Aladdin. New Amsterdam Theatre (see Broadway). Music by Alan Menken. Lyrics by Howard Ashman and Tim Rice. Book and additional lyrics by Chad Beguelin. Directed by Casey Nicholaw. With Adam Jacobs, James Monroe Iglehart, Courtney Reed. Running time: 2hrs 20mins. One intermission. Aladdin: In brief Disney unveils its latest cartoon-to-musical project: the tale of a boy, an uncorked spirit and an aerodynamic rug. Composer Alan Menken adds new tunes to the 1992 original soundtrack, and Chad Beguelin provides a fresh book. Reputed highlights include James Monroe Iglehart's bouncy Genie and the flying-carpet F/X. Aladdin: Theater review by Adam Feldman What do we wish for in a Disney musical? It is unrealistic to expect aesthetic triumph on par with The Lion King, but neither need we settle for blobs of empty action like Tarzan or The Little Mermaid. The latest in the toon-tuner line, Aladdin, falls between those poles; nearer in style (though inferior in stakes) to Disney’s first effort, Beauty and the Beast, the show is a tricked-out, tourist-family-friendly theme-park attraction, decorated this time in the billowing fabrics of orientalist Arabian fantasy. “It’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home,” sings the genial Genie (a game, charismatic Iglehart) in the opening song, and that’s the tone of Aladdin as a whole: kid-Oriented. As in the 1992 film, the Genie steals the show from its eponymous “street rat” hero (Jacobs, white teeth and tan chest agleam). The musical’s high point i
Theater review by Helen Shaw We don’t get many ancient Greek tragedies on Broadway. Tastes have changed, and what we think of as dramatic has shifted into different patterns. So Christopher Demos-Brown’s American Son seems like a play from another time. It basically consists of two-person arguments, interspersed with messenger speeches: Something has happened offstage, and we wait with the characters to find out what it is. The rhetoric is heavy-handed, the grief and fear are unremitting, the brushstrokes are asphalt-thick, and there’s no subtlety in either the characterizations or the narrative structure. In other words, Demos-Brown hasn’t written a particularly skillful modern drama. But when the fate of a nation was at stake, Euripides wrote plays like this too. A panicking mother, Kendra (Kerry Washington), sits in the waiting room of a Miami police station while rain pours down outside. (Derek McLane’s set is almost all windows, looking out on an empty parking lot.) Kendra’s son, Jamal, has been involved in an incident, but the overnight officer, Larkin (Jeremy Jordan), claims that protocol prevents him from telling her anything till morning. Larkin leaves, then reenters, adding eyedropper beads of racism to the conversation each time: “Did he have any street names?” he asks, busily taking notes. Eventually, Kendra is joined by her estranged white husband, Scott (Steven Pasquale), and the two of them fight over things that have clearly been long since decided. As writ
Theater review by Adam FeldmanBroadway musicals often feature heroines trying to find themselves, but perhaps never as literally as in Anastasia. In 1927 Leningrad, the scrappy, strapping Dmitry (Derek Klena) and the worldly, roguish Vlad (John Bolton) devise a scheme to pass off a street sweeper, Anya (Christy Altomare), as the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nicholaevna Romanov, rumored to have survived the massacre of the rest of her royal family in the Russian Revolution 10 years earlier. But as the con men school her, My Fair Lady–like, in the ways of nobility—hoping to deceive Anastasia’s grandmother in Paris, the Dowager Empress (an elegant Mary Beth Peil)—it emerges that Anya may be the real Anastasia after all. Who knows? Not Anya: She has amnesia. What former self might be nested like a doll inside her, waiting to be revealed? And might there be other dolls inside that one?As Anastasia piles discovery upon discovery, the happiest surprise is how consistently good the musical turns out to be. Smartly adapted by Terrence McNally from the 1997 animated film and the 1956 Ingrid Bergman movie—with Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens impressively expanding their score from the former—Anastasia is a sweeping adventure, romance and historical epic whose fine craftsmanship will satisfy musical-theater fans beyond the show’s ideal audience of teenage girls. (When I saw it, a second-act kiss was greeted with deafening shrieks of approval.) Director Darko Tresnjak keeps the story swirling
