this week in broadway

THE SKIN OF OUR TEETH

Thornton Wilder looks at the history of the world through the Antrobus family in The Skin of Our Teeth (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

THE SKIN OF OUR TEETH
Vivian Beaumont Theater at Lincoln Center Theater
150 West 65th St. between Broadway & Amsterdam Ave.
Tuesday – Saturday through May 29, $49-$225
212-362-7600
www.lct.org

“The theatric invention must tirelessly transform every fragment of dialogue into a stylization surprising, comic, violent, or picturesque,” Thornton Wilder wrote about his Pulitzer Prize–winning play The Skin of Our Teeth in a 1940 notebook. Over the years, many productions have attempted to capture that spirit, with varying degrees of success. In 2017, TFANA staged an exemplary version under Arin Arbus’s direction, almost making sense of Wilder’s complex story involving the Antrobus family — their name means “human” — who have experienced it all but keep on keeping on, as if it’s all in a day’s work.

Mr. Antrobus (James Vincent Meredith) is the inventor of the multiplication table, the alphabet, and the wheel. He’s been married to Mrs. Antrobus (Roslyn Ruff) for five thousand years, and they have two children, Gladys (Paige Gilbert) and Henry (Julian Robertson). Their maid, Sabina (Gabby Beans), runs the household and lets the audience know just what she’s thinking, breaking the fourth wall not only as Sabina but as the actress portraying her. “I hate this play and every word in it,” she tells us. “Besides, the author hasn’t made up his silly mind as to whether we’re all living back in caves or in 1950s Jersey, and that’s the way it is all the way through.”

Massive sets dominate Lincoln Center revival of The Skin of Our Teeth (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

Over the course of three acts and nearly three hours, they are surrounded by melting polar ice caps, a raging war, a refugee crisis, a coming flood, and other key moments of world history. The setting shifts from their suburban home in Excelsior, New Jersey, to the bustling Atlantic City boardwalk. Large-scale pet dinosaurs enter their living room and walk around. A fortune-teller (Priscilla Lopez) offers a stern warning. Sabina flirts with Mr. Antrobus. Everyone worries when he’s not home from work one night. Sitcom meets disaster movie with biblical implications in a choppy narrative that has been significantly tweaked by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins (Everybody, An Octoroon), adding modern-day Black references that often feel out of place alongside old-fashioned newsreels. It’s all too much of a good thing.

Adam Rigg’s set is endlessly imaginative and often awe-inspiring, but at times you’ll find yourself distracted by it. The dinosaur puppets stay onstage too long. Sabina’s complaints grow tiresome and repetitive. Immensely talented Obie-winning director Lileana Blain-Cruz (Fefu and Her Friends, Marys Seacole) has overstuffed the show; it ends up working best in the third act, when the pace slows down and we get into the heart of the play. Wilder invited surprise, but too many surprises can get overwhelming; sometimes it really is best to stop and smell the roses, thorns and all.

HOW I LEARNED TO DRIVE

David Morse, Mary-Louise Parker, and Johanna Day (center three) reprise their roles in Broadway debut of How I Learned to Drive (photo © Jeremy Daniel 2022)

HOW I LEARNED TO DRIVE
Samuel J. Friedman Theatre
261 West Forty-Seventh St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 12, $79-$299
www.manhattantheatreclub.com

“I’m just a very ordinary man,” Peck says in Paula Vogel’s How I Learned to Drive, making its stunning Broadway debut at MTC’s Samuel J. Friedman Theatre through June 12.

“I’ll bet your mother loves you, Uncle Peck,” his teenage niece, Li’l Bit, replies.

The beauty of Vogel’s Pulitzer-winning drama is in its simplicity, the very ordinariness of a complex story about child sexual abuse and its lasting effects on the survivor.

In 1997, forty-three-year-old David Morse and thirty-two-year-old Mary-Louise Parker starred in How I Learned to Drive, he as Peck, she as Li’l Bit, both named after their genitalia. The play primarily takes place in backward chronology from 1969, when he is fifty-two and she is seventeen, except for two key detours to 1970 and 1979. Twenty-five years later, the actors have returned to the parts they originated, joined by the same director, Mark Brokaw, and Johanna Day, who, as Female Greek Chorus, also portrays Li’l Bit’s mother; joining the cast is Alyssa May Gold as Teenage Greek Chorus and Li’l Bit’s grandmother, and Chris Myers as Male Greek Chorus and Li’l Bit’s grandfather, among other characters.

Having Morse and Parker reprise their roles is a stroke of genius; over the last quarter century, their stature as consummate actors has grown, so we are immersed in their characters immediately. Parker, in particular, is a wonder, embodying the teenage Li’l Bit with small gestures and movements that make us forget that she is some forty years older. But the casting also reminds us that in the last twenty-five years, child abuse and pedophilia is still one of society’s most shameful ills, brought to light again in the #MeToo era.

When Peck tells Li’l Bit, “I have loved you every day since the day you were born,” the audience lets out an audible gasp.

