Things to do near the Empire State Building

Theater review by Adam Feldman  Putting the word shitshow in the title of your play seems almost like a dare to the writer of an unenthusiastic review. I will resist the easy jab, though, because writer-director Aya Ogawa’s carnivalesque pageant—which explores and explodes different facets of motherhood through satirical vignettes, musical numbers and bouffon body horror—is audacious in more than its name. The show is intent on airing ugly and troubling aspects of maternity, and Ogawa delivers them cesarean style: with a few deep cuts and a lot of mess.  Meat Suit, or the shitshow of motherhood | Photograph: Courtesy Joan Marcus Meat Suit is being produced by Second Stage, and it has aptly created a secondary space for itself at the Signature Center’s Irene Diamond Stage. The venue’s usual seats are cordoned off, and the audience is guided instead to a womblike playing area that scenic designer Jian Jung has festooned with lumpy, pendulous blobs that suggest internal organs as drawn by Dr. Seuss. In a similar spirit, Jung attires the cast’s five actresses—Marina Celander, Cindy Cheung, Robyn Kerr, Maureen Sebastian and Liz Wisan, proven talents all—in bodysuits bursting with grotesque stuffed appendages that evoke internal and sexual organs. (They also recall Jill Keys’s fetus costumes in Lightning Rod Special’s The Appointment.)  Meat Suit, or the shitshow of motherhood | Photograph: Courtesy Joan Marcus Unfortunately, the show’s goop is not just of the visceral...

Theater review by Adam Feldman  In his program note for The Dinosaurs, playwright Jacob Perkins describes how a support group for alcoholics helped him deal with traumatic memories—including that of being surrounded by a group of men to be “exorcised,” at the age of 8, from a homosexuality that had already become legible to others. In the weekly sessions he attended in a church basement, which have now inspired his elegantly elliptical and tender new play, Perkins also found a community of people wrestling with demons: drawing on one another’s strength to stay cleansed of the spirits, whether liquid or figurative, that once controlled them and which still threaten, at any moment, to slip into their weakest places.  The Dinosaurs | Photograph: Courtesy Julieta Cervantes This theme becomes explicit only once in The Dinosaurs: When Joan (Elizabeth Marvel), speaking of the mysterious maladies she suffered as a child, compares herself to “that little girl in The Exorcist after she gets possessed by the devil.” Her illnesses were harbingers of her future alcoholism, she later realized, but at that time “my disease was manifesting as restlessness, irritability, discontentedness”—problems that later, frustrated by her inability to control them, she would turn to drinking to escape. Perkins approaches alcoholism not as a physical ailment but a spiritual one. “I didn’t believe that God saw me, that God could ever wanna take care of a person like me,” Joan says, but the community of...

Theater review by Adam Feldman  In times of tyranny, there can also be resistance, and in times of resistance, there is always Antigone. The title character of Sophocles’s ancient tragedy refuses to accept a decree by her uncle Creon, the king of Thebes, that the corpse of her rebellious brother should be left unburied for beasts to devour; and the unbending Creon, who thinks the young lady protests too much, confines her to die in a cave. This mythic tale continues to resonate, and it has now inspired two concurrent Off Broadway adaptations. The first of them, imported by the Shed after premiering at London's National Theatre, is Alexander Zeldin's The Other Place; the other play is Anna Ziegler’s Antigone (This Play I Read in High School), which hits the Public later this month.  Like Robert Icke in Oedipus and Simon Stone in Medea, writer-director Zeldin squeezes the old story into a mold of contemporary psychodrama. Creon is now Chris (Tobias Menzies), who has been working with his new wife, Erica (Lorna Brown), to renovate his late brother’s house; they have opened up the living room by knocking down one wall and installing sliding glass doors in another, filling a symbolically dark and secretive space with equally symbolic sunlight. He also plans to disperse his brother’s crematory ashes outdoors—a plan that does not sit well with his niece Annie (House of the Dragon’s Emma D’Arcy), a bisexual drifter who has gone off the grid and, apparently, her meds. Although...