Theater review by Adam Feldman Kristin Miller (Stockard Channing), the caustic central character of Alexi Kaye Campbell’s Apologia, doesn’t suffer fools gladly—or anyone gladly, really—which is not to say that she doesn’t suffer: Campbell makes sure of that. A prominent art historian and activist, Kristin prioritized her career over her family in the 1970s, leaving her two now-grown sons feeling beached by her second-wave feminism. It is 2009, and she is at her English country cottage, hosting a small birthday gathering that quickly turns ugly. Older son Peter (Hugh Dancy), a banker with a fervently Christian American girlfriend named Trudi (Talene Monahon), is peeved at being left out of Kristin’s recent memoir; when his perpetually screwed-up brother, Simon (Dancy again), shows up later, he has a blank stare, a bleeding hand and a long guilt trip for his mother at the ready. The chickens have come home to roost, or at least to cluck at her. Drawing on inner reserves, Channing manages to make Kristin—who is gratuitously mean to nearly everyone, including Simon’s shallow (and shallowly written) actress girlfriend, Claire (Megalyn Echikunwoke)—a compellingly conflicted figure, but the play doesn’t give her a lot to work with. It creaks with contrivances (identical mobile phones, a randomly meaningful African mask) and clunky, expositional dialogue (“‘Kristin Miller’s series of articles for The New Statesman in the 1970s changed the way we look at art forever,’” says Trud
Young Scottish magician Scott Silven drops by the McKittrick Hotel for dinner, whiskey and light hocus-pocus in this elegant variation on dinner theater, which returns this fall after a sold-out run in 2017. Audience members are seated around a large table in what used to be the Heath restaurant, upstairs in the complex that also houses Sleep No More and Gallow Green. The story Silvan threads through his show is on the hokey side, and the magic is largely standard-issue mentalism. (There’s a lot of guessing what people have drawn on pads.) But it’s an enjoyable diversion overall; the intimate candlelit atmosphere, welcoming spirit and delicious food and drinks do the trick.
After many years, the sassy and clever puppet musical doesn’t show its age. Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx’s deft Sesame Street–esque novelty tunes about porn and racism still earn their laughs. Avenue Q remains a sly and winning piece of metamusical tomfoolery. Running time: 2hrs 15mins. One intermission.
Updated review by Adam Feldman (2018) Ten months into its Broadway run, David Yazbek and Itamar Moses’s Tony-winning musical remains quietly ravishing: It seems to have almost as much silence as music, and it trusts us to fill in the blanks. Sasson Gabay now stars as Tewfiq, the conductor of an Egyptian band stranded in an Israeli desert town—the role he played in the film from which the show is adapted. His performance is bone-dry and bone-deep, and his scenes with the stunning Katrina Lenk retain the delicate balance she had opposite Tony Shalhoub, with a slight shift in emphasis: Gabay has a more somber and paternal presence, which casts his relationship with wayward trumpet player Haled (Ari'el Stachel) into clearer relief. The richness of the writing, the nuances of David Cromer’s production and the continued excellence of the ensemble cast make each return visit a pleasure. Broadway review by Adam Feldman (2017) In a musical that is full of beautiful moments, perhaps the loveliest is the one shared on a plain park bench by Dina (Katrina Lenk), an Israeli café owner, and Tewfiq (Tony Shalhoub), an Egyptian bandleader stranded for the night in her uneventful desert town in 1996. As members of his ceremonial police orchestra play incidental music behind them, Dina asks Tewfiq how it feels to be a conductor. They each raise their arms, inhabiting an imagined experience together, and the music we have been hearing stops; what they feel is realer, and we are invited to im
[Note: Abby Mueller, the sister of original star Jessie Mueller, takes over as King starting August 7.] Beautiful—The Carole King Musical shares several virtues with its titular singer-songwriter, among them humility, earnestness and dedication to craft. If Douglas McGrath’s book never achieves the dramatic grit or comic zip of Jersey Boys, at least director Marc Bruni’s production avoids being a brain-dead, self-satisfied hit parade à la Berry Gordy’s Motown. Still, it does seem that stretches of Broadway’s newest jukebox musical consist of situations such as this: “Carole, you’ve got to write us a hit!” “I’ve written something.” “It’s a hit!” Yes, Beautiful loves its diligent, long-suffering pop genius, and invites you to do the same. It’s quite an easy task when you have the phenomenal Jessie Mueller in the lead. The effortlessly appealing star cut her teeth on Broadway flops (the mis-reconceived On a Clear Day You Can See Forever) and in supporting parts (The Mystery of Edwin Drood). Now she’s ready to carry a show. As Brooklyn-raised King, who started churning out teenybopper tunes at 1650 Broadway in the late ’50s, Mueller exudes warmth and common sense, playing up King’s old-fashioned modesty and insecurity without becoming a doormat or cipher. And when she wraps her rich, burnished voice around those hits—“So Far Away,” “Will You Love Me Tomorrow,” “It’s Too Late”—they feel as fresh as the day King penned them. McGrath’s deft, wry book tracks its hero’s tortured fi