Li’l Bit (Mary-Louise Parker) gets life lessons from Female Greek Chorus (Johanna Day) and Teenage Greek Chorus (Alyssa May Gold) (photo © Jeremy Daniel 2022)

Inspired by Nabokov’s Lolita as well as the sexual abuse that she herself suffered, Vogel uses driving lessons as a metaphor for Peck’s grooming of Li’l Bit as his potential victim. The Greek Chorus announces shifts in scenes with such phrases as “Safety First — You and Driver Education,” “Idling in the Neutral Gear,” “You and the Reverse Gear,” and “Implied Consent,” along with subtle changes in lighting by Mark McCullough and sound and original music by David Van Tieghem.

Rachel Hauck’s streamlined set features constantly changing furniture — chairs, tables, a bed — with the only constant a tall wooden post that evokes telephone poles along the road as well as a cross. Dede Ayite’s costumes are straightforward dress; the characters can be anyone, at any recent time.

Li’l Bit’s dilemma is exacerbated when she begins growing breasts, larger than her classmates’. She is teased and made fun of not only by the boys and girls in school but by her own family, who sexualize her with dangerous lessons. “I told you what my mother told me! A girl with her skirt up can outrun a man with his pants down!,” her grandmother says. Her grandfather warns, “If Li’l Bit gets any bigger, we’re gonna have ta buy her a wheelbarrow to carry in front of her.” Her mother teaches her, “Never mix your drinks. Stay with one all night long, like the man you came with . . . damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!”

Li’l Bit knows from the very start that what Uncle Peck is doing is wrong, but he is so calmly persuasive that she keeps sticking around him. In a key scene, she watches as Peck teaches her cousin Bobby how to fish, essentially a primer for how a man can lure a woman into something she doesn’t want to do. “We’re going to aim for some pompano today — and I have to tell you, they’re a very shy, mercurial fish. Takes patience, and psychology. You have to believe it doesn’t matter if you catch one or not,” he says.

In a car, Uncle Peck tells Li’l Bit, “Put your hands on the wheel. I never want to see you driving with one hand. Always two hands.” After hesitating, she replies, “If I put my hands on the wheel — how do I defend myself?”

Uncle Peck (David Morse) grooms Li’l Bit (Mary-Louise Parker) in powerful revival of Paula Vogel’s Pulitzer winner (photo © Jeremy Daniel 2022)

Peck is a knowledgeable fisherman, understanding just how to approach his prey. Tony nominee Morse (The Iceman Cometh, The Unavoidable Disappearance of Tom Durnin) is so successful in the role that, at the talkback that followed the matinee I saw, several women embarrassingly admitted that they were taken in by his character, that they had trouble seeing him as a predator but instead thought he was just a nice guy. That’s precisely what sexual abusers do, fool the observers, and Morse nails it. We want to like him, want him to be our cool uncle too, until we don’t.

Tony winner Parker (The Sound Inside, Proof) is astonishing as Li’l Bit; her timeless, youthful qualities once again shine as she ages seventeen years in the play. Our hearts ache for Li’l Bit as her uncle’s pursuit of her intensifies, but Parker, as ravishingly beautiful as ever, uses her age and experience to give the teenage girl added depth; the audience can’t help but feel her every emotion and search their own lives to examine mistakes they might have made or situations in which they looked the other way. It’s one of the best performances of an adult as a child you’re ever likely to see.

Day (Sweat, The Nap) is excellent as always as the enabler in all of us, while Gold (Taking Woodstock, Our Dear Dead Drug Lord) is a marvel in multiple roles, including a powerful surprise at the end.

Vogel (Indecent, The Baltimore Waltz) and Brokaw (Heisenberg, The Lyons) have done a superb job reimagining this hard-hitting yet delicate, crucial work for these times, a play that in itself is a primer for how to recognize sexual abuse and, hopefully, be able to reach for the brakes. As Li’l Bit warns us, “Sometimes to tell a secret, you first have to teach a lesson.”

POTUS: Or, Behind Every Great Dumbass Are Seven Women Trying to Keep Him Alive

Ann all-star cast of women create mayhem in Selina Fillinger’s POTUS(photo by Paul Kolnik)

POTUS: OR, BEHIND EVERY GREAT DUMBASS ARE SEVEN WOMEN TRYING TO KEEP HIM ALIVE
Shubert Theatre
225 West Forty-Fourth St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave
Tuesday – Sunday through August 14, $39-$250
potusbway.com

I can’t remember the last time I consistently laughed so long and hard at the theater. For 110 minutes — including an intermission during which the joyous tears kept falling as we rehashed what we had just experienced in the first act — Selina Fillinger’s outrageous farce, POTUS: Or, Behind Every Great Dumbass Are Seven Women Trying to Keep Him Alive, had everyone in the Shubert Theatre rolling in the aisles. It’s the funniest play on Broadway in years, but what makes it truly exceptional is that it also has a lot to say about the potential end of the white male patriarchy in America.