Having won a Tony Award for Merrily We Roll Along, Daniel Radcliffe returns to make more magic in the Broadway premiere of Duncan Macmillan's interactive dark comedy about a British man who makes lists of the world's good things, at first to ease his mum's depression and later to temper his own. The show ran Off Broadway in 2014 with Jonny Donahoe, who also contributed to the script; this version is co-directed by Macmillan and Jeremy Herrin (Wolf Hall). It's theatrical candy cane: slim and sweet, tempered by sharpness and striped with bright nostalgia.

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  How well do you know Sean Hayes? You probably think of him as a master of broad comedy, as he demonstrated in 11 seasons as Jack on Will & Grace (and as Jerry in Martin and Lewis and Larry in The Three Stooges). Maybe you enjoy his good-natured enthusiasm on the podcast Smartless. Maybe you saw him quip, scowl and play classical piano in his Tony-winning portrayal of Oscar Levant in Broadway’s Good Night, Oscar. Even so, you might still be surprised by how well he plays a basically regular guy in The Unknown: Elliott, a somewhat isolated, somewhat depressed, mostly sober middle-aged writer who has been having a hard time devising a screenplay, perhaps because his own life has so little drama.   David Cale’s one-man play whips some up for him. While clearing his head at a rural retreat, Elliott hears someone singing a love song about romantic disappointment—a song that Elliott wrote years earlier for a musical. When he returns to the city, a seemingly chance encounter with a handsome Texan at a West Village gay bar leads to a growing fear that he is being shadowed by a marginal figure from his past—and/or, perhaps, by that man’s identical twin. On Hayes’s old sitcom, this scenario might have been played for laughs: Jack and the Bein’ Stalked. Instead, it spirals into a dark-hued exploration of obsession and the porous line that separates life from art.  The Unknown | Photograph: Courtesy Emilio Madrid Elliott's journey, however, doesn’t...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  The story of Chess dates back to the 1980s, and so do the efforts to fix it. This overheated Cold War musical, by lyricist Tim Rice and ABBA songsmiths Benny Anderson and Björn Ulvaeus, began as a 1984 concept album (which yielded the unlikely radio hit “One Night in Bangkok”). But its original London production was a mess, and its 1988 Broadway incarnation, which framed the songs in a completely new book, closed in under two months. The script has been reworked countless times since then, as different writers keep moving its pieces around, trying to solve the large set of Chess problems. None have cracked it yet, and the show’s latest revisal, with yet another completely new book, inspires little hope that anyone will.  Chess | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew Murphy “No one’s way of life is threatened by a flop,” sings the chorus in what is now the show’s opening number, and while that sentiment has a ring of wishful thinking here, it does speak to a certain strain of showtune culture. Many musicals that are not initially successful attract passionate fandoms—perhaps all the more passionate for their underdog spirit—and subsequent versions of such shows are sometimes markedly better (like the recent revival of Merrily We Roll Along or the charming current production of The Baker’s Wife). That is not the case with Chess. The production at Broadway’s Imperial Theatre, directed by Michael Mayer, has plenty of good moves. Memorable and tuneful...

Proven stage talents Jessica Vosk and Kelli Barrett play the roles made famous by Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey, respectively, in a stage version of Iris Rainer Dart's 1985 novel about unlikely longtime friends, which was adapted into the beloved 1988 film weepie. The musical's book is by Dart and Thom Thomas; the lyrics are also by Dart, and the music is by the seminal 1950s pop songwriter Mike Stoller (who is now is his 90s. After more than a decade in development, Beaches lands on Broadway in a production co-directed by Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar & Grill's Lonny Price and Matt Cowart.

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  [Note: Jinkx Monsoon plays the role of Mary Todd Lincoln through September 30, joined by new cast members Kumail Nanjiani, Michael Urie and Jenn Harris. Jane Krakowski assumes the central role on October 14.] 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,...

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  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...