehow make a Seoul connection? Can they feel their hearts beep? That is the premise of Will Aronson and Hue Park’s new musical Maybe Happy Ending, and it’s a risky one. The notion of robots discovering love—in a world where nothing lasts forever, including their own obsolescent technologies—could easily fall into preciousness or tweedom. Instead, it is utterly enchanting. As staged by Michael Arden (Parade), Maybe Happy Ending is an adorable and bittersweet exploration of what it is to be human, cleverly channeled through characters who are only just learning what that entails. Maybe Happy Ending | Photograph: Courtesy Evan Zimmerman In a Broadway landscape dominated by loud adaptations of pre-existing IP, Maybe Happy Ending stands out for both its intimacy and its originality. Arden and his actors approach the material with a delicate touch; they...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  In The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde’s fantastical 1891 novel—a gothic meditation on the blurry lines that separate art from life, appearances from reality, body from soul—there's a curious moment when the barrier between Wilde himself and the novel he is writing briefly disappears. “Is insincerity such a terrible thing? I think not,” he says, departing from third-person narration for the first and only time in the book. “It is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities.” This revealing blink of an “I” does not make the cut in writer-director Kip Williams’s dynamic stage adaptation of the book, a solo performed with astonishing stamina and skill by Sarah Snook. But it everywhere informs the production’s clever embrace of artifice and self-reproduction as theatrical devices.  One can see the appeal of this show for Snook at this time in her career. It's dangerous for an actor to be too closely associated with a single role, as she is at risk of being for her cracking portrayal of Shiv Roy on HBO’s Succession. What better way to avoid being pigeonholed than to spread her wings across 25 parts at once? In The Picture of Dorian Gray, Snook incarnates the narcissistic title character, the ultimate demon twink, who models for a worshipful portrait by the idealistic painter Basil Hallward. “How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young,” he laments. “If it were only the...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  This show is of a kind that I shall dub an operettical: A British-Broadway hybrid that is cleverly synthetical.It starts with operetta of the comical varietyThat Sullivan and Gilbert wrote to tickle high society.The Pirates of Penzance, a pageant witty and Victorian, Premiered in 1880 on our calendar Gregorian. It still is entertaining but perhaps not in a date-night way; It seems a bit too fusty for revival on the Great White Way. So Rupert Holmes has come along to pump some Broadway jazz in it:To add a little spice and put some Dixieland pizzazz in it.And thanks to these injections, neither rev’rent nor heretical,We now have Holmes’s model for a modern operettical.  Pirates! The Penzance Musical | Photograph: Courtesy Joan Marcus Best known for Drood (and also for his hit “Piña Colada Song”), He hasn’t wrecked the story or egregiously forgot a song. But to ensure the whole endeavor’s jazzier and bluer leans, He takes the show from Cornwall and resets it down in New Orleans.The Crescent City’s sass and brass have quite rejuvenated it As Joe Joubert and Daryl Waters have reorchestrated it.(They’ve also added melodies that never here have been afore,On loan from Iolanthe, The Mikado and from Pinafore.) With silliness and energy the show is chockablock, well-set Amid the brightly colored NOLA streets of David Rockwell’s set. And now that we have looked at questions musico-aesthetical, We move on to the plot of this diverting operettical. ...

Coming off two successive Oscar nominations for acting in film, Colman Domingo returns to his stage roots as the co-author—with director Patricia McGregor—of a biodrama that examines a pivotal night in the life of the pioneering Black recording artist and TV star Nat "King" Cole. Dulé Hill (The West Wing) plays Cole and Daniel J. Watts (Tina) plays Sammy Davis Jr.; the ace supporting cast includes Krystal Joy Brown, Kenita Miller, Kathy Fitzgerald, Christopher Ryan Grant, Ruby Lewis, Elliott Mattox, Mekhi Richardson and Walter Russell III. Cole standards such as “Nature Boy,” “Smile” and “Unforgettable" are newly arranged by musical supervisor John McDaniel, and Edgar Godineaux and Jared Grimes step in as the choreographers.

