this week in broadway

FRIENDSHIP: SUMMER, 1976 / KING JAMES

Diana (Laura Linney) and Alice (Jessica Hecht) are forced to become friends in Summer, 1976 (photo © Jeremy Daniel, 2023)

SUMMER, 1976
Samuel J. Friedman Theatre
261 West Forty-Seventh St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 18, $84-$338
www.manhattantheatreclub.com

“Life is an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend,” Sarah Dessen writes in her 1998 young adult novel Someone Like You.

YA novels are often obsessed with portraying teen friendships, while adult friendships generally receive less attention. Two current plays anchored by terrific performances remedy that neglect, focusing exclusively on adult same-sex cisgender platonic relationships. In Pulitzer Prize winner David Auburn’s Summer, 1976 two women meet through their young children, while in Pulitzer Prize finalist Rajiv Joseph’s King James two men bond over their love of basketball star LeBron James. While neither two-character show is a slam dunk, they both got plenty of game.

In MTC’s Summer, 1976 at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, Diana (Laura Linney) and Alice (Jessica Hecht) spend most of the ninety-minute play sitting on opposite sides of a long, rectangular table, their chairs facing the audience, who they address directly. At the beginning, Diana, an artist and teacher at Ohio State, tells us how much she doesn’t like Alice’s daughter, Holly. Alice, whose husband, Doug, is an economist at the university, then explains how she “sort of immediately hated” Diana but realizes she will have to put up with her because Alice’s daughter, Gretchen, is getting along with Holly. Diana is a much stricter mother who doesn’t hide what she believes is her superiority over Alice. “Parents who can’t or won’t control their kids aren’t upset when you do it for them. They’re grateful and ashamed,” she says, describing Alice as a “sleepy-eyed little hippie.”

Laura Linney and Jessica Hecht play two very different women in David Auburn world premiere (photo © Jeremy Daniel, 2023)

After passing a joint to the serious, sophisticated Diana, the free-spirited Alice complains, “She fucking bogarted it for like five minutes, and I was like, come on, lady, I only took it out because it was the only way I could imagine getting through the next ten minutes before I could make an excuse and leave.” But soon after that they actually become friends, sharing intimate details about their fears and desires, discussing interior decoration choices, a sexy house painter, the sanctity of marriage, highbrow vs. lowbrow television, music, and literature, and a complicated “cashless, self-sustaining system” Doug has developed to barter baby-sitting time in their community.

The final scene takes place about twenty-five years later, when we learn how their two-month friendship impacted the rest of their lives.

John Lee Beatty’s set features a three-sided gridlike wooden backdrop with two doorways that the characters can use as an exit but don’t, sticking around to hear what the other one has to say. Japhy Weideman’s lighting and Hana S. Kim’s projections change day to night, adding blue sky and twinkling stars. Tony winner Daniel Sullivan (If I Forget, Lost Lake) can’t quite get a firm grasp of Auburn’s (Proof, The Columnist, Lost Lake) narrative, which is too slight and gets bumpier as the conclusion approaches.

Tony nominee and four-time Emmy winner Linney (My Name Is Lucy Barton, The Little Foxes) and Tony nominee Hecht (Letters from Max, The Orchard) form a terrific duo, the former firm and direct, the latter loose and quixotic. For much of the show they are separated by the length of the table, occasionally reaching for each other but unable to make contact.

At a talkback following the matinee I saw, they couldn’t stop touching hands and shoulders, as if they suddenly required meaningful physical connection. It also was clear that the two of them have become real-life friends because of the show, which added a lovely note to the afternoon.

Matt (Chris Perfetti) and Shawn (Glenn Davis) bond over basketball and LeBron in King James (photo by Craig Schwartz)

KING JAMES
MTC at New York City Center – Stage I
131 West Fifty-Fifth St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 18, $79-$99
www.manhattantheatreclub.com

Rajiv Joseph shoots and scores with King James, making its New York premiere at MTC at New York City Center.

The play is divided into four quarters, like a basketball game, as two lonely twenty-one-year-old Cleveland Cavaliers fans unexpectedly come together as they follow the exploits of superstar LeBron James, beginning in 2004 and jumping to 2010, 2014, and 2016, four seasons that served as turning points in the career of the leading scorer in the history of the sport — as well as for the two characters.

In February 2004, during the King’s rookie campaign, inexperienced bartender Matt (Chris Perfetti) is desperate to sell the remainder of his family’s season tickets so he can pay off at least some of his numerous debts. Matt, who wants to open a downtown sports bar, is biding his time at the empty La Cave du Vin, playing around with a ball of newspaper and a trash bin, when wannabe writer Shawn (Glenn Davis) arrives, seeking to purchase the tickets. Both men are from Cleveland Heights, Ohio, not far from LeBron’s hometown of Akron; Matt grew up going to games with his father, while Shawn has never been to the arena to see a Cavs match.

After they come to an agreement, their friendship builds over the years: Shawn gets to know Matt’s parents, who run a curiosity shop called Armand’s, the name of their treasured stuffed armadillo; they argue over whether LeBron is better than Michael Jordan; Matt repeatedly explains what the problem with America is; and LeBron moves on to several different teams, forcing Matt and Shawn to reevaluate their loyalty as well as their relationship.

“Being a fan is like having a religion,” Matt says. Shawn replies, “Yeah, and like most religions, it’s rotten to the core. Like at Sunday school, the way they talked to us about Jesus? That’s exactly how I feel right now. Like I’m being punished because He happened to be a Savior.” Matt wisely asks, “Jesus or LeBron?”