The very first word of the play is the “c” slur, the most derogatory term a woman can be called. That’s what the president called his wife, Margaret (Vanessa Williams), at a press conference in front of the world — and the first lady herself. His casual insult sets into motion the behind-the-scenes machinations inside the White House, which is run by his harried chief of staff, Harriet (Julie White), a “walking kegel” with a mannish haircut, and his humorless press secretary, Jean (Suzy Nakamura), who finds turtlenecks to be universally flattering. They rev up to deal with the immediate fallout, but that’s only the start of their berserk day.

Time magazine journalist Chris (Lilli Cooper) is in the West Wing, breast pumps pumping away, as she prepares to interview Margaret for the Women of Excellence series. The young and perky Dusty (Julianne Hough) is wandering around spewing blue vomit and explaining that the president is waiting for her, but no one knows who she is. Stephanie (Rachel Dratch), his hapless secretary and the low dog in the pack, has a photographic memory and speaks five languages, but she’s terrified that Dusty has been called in to replace her. And then Bernadette (Lea DeLaria), the president’s drug-dealing sister and Jean’s former lover, surprises everybody when she suddenly arrives from prison with an ankle monitor, claiming that her brother has pardoned her.

“We’ve talked about this! You can’t pardon someone just because she’s your baby sister!” Margaret says to Harriet. “Our ratings would plummet! We would be crucified! She’s wanted in three countries, Harry. . . . Not to mention all the holidays we’d have to start spending with her if she were to get out — You know, Bernadette bought my daughter a dildo for her sixteenth birthday? And stole my ruby earrings, probably wears them as nipple piercings now.”

Harriet (Julie White) and Jean (Suzy Nakamura) have to negotiate around presidential ass play in Broadway farce (photo by Paul Kolnik)

Harriet and Jean are also dealing with an important endorsement POTUS is scheduled to make, a speech he has to give to the FML (er, Female Models of Leadership Council), and the anal abscess that is preventing him from sitting down.

Jean: How does a person even get an anal abscess?
Harriet: Jerry told him it can happen sometimes from ass play. . . . Ass play. When it’s rough. Ass play.
Jean: I know what ass play is
Harriet: When it’s rough ass play.
Jean: Stop saying ass play. . . . Is that particular activity a plausible cause for this anal abscess?
Harriet: How would I know?
Jean: You’re his right-hand.
Harriet: Not for that activity.

Soon Stephanie is floating through the White House covered in post-it notes and blood with a pink inflatable donut around her waist as the seven women have to band together if they ever want to get out of the West Wing alive, or at least with any remaining stitch of dignity.

Dusty (Julianne Hough), Bernadette (Lea DeLaria), and Jean (Suzy Nakamura) all have different agendas in hysterical comedy (photo by Paul Kolnick)

In a script note, Fillinger (Something Clean, Faceless, The Armor Plays: Cinched/Strapped), who is only twenty-eight, writes, “At least three of these women should be WOC. Actors can be cis, trans, or non-binary. Age is flexible. Beauty is subjective. So long as they’re fast, fierce, and fucking hilarious.” All seven actors are indeed fast, fierce, and fucking hilarious as the nonstop laughs keep swirling past at such a dizzying pace that you’re likely to miss more than a few. Bernadette, upon meeting Dusty, who has a blue mouth: “What’d you do — blow a Smurf? . . . I banged one of those Blue Man guys once — you know, in my experimental phase: stamina like a bull but I was queefing cobalt for days.” Jean: “Is this day about to become an oozing pustule on the anus of my week?” Margaret to Bernadette: “I should have known you were here by the smell of lies and yeast infection.”

But they’re also not past criticizing their own administration. “I don’t think a government as cozy with Saudi Arabia as Bahrain’s can really pass judgment on ours,” Jean says after hearing that “Bahrain is pissy” about the president’s use of the “c” word about his wife.

Five-time Tony winner Susan Stroman, who has directed and/or choreographed such musicals as Crazy for You, Show Boat, The Music Man, and The Producers, brings that sensibility to Potus; the actors’ movements are so carefully choreographed that it’s almost like a whirlwind dance, and several times, during extremely frantic moments, the performers, in Linda Cho’s colorful costumes and Cookie Jordan’s fab hair and wigs, aren’t afraid to put their bodies in harm’s way if they don’t hit their marks just right, filling each minute with added tension. Beowulf Boritt’s spectacular revolving set takes us from the press briefing room to the bathroom to various offices — but never inside the Oval itself, a space that is sadly still occupied by men only.