Theater review by Adam Feldman Theresa Rebeck’s boulevard dramedy Bernhardt/Hamlet is set in Paris at the end of the 19th century, and stars the lithe and charismatic Janet McTeer as the world-famous Sarah Bernhardt—the Divine Sarah, celebrated thespian and self-dramatizing celebrity, as renowned for her wild personal life as for her florid performances onstage. In her mid-50s, Bernhardt has decided to grab at the brass ring of the greatest role in dramatic literature: the melancholy and very talky Hamlet, prince of Denmark, king of indecision. While some of Bernhardt’s contemporaries are skeptical at the idea of a woman in the role—one critic dismisses her gambit as “this absurd whim of an aging actress”—McTeer’s performance renders such carping moot; the show offers tantalizing hints of how good McTeer might be in a fully realized production of Shakespeare’s tragedy. What Bernhardt/Hamlet perversely refuses to give us, however, is a coherent sense of Bernhardt’s performance in the role. The star’s approach is discussed throughout the play: She wants to portray the prince as young, active and vigorous. Yet that’s not the version we see. McTeer speaks her passages from Hamlet simply, maturely and thoughtfully. Further muddying the question is that this was not the real Bernhardt’s kind of acting at all; she was known for her grand gestures, and her voice was heavy with emotive vibrato. Even as it glorifies Bernhardt, the play edits her style into one that seems closer to t
Three deadpan blue-skinned men with extraterrestrial imaginations carry this tourist fave, a show as smart as it is ridiculous. They drum on open tubs of paint, creating splashes of color; they consume Twinkies and Cap'n Crunch; they engulf the audience in a roiling sea of toilet paper. For sheer weird, exuberant fun, it's hard to top this long-running treat. (Note: The playing schedule varies from week to week, with as many as four performances on some days and none on others.)
If theater is your religion and the Broadway musical your sect, you've been woefully faith-challenged of late. Venturesome, boundary-pushing works such as Spring Awakening, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson and Next to Normal closed too soon. American Idiot was shamefully ignored at the Tonys and will be gone in three weeks. Meanwhile, that airborne infection Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark dominates headlines and rakes in millions, without even opening. Celebrities and corporate brands sell poor material, innovation gets shown the door, and crap floats to the top. It's enough to turn you heretic, to sing along with The Book of Mormon's Ugandan villagers: "Fuck you God in the ass, mouth and cunt-a, fuck you in the eye." Such deeply penetrating lyrics offer a smidgen of the manifold scato-theological joys to be had at this viciously hilarious treat crafted by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, of South Park fame, and composer-lyricist Robert Lopez, who cowrote Avenue Q. As you laugh your head off at perky Latter-day Saints tap-dancing while fiercely repressing gay tendencies deep in the African bush, you will be transported back ten years, when The Producers and Urinetown resurrected American musical comedy, imbuing time-tested conventions with metatheatrical irreverence and a healthy dose of bad-taste humor. Brimming with cheerful obscenity, sharp satire and catchy tunes, The Book of Mormon is a sick mystic revelation, the most exuberantly entertaining Broadway musical in years. The high
After more than 15 years at the Waldorf Astoria, Steve Cohen, billed as the Millionaires’ Magician, now conjures his high-class parlor magic in the marble-columned Madison Room at the swank Lotte New York Palace. Audiences must dress to be impressed (cocktail attire is required); tickets start at $100, with an option to pay more for meet-and-greet time and extra tricks with Cohen after the show. But if you've come to see a classic-style magic act, you get what you pay for. Sporting a tuxedo and bright rust hair, the magician delivers routines that he has buffed to a patent-leather gleam: In addition to his signature act—"Think-a-Drink," involving a kettle that pours liquids by request—highlights include a lulu of levitation trick and a card-trick finale that leaves you feeling like, well, a million bucks.
