Elysa Gardner

Oscar Isaac and Rachel Brosnahan are well known to mass audiences for their roles onscreen: Brosnahan for her title role as a rising stand-up comic in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Isaac for films ranging from the Coen Brothers’ Inside Llewyn Davis to sci-fi blockbusters like Dune and the latest Star Wars trilogy. But both of them got their start on the stage, and have returned to it periodically over the years—including a revival this year of the 1964 drama The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window, the sweeping final work by A Raisin in the Sun playwright Lorraine Hansberry. In this production—which moves to Broadway this week after a hit run at the Brooklyn Academy of Music—Isaac plays Sidney, a restless progressive trying to make his mark in the bohemian West Village, and Brosnahan is his wife, Iris, a would-be actress racked by her own frustrations. In a recent chat at a café on Bleecker Street, the actors discussed the production and their characters, and how the play still has much to say to contemporary audiences. What was it like performing this show at BAM, and do you expect it to be different on Broadway? Oscar Isaac: What I loved most about BAM is it was right around the corner from my house. It was like the neighborhood playhouse that happened to be a world-renowned theater. Also, the space itself is so special; it’s this beautiful amphitheater but at the same time a proscenium stage. I’ve seen so many shows there in the 20-plus years I’ve been in the city, so it was ex

After an absence of 30 years, Glenda Jackson—the stage legend, two-time Oscar winner and, from 1992 to 2015, member of Parliament—returned to Broadway this spring in a revival of Edward Albee’s Three Tall Women. The critical reception was rapturous, and after four nominations, Jackson is expected to win her first Tony. Chatting at a teahouse on the Upper East Side, the 82-year-old Englishwoman is warm, relaxed and sharp as a tack, viewing awards, she says, “the way I’ve always viewed them: They’re gifts, but they don’t make you any better.” RECOMMENDED: Complete guide to the Tony Awards Your performance in Three Tall Women is breathtaking, as are Laurie Metcalf’s and Alison Pill’s.That’s one of the reasons I chose to do it. Opportunities for actresses are limited. It is so rare for a play to have more than one part of this caliber. Why don’t contemporary dramatists find women interesting? For some reason, the central dramatic energy is still predominantly male. What is it like to be playing, essentially, Albee’s mother, with whom he had a notoriously frosty relationship?Albee said—I’m paraphrasing—“During her life, I never met anyone who liked her, but I’ve never met anyone who saw the play who disliked her. What have I done?” [Laughs] You have to look at the character through the character’s eyes. This woman believes in herself, and she has achieved the things she wanted to achieve. How did your time in Parliament inform your perspective as an artist and a woman?When I first

Theater review by Elysa Gardner Maybe you’re one of those highly productive types who used the Covid shutdown to master French cooking or tai chi, or read the complete works of Proust. You’re still a piker compared to Suzan-Lori Parks, who spent the pandemic’s first thirteen months writing a short play each day, documenting her journey and the country’s and even crafting a central role for herself. The resulting production was supposed to premiere at the Public Theater last fall, but was delayed, ironically, by the Pulitzer Prize winner’s own bout with the virus. Plays for the Plague Year has now finally arrived at Joe’s Pub, with Parks holding court over a cast of seven other actors who juggle multiple roles. She also sings, as do her fellow cast members, and is one of two guitarists in a four-piece band that plays about twenty original songs. Plays is not really a musical; most of the tunes are short and simple, and the lyrics embellish the storyline rather than driving it—adding to the show's communal vibe, which feels right for this performance space. There are several compelling numbers nonetheless, from the doo-wop of “Bob Needs a Job” and the breezy hip-hop-soul of “We Got It From Here” to the bluesy lament “Managing My Anger,” which Parks delivers  with a punk sneer creeping into her slight but pleasing voice. Plays for the Plague Year | Photograph: Courtesy Joan Marcus As those titles suggest, Plays documents both the devastation that Covid wrought and the persevera