Chris (Lilli Cooper) and Margaret (Vanessa Williams) are not sure what Stephanie (Rachel Dratch) is up to in the West Wing (photo by Paul Kolnik)

In their Broadway debuts, Emmy winner Hough (Footloose, Dancing with the Stars) holds her own with the all-star veteran cast, Nakamura (Dr. Ken, The West Wing) stands tough even when up against the wall, and Dratch (SNL, Ripcord) nearly steals the show as she roams the White House on puppy uppers and doggie downers. But Fillinger and Stroman allow plenty of room for anyone to steal any scene, which leads to glorious mayhem from Grammy, Emmy, and Tony nominee Williams (Into the Woods, The Trip to Bountiful), spoofing Michelle Obama; DeLaria (Orange Is the New Black, The Rocky Horror Show) living up to her title of go-to raging butch; Cooper (Tootsie, The Wildness) as a single mother trying to keep her life and career in balance; and Tony winner White (The Little Dog Laughed, Airline Highway) as Harriet, who sacrificed it all so she can now steer a sinking ship. “Room full of men, talking about weapons and war, not a woman in sight,” Harriet points out.

The atmosphere in the Shubert is electric from the very second you enter, with pop songs by woman superstars blasting through the speakers, from Rihanna, Heart, and Annie Lennox to Pat Benatar, L7, and Bikini Kill, a playlist that is referred to as BitchBeats in the show; the centerpiece is Joan Jett’s “I Hate Myself for Loving You,” in which the rock goddess screams out, “Hey man, bet you can’t treat me right / You just don’t know what you was missin’ last night / I wanna see you beggin’, say, ‘Forget it’ just for spite / I think of you every night and day / You took my heart, and you took my pride away.” After POTUS, 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., and Broadway, might never be the same again.

THE MINUTES

Assalone (Jeff Still), Superba (playwright Tracy Letts), and Breeding (Cliff Chamberlain) form a decidedly white triumvirate in The Minutes (photo by Jeremy Daniel)

THE MINUTES
Studio 54
254 West 54th St. between Eighth & Ninth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 24, $39-$249
212-719-1300
theminutesbroadway.com

Tracy Letts skewers tribal politics and political correctness in the cancel culture age in his acerbic black comedy The Minutes, running on Broadway at Studio 54 through July 24. Letts, who won the Pulitzer Prize for August Osage Country, which deals with a dysfunctional family and a missing patriarch in Oklahoma, now turns his razor-sharp pencil — which the character he portrays, Mayor Superba, actually sharpens during The Minutes — on the small Midwest town of Big Cherry, where truth appears to be a Kafka-like concept.

The ninety-minute play takes place at a city council meeting, where the members are arranged in a semicircle; they are like a dysfunctional family with Superba at the head of the table. Mr. Oldfield (a riotous Austin Pendleton) is the curmudgeony, doddering grandfather, Ms. Innes (Blair Brown) is the Dianne Feinstein–like matronly grandmother, Mr. Superba is the strict father, Mr. Matz (Sally Murphy) is the disheveled, ditzy sister, Mr. Breeding (Cliff Chamberlain) is the snooty, privilege-flaunting younger brother, Mr. Assalone (Jeff Still) is the unscrupulous older brother, Mr. Hanratty (Danny McCarthy) is the good-natured but misguided uncle, Mr. Blake (K. Todd Freeman) is the oddball uncle unable to make decisions for himself, and administrative assistant Ms. Johnson (Jessie Mueller) is the niece trying to keep the family together.

The newest councilmember, the fresh-faced Mr. Peel (Noah Reid), has returned to the chambers after having attended his mother’s funeral; he arrives like it’s the first day of school, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. But he is taken aback when he sees that Mr. Carp’s (Ian Barford) space at the table is empty and no one will tell him why. “I’m sure you’ll learn what you need to know,” Johnson tells him before things get underway.

Hanratty is looking for support for his accessible public fountain restoration project, which will be highlighted by a bronze statue of a local war hero. Blake is pushing his Lincoln Smackdown idea. Innes wants to read into the record a statement about the Big Cherry Heritage Festival.

Peel (Noah Reid) shares his issues with Johnson (Jessie Mueller) in sharp Tracy Letts satire (photo by Jeremy Daniel)

Peel is intent on finding out why Carp is no longer part of the council, but no one is sharing any details. When Superba skips over the reading of the minutes from the prior week, Peel pushes back, determined that the rules of order be followed and the information be made available. It’s clear that something bad happened that the others have decided to bury, so he attempts to rectify it. However, getting to the bottom of things is not going to be easy, but as secrets are revealed, bit by bit, a clearer picture of what went on the prior week starts coming into focus, a stark portrait of where America is today in 2022, where facts are just another opinion.

Letts, who has written such previously plays as Mary Page Marlowe and Man from Nebraska and starred on Broadway in such classics as All My Sons and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, tweaked The Minutes, which debuted at Steppenwolf in 2017, during the pandemic; the play had just begun previews at the Cort in March 2020 when Broadway closed down.

It now feels up to the moment as the play turns toward such controversies as whitewashing history, the validity of monuments, colonialism, and cultural appropriation. In addition, the show replaced the original Peel, scandal-ridden Armie Hammer, with Reid, making his splendid Broadway debut as an idealist who believes that he and the council can really make a difference. (Ha!)