This John Kander–Fred Ebb–Bob Fosse favorite, revived by director Walter Bobbie and choreographer Ann Reinking, tells the saga of chorus girl Roxie Hart, who murders her lover and, with the help of a huckster lawyer, becomes a vaudeville sensation. The cast frequently features guest celebrities in short stints.
Theater review by Helen Shaw It takes only minutes of The Chinese Lady to see that two theatrical craftsmen, playwright Lloyd Suh and director Ralph B. Peña, have constructed the dramatic equivalent of a perfect cabinet. Every hinge moves smoothly; the herringbone joins are a low-key marvel. You can almost see yourself in its hard-won polish. The set is a shipping container, which swings open to reveal a little room, covered withflowered silk panels, inauthentic Chinoiserie decoration—and no door. We gradually realize that we’re not looking at a room at all: It’s more like a display case, built to show off a living, breathing girl. Suh has taken his inspiration from the real story of Afong Moy (Shannon Tyo), the first Chinese woman to come to the United States. Only 14 years old when she arrived in 1834, she was sold by her father to the Carne brothers, who exhibited her as a curiosity to people who wanted to see a tea ceremony or chopsticks or bound feet. Suh’s version of Afong Moy is wonderful. As she talks directly to us, we learn she’scheerful and arrogant, a planner—she wants to exhibit a 14-year-old white girl when she gets home—and a true believer in fostering cross-cultural understanding. With her translator-attendant Atung (Daniel K. Isaac), she tours the country and even visits President Andrew Jackson. (She thinks the meeting is diplomatic, but he talks about delighting in freak shows.) Scenes leap across the years; her optimism dims. The real Afong Moy may hav
Theater review by Adam Feldman The first word of A Chorus Line—“Again!”—pulls you right into the action. As barked by Zach, the dogged director of an upcoming Broadway show, “Again!” is not an observation, but an order: He is commanding the two dozen dancers auditioning for him to repeat the jazz combination he has been teaching them. Soon, after a few more tries, they are ready to show off what they have learned, grabbing onto a thrillingly dynamic snatch of dance. And for an instant, the show explodes into high gear—only to retreat, teasingly, into the auditioners’ uncertainy once more. “Again!” might as well be the motto of Encores!'s lovely revival of A Chorus Line at New York City Center. Notwithstanding its Pulitzer Prize, the show’s greatest strength has always been the singular, sensational vision of its creator and first director-choreographer, the late Michael Bennett, and the new production meticulously reproduces the look and feel of the original. As in the show's 2006 revival, Bob Avian, who co-choreographed the 1975 version, inherits directorial duties; original cast member and assistant choreographer Baayork Lee is in charge of the dance. The iconic looks created by costume designer Theoni V. Aldredge and set designer Robin Wagner are recreated with minimal tweaking. Through so reverent an account, A Chorus Line inevitably becomes a period piece, rather than the contemporary behind-the-scenes theatrical reportage that it represented 40 years ago. Eve
One of the more unlikely musicals on Broadway this season, Come from Away is the tense but humane story of an airport in Gander, Newfoundland, where 38 planes and more than 6,000 passengers were forced to land on September 11, 2001. The book, music and lyrics are by the Canadian team Irene Sankoff and David Hein. Read the full review.