Russian expat Alexander Molochnikov, who moved to New York in 2022 after speaking out against the invasion of Ukraine, directs Eli Rarey's play—"inspired by real events"—about a Russian director who moves to New York in 2022 after speaking out against the invasion of Ukraine, only to find that America is not quite as welcoming as he'd hoped. Molochnikov is also billed as the creator of the piece, a version of which was part of the Under the Radar festival in January. 

Studio Seaview takes possession of the Tony Kiser Theatre—until recently home to Second Stage—with a high-profile inaugural offering. The Office's supremely likable John Krasinski stars in the New York debut of a 2018 monodrama by the U.K.'s Penelope Skinner, which charts what happens when a seemingly affable fellow who falls into a snake pit of online men's-rights activism and incel rage. The production reunites Skinner with director Sam Gold (An Enemy of the People), who directed her dark sex comedy The Village Bikein 2014.

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  First things first: Just in Time is a helluva good time at the theater. It’s not just that, but that’s the baseline. Staged in a dazzling rush by Alex Timbers, the show summons the spirit of a 1960s concert at the Copacabana by the pop crooner Bobby Darin—as reincarnated by one of Broadway’s most winsome leading men, the radiant sweetie Jonathan Groff, who gives the performance his considerable all. You laugh, you smile, your heart breaks a little, you swing along with the brassy band, and you’re so well diverted and amused that you may not even notice when the ride you’re on takes a few unconventional turns.   Unlike most other jukebox-musical sources, Darin doesn’t come with a long catalogue of signature hits. If you know his work, it’s probably from four songs he released in 1958 and 1959: the novelty soap bubble “Splish Splash,” the doo-wop bop “Dream Lover” and two European cabaret songs translated into English, “Beyond the Sea” and “Mack the Knife.”  What he does have is a tragically foreshortened life. “Bobby wanted nothing more than to entertain, wherever he could, however he could, in whatever time he had, which it turns out was very little,” Groff tells us at the top of the show. “He died at 37.” Darin’s bum heart—so weak that doctors thought he wouldn’t survive his teens—is the musical’s countdown clock; it beats like a ticking time bomb.  Just in Time | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew Murphy Warren Leight and Isaac Oliver’s agile...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  More than a century has gone by since an unfortunate Kentucky spelunker named Floyd Collins, in search of money and glory, made national headlines by getting trapped in a subterranean cavern. “I just know it’s my lucky day!” sings Floyd—played by a hale and hearty Jeremy Jordan—irresistibly tempting the gods of dramatic irony as he grapples through the dark at the start of the musical bearing his name. “There’s a kind of awe / You can’t catch in a photograph,” he continues. “S’like a giant jaw / It’s calling me.” But when he heeds that call, the jaw snaps shut: A passageway collapses and he’s pinned there by debris, all but sealed in a cave of wonders where no amount of wishing can save him. From this point on, there is nowhere for Floyd Collins, or Floyd Collins, to go.  Floyd Collins | Photograph: Courtesy Joan Marcus Musical theater tends to be dynamic, but Tina Landau, as a writer, seems more interested in stasis. In her new musical Redwood, which opened on Broadway in February, grief drives a woman up a tree; in Floyd Collins, which premiered in 1996, dreams strand a man underground. (Landau wrote the show’s book and additional lyrics, and directed its original production as well as its current one at Lincoln Center.) Both pieces examine a person fixed in place within a vast natural world, but in neither case is the central figure’s interior journey compelling enough to justify the lack of plot. What this one has that the other one...

Six sexually nonconforming performers imagine life under queer royal rule in a counterfactual metatheatrical comedy by Canada's Jordan Tannahill, directed by the very busy Shayok Misha Chowdhury (Public Obscenities) for Soho Rep at Playwrights Horizons. The ensemble cast comprises K. Todd Freeman, John McCrea, Rachel Crowl, Mihir Kumar, N’yomi Allure Stewart and recent New York Drama Critics' Circle Award lifetime-achievement honoree David Greenspan. 