Theater review by Elysa Gardner A young Black woman in a white dress glides through patches of wetland, then lies down carefully and wearily on a bed surrounded by marsh as strains of sultry jazz envelop her. The dreamlike lyricism of this lovely opening sequence may not prepare you for the ferocious naturalism that follows in director Awoye Timpo’s magnificent new production of Alice Childress’s Wedding Band. Childress’s work has been enjoying renewed appreciation of late. Last fall saw the long-deferred Broadway premiere of her 1955 play Trouble in Mind, an exploration of race relations within a company of actors that Childress had refused to water down for the potential producers. 1966’s Wedding Band, subtitled A Love/Hate Story in Black and White, cuts deeper still: Set in 1918—during World War I and the Spanish flu pandemic, both of which factor into the story—the play traces the plight of a Black woman, Julia Augustine, in love with a white man, Herman, but unable to marry him because of South Carolina’s anti-miscegenation laws. We first meet Julia—brought to life in a radiant and ultimately heartbreaking performance by Brittany Bradford—as she’s trying to settle into a new home, having been driven from others by intolerant neighbors. Her accommodations are modest, but Jason Ardizzone-West’s alluring scenic design emphasizes the warmth and openness represented by the natural world. Julia finds herself surrounded by other women who have had to fend for themselves, and ha

Theater review by Elysa Gardner Sex and the City inspiration Candace Bushnell recently turned 63, but at her one-woman show Is There Still Sex in the City?, fans can party like it’s 1998. Before the show, a downstairs “Candi Bar” features a disco ball and fuchsia curtains that match the Manolo Blahniks Bushnell wears for her entrance; $18 Cosmopolitans are available inside the theater. The pre-curtain lineup of girl-power anthems includes “I Love Rock and Roll,” “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)” and, most tellingly, “Material Girl.” As even Bushnell’s most ardent admirers might concede, the columnist-turned-author’s self-styled feminism has leaned awfully hard on brands and boys. Inspired by her most recent book, Is There Still Sex in the City? charts Bushnell’s progress from a rising young writer making lousy relationship choices to a divorcée taking refuge in Sag Harbor and her coterie of loyal girlfriends (identified, naturally, as Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte). In a series of form-fitting costumes by Lisa Zinni, the well-preserved star recalls her triumphs and misadventures in a tone as light and frilly as Anna Louizos’s scenic design. A screen hanging over the stage showcases articles by and about Bushnell, along with clips from Sex and the City and numbered lessons that include pearls of wisdom such as “Men lie,” “People in relationships only see what they want to see” and—my personal favorite—“You can’t rely on a relationship for your happiness or a roof over your

Theater review by Elysa Gardner It could be argued that Morning’s at Seven’s enduring charm lies as much in the actors who have appeared in Paul Osborn’s account of four aging, deeply attached sisters as in the play itself. The first Broadway revival, in 1980, made a star of David Rounds, who shared the stage with Nancy Marchand, Maureen O’Sullivan, Elizabeth Wilson and Teresa Wright; the second, in 2002, featured celebrated performances by Elizabeth Franz, Estelle Parsons and Frances Sternhagen. For this latest Off Broadway production, director Dan Wackerman has assembled his own posse of stage and screen veterans.  The redoubtable Judith Ivey was to be among them, until an eleventh-hour injury forced her to bow out, as Arry Gibbs, the youngest and only unmarried sibling, who lives with her sister Cora and Cora’s husband, Thor, in a house next to the one where Ida, another sister, resides with her own spouse, Carl, and their middle-aged son, Homer. The fourth and eldest sister, Esty, lives nearby in their small town, but has been forbidden to visit by her husband, David, a smug ex-professor who considers his in-laws a bunch of morons. But nothing can keep Esty away when it’s announced that Homer—a reclusive nerd who has inherited Carl’s crippling lack of confidence—is due to finally bring home Myrtle, the mystery woman he has purportedly been dating for some time. Myrtle’s arrival proves a catalyst for reflection and confrontation among the senior relatives. While all are en