Letts nails the constant frustration of government as the council goes about its activities, which are filled with personal and financial interest and a complete lack of care for the public good. The often surreal conversations reveal the utter hypocrisy and endless nonsense underlying it all as the characters pretend to discuss the underrepresented and argue over nomenclature. Peel regularly corrects the others for strange mispronunciations; “I’m not sure you’re saying that right,” he tells several of the others, but they ignore him as he learns that both what they say and how they say it just doesn’t matter.

When Breeding suggests that it is not the right time for her to read her statement, Innes declines to wait. “It is a statement I’d like to read to the council. About the council,” she says. Breeding responds, “I wonder if it might be more appropriate to read in a meeting of the Council Rules Committee.” Everyone looks at Matz, who has a problematic attention span. “Ms. Matz?” Superba says. “Yes?” she answers. Superba: “You’re chairperson of the Council Rules Committee.” Matz: “Yes, I am.” Superba: “Is there a committee meeting scheduled in the near future?” Matz: “That would depend on your definition of future.” Superba: “‘Events that will happen in the time to come.’” Matz: “Then yes, of course.”

Peel (Noah Reid) finds out more than he ever wanted to know about local politics in The Minutes (photo by Jeremy Daniel)

Another hysterical exchange, which would make Beckett proud, occurs between Superba and Oldfield:

Superba: Before we begin, any announcements?
Oldfield: I have an announcement.
Superba: All right, go ahead.
Oldfield: Well, let’s talk about parking.
Superba: Is that an announcement?
Oldfield: I’m announcing that I’d like to talk about parking.
Superba: George, that’s not an announcement.
Oldfield: I believe it is.
Superba: Announcing what you’d like to talk about is not an announcement, any more than announcing that you’re going to the bathroom.
Oldfield: Well, that’s embarrassing. I didn’t think when I came in here tonight I would have to hear the word “bathroom.”
Superba: That might not be the last time tonight you hear that word.
Oldfield: Let me go on the record as saying, “I hope it is.”
Superba: Are there any other announcements?
Oldfield: I would like to announce that there is an unclaimed empty parking space available to this council.
Superba: What are you saying, that you want the parking space?
Oldfield: No, I’m not saying that. Even though I most definitely want the parking space. . . . .
Superba: I still don’t consider this even remotely in the realm of “announcements.”

Over the course of the last few years, with the proliferation of smartphone cameras and the need to record everything, Americans have been privy more than ever to the circuslike atmosphere of town meetings, statehouse discussions, and congressional debates. We see elected representatives butcher the English language, deliver grandstand speeches chock-full of inaccuracies, and misinterpret the law every day. In The Minutes, Letts and director Anna D. Shapiro (Straight White Men This Is Our Youth), who helmed August Osage Country, present the Big Cherry council meeting as if we’re watching C-SPAN, with David Zinn capturing the essence of a council meeting chamber, complete with ridiculous local art, framed proclamations and photographs of former members, and a large U.S. flag. (The costumes are by Ana Kuzmanić, with lighting by Brian MacDevitt and sound and original music by André Pluess.)

In his superbly understated Broadway debut, Reid, the Canadian singer and actor best known for his role as Patrick Brewer on Schitt’s Creek, is a stand-in for the audience, as if he’s our elected representative (voted in by our ticket purchases?), aghast at what he’s seeing; democracy is unraveling right before his, and our, eyes, and no one else in the room seems to care.

Every word matters to Peel, as it does to Letts the playwright, who leaves us with a bizarre finale that is likely to leave your mouth agape, at a loss for words. The title applies not only to the omitted meeting records but also to the short time we have left to fix the mess we’ve made of the great American experiment.

HANGMEN

Martin McDonagh’s Hangmen takes place primarily in a pub owned by a former executioner (photo by Joan Marcus)

HANGMEN
Golden Theatre
336 West 20th St. between Eighth & Ninth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 18, $59-$199
866-811-4111
hangmenbroadway.com

At the end of my review of the Royal Court Theatre/Atlantic Theater Company production of Martin McDonagh’s Hangmen, I wrote, “It’s not going to hang around forever — although a Broadway transfer would be most welcome — so book your tickets now.” The show has indeed made a terrifically executed transition to the Golden Theatre, where it will be holding its bitingly funny necktie party through June 18. Book your tickets now.

The story opens in 1963, in a prison cell where death-row inmate Hennessy (Josh Goulding), despite insisting on his innocence, is about to meet his fate courtesy of master hangman Harry Wade (David Threlfall), largely believed to be the second best executioner in the land, behind the far more famous Albert Pierrepoint (John Hodgkinson). Hennessy shouts, “He’s hanging an innocent man! They could’ve at least sent Pierrepoint!” Harry responds, “I’m just as good as bloody Pierrepoint!” Hennessy adds, “Hung by a rubbish hangman, oh that’s so me!”

Two years later, the death penalty has been abolished in Britain, and Harry runs a pub with his wife, Alice (Tracie Bennett), and their teenage daughter, Shirley (Gaby French). The bar’s regulars include the comic trio of Bill (Richard Hollis), Charlie (Ryan Pope), and the older, nearly deaf Arthur (John Horton), along with the more serious Inspector Fry (Jeremy Crutchley), who doesn’t seem to spend a lot of time on the job.