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Try to imagine this: a family-friendly Broadway musical based on a beloved cartoon character from the Great Depression. Maybe she has distinctive hair and a signature red dress. Maybe she’s looking to find out who she is, so she runs away and gets dazzled by the bright lights and bustle of NYC. Her best friends could be, I don’t know, a dog and an orphan girl. And this may sound crazy, but: What if her sunniness and can-do optimism had the power to inspire progressive political change?  It’d never work. Just kidding, just kidding! It worked like the dickens in the 1977 moppet musical Annie, and it works again—minus Annie’s more Dickensian elements—in Boop! The Musical. Directed and choreographed by Jerry Mitchell, this is an old-fashioned candy shop of a show, where tasty confections are sold in bulk. When Boop! is corny, it’s candy corn. Gorge on the multicolor gumdrops of its high-energy production numbers; chew the jelly beans of its gentle social-mindedness; let the caramel creams of its love story melt slightly oversweetly in your mouth. And above all, savor this show’s red-hot cinnamon heart: Jasmine Amy Rogers, making a sensational Broadway debut as the 1930s animated-short icon Betty Boop.   Boop! The Musical | Photograph: Courtesy Evan Zimmerman In our world, Betty is the quintessential cartoon jazz baby, a Fleischer Studios flapper inspired by singer Helen Kane (famous for her "boop-oop-a-doop" tag in songs like “I Wanna Be Loved...

National Black Theatre sets sail at the Flea with the NYC premiere of a nautical expedition by the late Aishah Rahman, a playwright and author associated with the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s and 1970s. The play looks at colorism within the Black community, as manifested on a singles cruise—stewarded by an incranation of the African trickster spirit Papa Legba—on which all the men are considered undesirably dark-skinned. Abigail jean-baptiste directs a cast that includes Paige Gilbert, Ebony Marshall-Oliver, Lance Coadie Williams, Sidney DuPont, Gayle Samuels, Abenaa Quïïn and TL Thompson. (A limited number of "Pick Your Price" tickets, ranging from $5 to $25, are available at each performance.)

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  In the 1950 film masterpiece Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood glamour is a dead-end street. Stalled there with no one coming to find her—except perhaps to use her car—is Norma Desmond: a former silent-screen goddess who is now all but forgotten. Secluded and deluded, she haunts her own house and plots her grand return to the pictures; blinded by the spotlight in her mind, she is unaware that what she imagines to be a hungry audience out there in the dark is really just the dark.  One of the ironies built into Billy Wilder’s film, which he co-wrote with Charles Brackett, is that there really was an audience in the dark watching Norma: the audience of Sunset Boulevard itself, whom Norma is effectively addressing directly in her operatic final mad scene. That slippage between the real and the imaginary is even more pronounced in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 1993 musical adaptation of the story, by dint of its being performed live onstage. And Jamie Lloyd’s very meta and very smart Broadway revival of the show—which stars the utterly captivating Nicole Scherzinger as Norma and Tom Francis as Joe Gillis, the handsome sell-out screenwriter drawn into her web—pushes it even further through the prominent use of live video. The tension between the real and the imaginary is expanded to include a mediating element: the filmic, whose form can range from documentary to dreamscape.  Thus described, Lloyd’s approach may sound academic—but in practice, it is often...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Buena Vista Social Club offers an irresistible tropical vacation. A celebration of Cuban musical history, it’s a getaway and a gateway: To attend this show—which premiered last season at the Atlantic Theatre, and has now moved to Broadway—is to enter a world thick with history that you’ll want to learn more about afterward, if you don’t know it already. While you’re there, though, you don’t need to think too hard. Just give yourself over to the sounds that pour out from the stage.  The 1997 album Buena Vista Social Club gathered an extraordinary group of elderly musicians to recreate the atmosphere and the traditional musical styles—son, boleros, guajiras—of a racially inclusive Havana nightspot before the Cuban Revolution. It became a worldwide sensation upon its release, and was the subject of a 1999 documentary film by Wim Wenders. Marco Ramirez’s stage version has a less factual bent. “Some of what follows is true,” says the bandleader Juan de Marcos (Justin Cunningham), who was instrumental in assembling the album’s participants. “Some of it only feels true.”  Buena Vista Social Club | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew Murphy The musical focuses on four of the album’s principal performers: vocalists Omara Portuondo (a regal Natalie Venetia Belcon) and Ibrahim Ferrer (Mel Semé), guitarist-singer Compay Segundo (Julio Monge) and pianist Rubén González (Jainardo Batista Sterling). Scenes from the album’s 1996 recording process alternate with...