Theater review by Jenna Scherer [Note: This is a review of Daniel's Husband's 2017 production at Primary Stages. The production has returned for an encore engagement at Westside Theatre, with its entire original cast.]There's a pervasive sense of soapboxing to Daniel's Husband, Michael McKeever's relationship dramedy receiving its New York premiere from Primary Stages. The play centers on Daniel (Ryan Spahn) and Mitchell (Matthew Montelongo), a longtime couple who seem to have the perfect life. Daniel's an architect and Mitchell's a successful author; they live in a beautifully appointed home (props to designer Brian Prather) where they throw breezy dinner parties for their circle of friends.Naturally, there's trouble in paradise. Daniel wants the two to tie the knot, and Mitchell doesn't believe in marriage—or rather, in the idea that gay men should aspire to heterosexual relationship norms. It's a debate certainly ripe for dramatization, and one whose primacy McKeever puts front and center from the get-go. "Oh God, please! No more politics," Mitchell's friend (Lou Liberatore) cries in the opening moments. But the playwright's point is clear: If you're a member of a minority that's subject to the machinations of the majority, the personal is always political—whether you want it to be or not.Daniel's Husband begins as a genuine conversation, taking up McKeever's chosen topic and letting characters pass it back and forth and chew on its macro and micro implications. McKeever
Theater review by Helen Shaw In 1969, the leftist activist movement Students for a Democratic Society was falling into ruin. Some factions turned to terrorism; some distanced themselves from the bomb throwers; other went silent out of fear or disaffection. So you can understand why a playwright would find the death of SDS an appropriate topic for a modern tragedy. Steven Levenson’s shaky Days of Rage treats the drama in microcosm, focusing on one tiny commune of believers who start turning the movement’s own ideals against one another. Unfortunately, the idea is better than its execution: The play quickly gets repetitive, and Levenson’s work lacks both period specificity and an ending. A perfect staging might paper over the gaps, but director Trip Cullman largely miscasts it and, fatally for a play so stuffed with attraction and romance, delivers a production without a particle of sexual heat. The play takes place in Ithaca, New York, where activists Jenny (Lauren Patten), Spence (Mike Faist) and Quinn (Odessa Young) live in a loose collective—which mainly seems to mean that Spence gets to sleep with both women. In the fraught run-up to the titular SDS protest in Chicago, Jenny starts dating the level-headed Hal (a nicely understated J. Alphonse Nicholson), and weird new recruit Peggy (Tavi Gevinson) moves into the house. Both interlopers, the sober straight-man and the dizzy extremist, tear the group apart. Louisa Thompson’s set, a rotting two-story house stuffed with
The Irish Rep presents a return engagement of its 2016 adaptation of James Joyce's short story about a holiday meal in Dublin, staged immersively at an intimate Upper East Side townhouse. Ciarán O'Reilly directs a script by Paul Muldoon and Jean Hanff Korelitz, with Melissa Gilbert and Rufus Collins in the central roles. Admission includes dinner and drinks. Read the full 2016 review.
In this captivating original musical, Hello, Dolly! scene-stealer Taylor Trensch now plays the title role of a high school student thrust into social relevance after a classmate's suicide. Benj Pasek and Justin Paul's score combines well-crafted lyrics with an exciting pop sound, and Steven Levenson’s book gives all the characters shaded motives. Read the full review.
Theater review by Regina Robbins When the Johnsons sit down to dinner in Patricia Ione Lloyd’s new play, Eve’s Song, they do everything right, from placing their cloth napkins neatly on their laps to saying “please” and “thank you” as they pass the rolls. Mom Deborah (De’Adre Aziza) takes pride in making a nice meal for her teenage kids, even after working all day at a demanding corporate job. But as the head of this high-achieving African-American family, newly separated from her husband, she’s beginning to fray at the edges. When Lauren (Kadijah Raquel), Deborah’s elder child and a college student, becomes involved with Upendo (Ashley D. Kelley), a sexually fluid political activist, the Johnson home starts coming apart—literally. The first half of Eve’s Song plays as kooky dark comedy, but supernatural elements assert themselves with increasing frequency as the action progresses. While Lauren explores her burgeoning queer identity, Deborah’s life goes further off the rails; meanwhile, the ghosts of black women swirl around them, heartbroken and forgotten, threatening the family’s suburban middle-class bubble. A pro’s pro, director Jo Bonney guides the cast on a disquieting journey from humor to tragedy; newcomer Raquel is especially impressive as the sensitive Lauren, dismayed to find that her sexual awakening brings with it a growing political consciousness. As plays about racial violence flood New York stages in an overdue cascade, Lloyd rises above the tide on the s