A creepy customer (Alfie Allen) menaces hangman Harry Wade (David Threlfall) in Broadway play (photo by Joan Marcus)

When Clegg (Owen Campbell), a young journalist, enters the bar seeking to interview Harry about the law change, Harry explains, “One thing I’ve always prided myself on, for right or for wrong, I’m not saying I’m a special man, but one thing I’ve prided myself on is that, on the subject of hanging, I’ve always chosen to keep me own counsel. I’ve always chosen not to say a public word on this very private matter, and why have I chosen to do that you may ask? . . . For the past twenty-five years now I’ve been a servant of the Crown in the capacity of hangman. ‘A What of the Crown?’ Did you say? ‘A spokesman for the Crown’? . . . When was the last time you heard a servant making speeches…?” Then Clegg has the temerity to mention that he will also be speaking with Pierrepoint, so, unable to resist the spirit of competition, Harry quickly hauls the scribe upstairs, where he spills all sorts of beans.

Meanwhile, the mysterious Mooney (Alfie Allen) has quietly entered the bar, a menacing sort who takes a shine to Shirley. Mooney is later joined by Syd (Andy Nyman), Harry’s former assistant, who appears to have a bone to pick. When Shirley goes missing, Harry throws the law of the Crown out the window in a desperate effort to find her.

Syd (Andy Nyman) has some information for his old boss (David Threlfall) in Hangmen (photo by Joan Marcus)

Despite the formidable subject matter, Hangmen is a rip-roaring, gut-bustingly dark comedic yarn from master author McDonagh, who has won an Oscar and three Oliviers and has been nominated for four Tonys; he has written such other plays as The Cripple of Inishmaan, The Pillowman, and The Beauty Queen of Leenane and such films as In Bruges, Seven Psychopaths, and Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri. He and director Matthew Dunster (The Lightning Child, Mogadishu) haven’t gussied things up for Broadway; the production is just as sharp, just as thoroughly satisfying as the off-Broadway version, with the same set and costumes by Anna Fleischle, lighting by Joshua Carr, and sound by Ian Dickinson.

Everything I said of that previous staging holds true for this one; the only difference is that about half the cast has changed. The marvelous Threlfall (Nicholas Nickleby, Frank Gallagher in the original British version of Shameless) takes over for Mark Addy and immediately owns the role of Harry, his moustache and bow tie reminiscent of Hercule Poirot, though he is not nearly so clever and more than a bit buffoonish. Also new — and excellent — is Allen (The Spoils, Equus), best known as the whimpering Theon Greyjoy in Game of Thrones. When Syd refers to Mooney as “a creepy-looking fella,” Mooney insists that he’s “menacing.” He’s both.

As I noted in my previous review, Hangmen is loosely inspired by the exploits of the real-life Harry Allen, an English hangman who at first assisted Pierrepoint (the subject of the 2005 biopic Pierrepoint — The Last Hangman) and later, as chief executioner, hanged a man named James Hanratty who professed his innocence to the very end.

Amid all the jokes, the play does make key points about the death penalty, which is currently legal in twenty-seven states. According to the Equal Justice Initiative, in America, “186 people have been exonerated and released from death row since 1973.” There’s no figure on exactly how many innocent people have been executed. And that’s no laughing matter.

for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf

for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf is facing an early closing notice at the Booth Theatre (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf
Booth Theatre
222 West 45th St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 5, $49 – $225
forcoloredgirlsbway.com

As I write this, there is a movement afoot to prevent the first Broadway revival of Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf from closing early; the show opened April 20 to good reviews and was scheduled to run through August 14, but it was announced a few days ago that it would be leaving the Booth after the May 22 matinee. To help fill seats and keep the choreopoem, in which seven women share intimate stories of misogyny, abuse, and their retaking of power, from shutting its doors, journalists, artists, and theater bigs (Ayanna Prescod, Bebe Neuwirth, Mickalene Thomas, Chita Rivera, Lorin Latarro) have been sponsoring free ticket giveaways to lift the current average attendance, which is barely half capacity. The night I saw it, the audience seemed much larger than that and loved every second of the play, built around a series of monologues with music and dance in between. [ed. note: The show has now been extended through June 5.]

Director Leah C. Gardiner and choreographer Camille A. Brown collaborated on a sensational 2019 revival at the Public, where the original production moved in 1976 after earlier iterations at smaller venues in Berkeley and downtown New York (and shortly before moving to Broadway). Toni-Leslie James’s ravishing costumes featured multiple images of the face of each actor’s most beloved female relative, honoring the ancestors; Myung Hee Cho’s inclusive set was highlighted by three rows of chairs for audience members along the back arch of the circular stage, in front of a large mirror, which reflected the rest of the audience so they appeared right behind the cast; and Jiyoun Chang’s bright lighting often illuminated everyone in the theater. The show has been reimagined and reinvented for the Booth, unfortunately not for the better, but Shange’s striking words are as sharp as ever.