Red Bull Theater, which pumps new blood into the classics, takes charge of Molière's classic 17th-century farce about a serial hypochondriac at the mercy of opportunistic quacks. Mark Linn-Baker (Perfect Strangers) plays the title role—which, ironically enough, Molière himself played when he was actually fatally ill—joined by Sarah Stiles, Arnie Burton, Manoel Felciano, Emily Swallow, Russell Daniels, Emilie Kouatchou and John Yi. Red Bull honcho Jesse Berger directs the world premiere of Jeffrey Hatcher's adaptation (from a new translation by Mirabelle Ordinaire). 

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Good Night, and Good Luck is a 2005 film about the 1950s TV journalist Edward R. Murrow and his contretemps with the red-baiting Senator Joseph McCarthy. It was written by George Clooney and Grant Heslov, who have now adapted it—albeit barely—for the stage. The Broadway version, starring Clooney as Murrow and directed by the expert David Cromer, is in many ways unobjectionable. It is well designed and full of fine actors doing their jobs. Its subject is timely and its message is on point, and there’s no good reason to see it. Nevertheless: Because it stars Clooney, in his Broadway debut and his first professional stage appearance in 40 years, the production is now the highest-grossing show on Broadway, with a weekly take exceeding $3 million. The best third of the seats in the Winter Garden Theatre start at $799 a pop; the worst seats, with partial views on the far sides of the mezzanine, are a mere $176. Good night, nurse! Such is the nature of the marketplace, but consumers should be warned that nothing in this production is better than what you can get at home by renting the movie for $3.99.  Good Night, and Good Luck | Photograph: Courtesy Emilio Madrid That’s because, in nearly every regard, Clooney and Heslov have just plopped their screenplay onstage and called it a play. Presented live on Broadway, Good Night, and Good Luck is still a 2005 film about the 1950s TV journalist Edward R. Murrow. One central character has been cut for...