Theater review by Adam Feldman Jez Butterworth’s The Ferryman is a tremendously noisy play about silence and its price. Rob Howell’s expertly detailed set, festooned with memorabilia and kids’ drawings, depicts a farmhouse in Northern Ireland in 1981. More than 20 actors stream on and off the stage, including many children of various ages, plus a live baby and a goose; there is music, both traditional and contemporary, and a celebratory dance. The whole thrilling production seems alive, as few Broadway shows do, with the clutter and scope of reality. It is harvest day, and for Quinn Carney (Paddy Considine) it starts with a sweet early-morning flirtation with Caitlin (Laura Donnelly). They seem a happy couple, but we soon piece together that she is not Quinn’s wife and the mother of his seven children—that would be the sickly Mary (Genevieve O’Reilly)—but the presumed widow of his long-missing brother, Seamus. As we have learned in the play’s prologue, Seamus’s corpse has just been discovered in a local bog, and the quietly menacing local Irish Republican Army warlord, Muldoon (Stuart Graham), is intent on ensuring that no one talk too much about how the dead man got that way. Although it is more than three hours long, The Ferryman never drags, in part because Butterworth continually shifts and expands the play’s focus to what had seemed like side characters, such as the sometimes-lucid madwoman Aunt Maggie Far Away (Fionnula Flanagan), the slow-witted Tom Kettle (Justi
Theater review by Raven Snook How do you make Fiddler on the Roof even more Jewish? Do it in Yiddish! Fans of Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick’s landmark musical about Tevye the Milkman and his shtetl community in early-20th-century Russia will go meshuga for the U.S. premiere of Shraga Friedman’s translation, which ran briefly in Israel in 1965. It’s a mitzvah that the century-old National Yiddish Theatre Folksbiene has resurrected this version, which lets the characters speak (and sing) in the expressive guttural tongue they would have used in real life—the language of the Sholem Aleichem stories that inspired the show. English translations are projected for the benefit of those who don’t know Yiddish, and many of the performers aren’t fluent in the language, either (they have learned their lines phonetically, much as opera singers often do). But director Joel Grey—yes, that Joel Grey—has made sure the performers know what they’re feeling, even if they don’t know what they’re saying, and their emotional journeys are so clear you may find yourself abandoning the oddly placed supertitles to luxuriate in the sound of the language and the klezmer-inflected score, played by a lively 12-piece orchestra. Of course, that means you may miss the ways this Yiddish interpretation differs from the original, as when “If I Were a Rich Man” is reimagined as “If I Were a Rothschild,” a reference to a 1902 tale by Aleichem. Steven Skybell, who appeared in the most recent Broadway revival
Theater review by Adam Feldman At the end of the first act of Frozen, there is a moment that zaps the audience to life like a blast of cold air. Elsa (Caissie Levy), the young queen of a Nordic realm, has witchy ice-creation powers that she has been forced to keep hidden; now, self-exiled to a Fortress of Solitude–like castle, she exults in reckless freedom and power. As she belts the show’s takeaway number, “Let It Go,” her heavy royal garments transform, in one thrilling instant, into a shimmery frost-blue party dress. It’s “Defying Gravity” on the rocks, and for the duration of this Wicked-cool number, Frozen breaks free from the forces that keep most of Disney’s latest musical earthbound. Otherwise, there is altogether too little magic in the kingdom of Arendelle, which Elsa’s impulsive younger sister, Anna (Patti Murin), must save from the eternal winter to which Elsa has unwittingly condemned it. In adapting their smash 2013 movie to the stage, Frozen’s creators—including screenwriter Jennifer Lee and songwriters Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez—faced a challenge: Many of the film’s key sequences are adventure scenes (a wolf attack, a giant snow monster, a climactic blizzard) that are hard to re-create onstage. Julie Taymor solved this problem in The Lion King by coming up with a comprehensive aesthetic vocabulary of her own, but Frozen director Michael Grandage’s reach is less ambitious. In lieu of the great outdoors, he moves much of the show to lofty and stu
Self-described “bubble scientist” Fan Yang's blissfully disarming act (now performed in New York by his son Deni, daughter Melody and wife Ana) consists mainly of generating a dazzling succession of bubbles in mind-blowing configurations, filling them with smoke or linking them into long chains. Lasers and flashing colored lights add to the trippy visuals.—David Cote TIME OUT DISCOUNT TICKET OFFER:THE GAZILLION BUBBLE SHOW It will blow you away!!!Tickets as low as $49 (regular price $79) Promotional description: After twenty years as a Master of Bubbles, Fan Yang brought his unique brand of artistry to the Big Apple in 2007 and has since wowed bubble lovers of all ages. The Gazillion Bubble Show truly is a family affair for Fan: His wife Ana, son Deni, daughter Melody and brother Jano all can be found on stage in New York and around the world performing their bubble magic. Audiences are delighted with an unbubblievable experience and washed with a bubble tide; some even find themselves inside a bubble. Mind-blowing bubble magic, spectacular laser lighting effects and momentary soapy masterpieces will make you smile, laugh and feel like a kid again.THREE WAYS TO BUY TICKETS:1. Online: Click here to buy tickets through Telecharge2. By phone: Call 212-947-8844 and mention code: GBTONYF453. In person: Print this offer and bring it to the New World Stages box officePerformance schedule: Friday at 7pm; Saturday at 11am, 2pm and 4:30pm; Sunday at 12pm and 3pm Running time: 1h