It all begins with a voice-over from Obie-winning, Oscar-nominated poet, novelist, playwright, kids’ book author, activist, and essayist Shange herself — who portrayed Lady in Orange back in 1976 and updated the script in 2010 — offering, “Aunt mamie was a lil colored girl, Auntie Effie was a lil colored girl, Mama was a lil colored girl, you’re a lil colored girl . . . / Imagine . . . if we could get all of them to talk, what would they say? / Imagine all the stories we could tell about the funny looking lil colored girls, and the sophisticated lil colored girls, and the pretty lil colored girls . . . the ones just like you!”

Seven women share their heartbreaking and celebratory stories in Ntozake Shange’s powerful choreopoem (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

Over the course of the next ninety minutes, Lady in Orange (Amara Granderson), Lady in Brown (Tendayi Kuumba), Lady in Red (Kenita R. Miller), Lady in Green (Okwui Okpokwasili), Lady in Blue (Stacey Sargeant), Lady in Purple (Alexandria Wailes), and Lady in Yellow (D. Woods) poignantly relate key moments from their lives, with such titles as “dark phrases,” “no assistance,” “latent rapist,” “abortion cycle #1,” and “i usedta live in the world.” (Okpokwasili and Wailes return from the Public; I saw three understudies: Treshelle Edmond as Lady in Purple, McKenzie Frye as Lady in Orange, and Alexis Sims as Lady in Green.)

Hee Cho’s set is now dominated by a half dozen screens on the left and right, on which Aaron Rhyne’s mostly abstract (and distracting) visuals are projected. Sarafina Bush’s costumes are contemporary street clothing, the colors not as boldly obvious. Chang’s lighting is more standard, and Justin Ellington’s sound is built for the music, which is by Martha Redbone and Aaron Whitby and tends toward light jazz and R&B. Brown is the director and the choreographer, the first Black woman to do both on Broadway since Katherine Dunham for her three-act revue in November 1955.

The Obie, Tony, and Bessie-winning Brown has choreographed for her own company, Camille A. Brown & Dancers, as well as Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre and such Broadway shows as Choir Boy and Once on This Island; she also choreographed and codirected (with James Robinson) the Metropolitan Opera’s premiere of Terence Blanchard’s Fire Shut Up in My Bones. Her style is rarely subtle, and that can work well in a dance presentation, but in for colored girls it quickly becomes overwhelming; instead of giving agency to the characters, it takes away from the narrative. Perhaps Gardiner was a calming influence; her deft touch is missing from this version.

for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf is the first Broadway show to be directed and choreographed by a Black woman since 1955 (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

The cast is terrific, with an especially superb turn by the pregnant Miller, who thrillingly delivers “no assistance,” ending an affair with a lover (“this note is attached to a plant / i’ve been waterin since the day i met you / you may water it / yr damn self”), and “no more love poems #1” (“this is a requium for myself/ cuz I have died in a real way/ not wid aqua coffins & du-wop cadillacs/ i used to joke abt when i waz messin round / but a real dead lovin is here for you now/ cuz i dont know anymore/ how to avoid my own face wet wit my tears/ cuz i had convinced myself colored girls had no right to sorrow”).

The centerpiece is Lady in Green’s “somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff,” in which she fights for her own being, for who she is and what is hers. She declares, “somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff / not my poems or a dance I gave up in the street / but somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff / like a kleptomanic working hard & forgettin while stealing / this is mines / this aint yr stuff / now why don’t you put me back & let me hang out in my own self.”

Despite the shortcomings of this production, for colored girls deserves a longer life on Broadway, telling an important story that particularly needs to be heard as Roe v. Wade is under fire and a woman’s right to her own body is threatened by a white patriarchy trying desperately to hold on to its fading power. It’s a truly American story; the characters hail from outside Atlanta, Boston, Brooklyn, Chicago, Detroit, L.A., and Newark, cities that have faced racial violence. It seems clear they’ve had enough and that the lives of women, and specifically women of color, would be different if they were in charge.

MACBETH

Daniel Craig and Ruth Negga star as a devious husband and wife in Sam Gold’s unusual take on the Scottish play at the Longacre (photo by Joan Marcus)

MACBETH
Longacre Theatre
220 West 48th St. between Broadway & Eighth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 10, $35-$425
macbethbroadway.com

As you enter the Longacre Theatre to see the latest conjuring of Macbeth, the thane’s first appearance on the Great White Way since Terry Hands’s 2000 version with Kelsey Grammer lasted just thirteen performances, the sparse stage is a scene of activity. On one side, three people are cooking soup while listening to a podcast. Various others wander about or are busy in the wings. Front and center, the ghost light glows — a superstition that is believed to keep at bay supernatural beings who haunt theaters and can curse shows, although it usually is turned on only after everyone has left and the venue is empty. During the pandemic lockdown, many theaters kept their ghost lights on in the hope of eventually returning. Thus, once inside the Longacre, you feel as if you’ve walked into some kind of rehearsal that is getting ready to close up for the night.