Review by Adam Feldman  The low-key dazzling Speakeasy Magick has been nestled in the atmospheric McKittrick Hotel for more than a year, and now it has moved up to the Lodge: a small wood-framed room at Gallow Green, which functions as a rooftop bar in the summer. The show’s dark and noisy new digs suit it well. Hosted by Todd Robbins (Play Dead), who specializes in mild carnival-sideshow shocks, Speakeasy Magick is a moveable feast of legerdemain; audience members, seated at seven tables, are visited by a series of performers in turn. Robbins describes this as “magic speed dating.” One might also think of it as tricking: an illusion of intimacy, a satisfying climax, and off they go into the night. The evening is punctuated with brief performances on a makeshift stage. When I attended, the hearty Matthew Holtzclaw kicked things off with sleight of hand involving cigarettes and booze; later, the delicate-featured Alex Boyce pulled doves from thin air. But it’s the highly skilled close-up magic that really leaves you gasping with wonder. Holtzclaw’s table act comes to fruition with a highly effective variation on the classic cups-and-balls routine; the elegant, Singapore-born Prakash and the dauntingly tattooed Mark Calabrese—a razor of a card sharp—both find clever ways to integrate cell phones into their acts. Each performer has a tight 10-minute act, and most of them are excellent, but that’s the nice thing about the way the show is structured: If one of them happens to...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  The Jasper family home in Branden Jacobs-Jenkins’s great American play Purpose announces what it is right away: the setting for a classic drawing-room drama. On one side is a dining table, where food is sure to come with a fight; an elegant doorway is on the other, and a giant staircase winds down the middle. Since the Jaspers are modeled closely on the family of Jesse Jackson, Todd Rosenthal’s set also serves as an exquisitely curated museum of Black pride: elegant African statues and textiles, historical photos on clay-orange walls, a painting of Martin Luther King Jr. presiding over all. This is the image the Jaspers present to the world, and to some extent to themselves. Entering their company, it’s hard, as one character observes, to avoid “being all dazzled by all the Symbolic Blackness before you—so blinded by the Black Excellence, Black Power, Black Righteousness.”  In his trenchant Appropriate, which was expertly revived on Broadway last year, Jacobs-Jenkins depicted a white Southern family with an outsider’s eye for the characters’ self-deceptions. This time, his call-outs are coming from inside the house. The Jaspers, like the Jacksons, have issues. The family patriarch, Solomon (Radio Golf’s tall, strapping Harry Lennix), is a major figure in Civil Rights history whose hopes for a dynasty have crumbled, and who now glowers like a lion licking his paws. As in medieval times, his elder son was groomed to inherit his mantle and his...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman Just when you think you’ve figured out what Broadway is throwing at you, along comes a late-breaking curveball. Real Women Have Curves is the final show of the 2024–25 season, and it really is a ball: a joyful night of music and celebration. In many ways, this is a traditional Broadway musical—energetic, melodious, familiarly constructed—that honors traditional American values like loving your family, helping your community and working tirelessly to succeed as an entrepreneur. But since most of its characters are undocumented Latina immigrants to Los Angeles, Real Women is also, unexpectedly, the most relevant musical of the year.  Inspired by Josefina López's 1990 play and its 2002 film adaptation, Real Women Have Curves is set in 1987, well before the recent anti-immigrant scourge of ICE storms. Ana (Tatianna Córdoba) is a bright young woman who has been accepted to Columbia University, but is afraid to tell that to her mother, Carmen (Justina Machado); as a natural born American citizen, Ana plays an essential role in navigating the law on behalf of the dressmaking business that her older sister, Estela (Florencia Cuenca), has started with the family’s life savings. Although she is confident about her brains, Ana is less secure about her heavyset body, and Carmen isn’t encouraging on either account. (“You know what your problem is? You’re too smart,” she says. “This is why she don’t got no boyfriend. This and maybe ten…fifteen pounds.”) ...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  When viewed in retrospect, at least, some matches are doomed from the start. That’s half the story in Jason Robert Brown’s he-sang, she-sang musical The Last Five Years, which looks at a failed relationship—between Jamie, a rising novelist, and Cathy, a plateaued actress—from both sides and in two temporal directions. It is also half the story in the show’s woefully uneven new revival with Nick Jonas and Adrienne Warren, directed by Whitney White. The balance is broken: She has all the weight.  As its Playbill insert helpfully illustrates, The Last Five Years lays out the narratives of its two exes in the form of an X: His side of the story moves forward, starting at the end of their first date; hers unfolds in reverse, starting at the end of their marriage. They’re at cross-purposes, and aside from a wedding song at the intersection of their timelines—the lovely “The Next Ten Minutes,” which cleverly incorporates the words “I do”—their stories are never on the same page. Until the counterpoint finale, there’s only one duet in this whole two-person show; the rest of the score is apportioned into alternating solos.  The Last Five Years | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew Murphy Brown’s structural choice suggests an insurmountable problem in Jamie and Cathy’s romance. If they can’t connect, maybe it’s because each of them puts the other on a pedestal. They love each other’s types. Jamie, who sees himself as a little Jewish nebbish, is excited by...

NSangou Njikam's solo hip-hop theater show was part of the Atlantic's 2023 readings series (Writ)ual MixFest and was slated to premiere at the theater last fall before getting bumped by a schedule change. Now Njikam finally brings what is billed as "a mix of poetry, ministry, and magic" to the stage, joined by DJ Monday Blue, in a production directed by Dennis A. Allen II.