More than any other of his major works, Shakespeare’s 1606 tragedy invites experimentation of a high order. In the past fifteen years, I’ve seen no fewer than ten adaptations of the Scottish play, including an all-women version that took place at a contemporary girls school, a re-creation of Orson Welles’s radio production, a presentation that required the audience to make its way through a dark heath to get to their seats, one set during the cold war and prominently featuring a bevy of video projections, another occurring inside the head of an institutionalized man, and a mashup with a Japanese manga that moved the action to a blue boxing ring.

Like King Lear, it also attracts big-name star power; among those who have portrayed the thane of Cawdor in New York since 2006 are Sir Patrick Stewart, Ethan Hawke, Sir Kenneth Branagh, Alan Cumming, Liev Schreiber, and Corey Stoll. Now comes James Bond himself, Daniel Craig, in a production helmed by Tony and Obie winner Sam Gold, who is responsible for the much-derided 2019 Broadway revival of Lear with Glenda Jackson in the title role.

Macbeth (Daniel Craig) speaks with a pair of murderers (Danny Wolohan and Michael Patrick Thornton) in Shakespeare adaptation (photo by Joan Marcus)

While the trio, who turn out to be the three witches (portrayed alternately by Phillip James Brannon, Bobbi MacKenzie, Maria Dizzia, Che Ayende, Eboni Flowers, and Peter Smith), continue stirring the pot, Michael Patrick Thornton, who plays the nobleman Lennox, wheels onto the stage and provides a curtain speech about James I’s obsession with witches in the seventeenth century while also asking the audience to, all at once, shout out the name of the show, which is supposed to bring bad luck when spoken inside a theater. Very few people joined in.

Gold has pared down the production to the point where no single actor is the star; there’s an equality among the diverse cast that does not force us to swoon at either Craig or Oscar, Emmy, and Olivier nominee Ruth Negga as Lady Macbeth and instead allows the audience to appreciate the other participants. The text is delivered without many flourishes, as famous lines come and go at a regular pace, with some favorites getting cut; for example, the witches never say, “Double, double toil and trouble.” The actors are dressed in Suttirat Larlarb’s contemporary costumes; Macbeth’s succession from military jacket to paisley bathrobe to fluffy white fur coat is a hoot.

Christine Jones’s set is the antithesis of royalty; the “thrones” are two old, ratty chairs, and the banquet table lacks fancy dinnerware. The crown worn by King Duncan (Paul Lazar) is just plain silly, like a high school prop, but even funnier is when Lazar, following the monarch’s murder, removes his fat suit in front of us and proceeds to play other characters. There is much doubling and tripling of actors, so it’s not always clear who’s who. Amber Gray excels as Banquo and her ghost but is seen later as a gentlewoman. Danny Wolohan is Seyton, a lord, a murderer, and a bloody captain who has lost part of one leg. Emeka Guindo is both Fleance and young Siward. Downtown legend Lazar also shows up as old Siward and the porter, who, in front of the curtain, discusses with Macduff (Grantham Coleman, though I saw understudy Ayende) and Lennox how drink affects sexual prowess. To further the comparison, Macbeth later pops open a can of light beer.

Jeremy Chernick’s special effects feature lots of blood, some of which is added to the simmering soup (along with innards). As Macbeth warns, “Blood will have blood.”

Three witches (Phillip James Brannon, Bobbi MacKenzie, Maria Dizzia) stir up a cauldron of trouble in Macbeth (photo by Joan Marcus)

So what’s it all about? Though uneven, Gold’s adaptation subverts our expectations about stardom, Broadway, and Shakespeare. It’s hard to believe that this is the same story told with such fierce elegance by Joel Coen in his 2021 Oscar-nominated film, The Tragedy of Macbeth, with a dominating Denzel Washington as Macbeth and a haunting Frances McDormand as his devious partner. In fact, under Gold’s supervision, the real standout is Thornton, who relates to the audience with a sweet warmth and playful sense of humor. However, as Macbeth also says, “And nothing is, but what is not.”

Gold (Fun Home; A Doll’s House, Part 2) previously directed Craig (Betrayal, A Steady Rain) as Iago in an intimate and compelling Othello at New York Theatre Workshop and Oscar Isaac in Hamlet at the Public; Negga has played Ophelia at London’s National Theatre and Hamlet at St. Ann’s Warehouse. The ads for Macbeth might push the star draw of this new production, but that is not what Gold is focusing on.

He may not be making any grand statements about lust, greed, and power, but he is investigating the common foibles of humanity, the desires we all have and our considerations of how far we will go to achieve them. Is he completely successful? No, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t given us an intriguing, provocative, unconventional, absurdly comic, and, yes, highly entertaining production of one of the greatest tragedies ever written.

As Lady Macbeth advises, “What’s done, cannot be undone.”