Shawn is always the more introspective of the two, pushing LeBron’s choices onto his own identity. “LeBron for the win. LeBron for the win, all these times, and then he just fucking leaves,” he opines after James signs with the Miami Heat. “And I’m like . . . You get burned and you’re like . . . Who am I? Why am I like this? I don’t know. I think maybe I just need to work on myself for a little bit.” It’s those kinds of rationalizations and realizations that lift King James above a mere play about sports to a drama about anyone searching inside themselves, looking to have a better season; the beauty of the show is that you don’t have to know anything about basketball to appreciate it, although it certainly helps if the names Mark Price, Brad Daugherty, David Robinson, and Isiah Thomas ring a bell.

Unfortunately, it takes one seriously bad bounce when it forces race into the equation — Matt is white and Shawn is Black — but it manages to overcome that miss well before time runs out.

Shawn (Glenn Davis) and Matt (Chris Perfetti) reach a turning point in MTC production (photo by Craig Schwartz)

Todd Rosenthal’s set switches from La Cave du Vin, an elegant wine bar that used to be a church, complete with stained glass that gives it a holy feel, further equating LeBron with Jesus, to Armand’s, a messy shop overstuffed with random tchotchkes and knickknacks that are like lost parts of people’s lives. Samantha C. Jones’s costumes range from Cavs jerseys to the cheesy bowling-style shirts Armand’s employees must wear. DJ Khloe Janel keeps the joint rocking in a booth to the right of the stage, where she pumps tunes by Prince, Fleetwood Mac, and others before and after the show and during halftime — er, intermission — just as if we were at an NBA arena. Feel free to sing and dance and say hello.

Tony-winning director Kenny Leon (Topdog/Underdog, A Soldier’s Play) coaches it all like a champion, keeping the rock in play, slowing things down and then going in for the jam.

Joseph (Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, Describe the Night) grew up a Cavaliers fan in the 1980s and ’90s, so he clearly knows his stuff, understanding just how much sports is and isn’t life. (The play arrives in New York City at a fascinating point as James, currently a Los Angeles Laker, might retire following a four-game sweep at the hands of the Denver Nuggets for the Western Conference Championship.)

Joseph wrote the part of Shawn specifically for Davis (Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, Downstate), knowing when to shoot and when to dish it off to Perfetti (Moscow x 6, The Low Road), who takes the ball and runs with it, hitting layups and swishing from beyond the three-point line.

Basketball metaphors aside, King James is an all-star (sorry) examination of male friendship, the ups and the downs, the victories and the defeats — which I know only too well, having been a Knicks fan for more than fifty years.

As O. Henry wrote in Heart of the West, “No friendship is an accident,” which is ably demonstrated by both Summer, 1976 and King James.

LIFE OF PI

Life of Pi explores religion as a family tries to make a better life away from home (photo by Matthew Murphy & Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade)

LIFE OF PI
Schoenfeld Theatre
236 West Forty-Fifth St. between Broadway & Eighth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through September 3, $58-$244
lifeofpibway.com

On the way to my seat in the Schoenfeld Theatre to see Life of Pi, I passed by two women who had purse dogs with them, small pooches who almost, but not quite, could disappear into their laps. Maybe they were emotional support pets (really?), or maybe it’s part of the growing trend of dog owners bringing their animals with them everywhere they go, although I can’t remember ever having seen any beast other than guide dogs in a Broadway house before. But as it turned out, the two pups were quiet and respectful throughout the 130-minute play (including intermission), unbothered by the wild theatrics involving animals happening onstage.

Canadian author Yann Martel’s 2001 award-winning bestseller was first adapted into a 2012 film that was nominated for eleven Oscars, winning four, for Best Director (Ang Lee), Best Cinematography (Claudio Miranda), Best Original Score (Mychael Danna), and Best Visual Effects.

The play, adapted by Lolita Chakrabarti and directed by Max Webster, grabbed Best Play honors at the 2022 Olivier Awards, but, after seeing it on Broadway, I cannot figure out why.

The story is told by seventeen-year-old Piscine Molitor Patel (Hiran Abeysekera, replaced by Adi Dixit on Tuesdays), known as Pi, who has survived a terrible tragedy on the high seas. It’s 1978, and he’s recovering in a hospital in Mexico, being cared for by a Spanish-speaking nurse (Mahira Kakkar).

One day he’s visited by Mr. Okamoto (Daisuke Tsuji), from the Japanese Ministry of Transport, and Lulu Chen (Kirstin Louie), from the Canadian Embassy; the former is compiling the official report of the incident, primarily for insurance purposes, while the latter is there to protect Pi’s interests. The tale unfolds in a series of flashbacks told from Pi’s point of view, starting with his life in Pondicherry in India, where his family ran a zoo: his strict father, Baba (Rajesh Bose), his warmhearted mother, Amma (Kakkar), and his older sister, Rani (Sonya Venugopal). The clan includes Pi’s aunt, Mrs. Biology-Kumar (Salma Qarnain), who teaches the siblings about the importance of the natural world, and family friend Mamaji (Sathya Sridharan), who taught Pi how to swim (which comes in handy when you’re lost in the middle of the ocean). Among the animals in the zoo are Richard Parker the Royal Bengal tiger, Orange Juice the orangutan, a zebra, and a hyena.

Pi (Hiran Abeysekera) battles Richard Parker the tiger in Life of Pi (photo by Matthew Murphy & Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade)

A key exchange early on sets the tone for the show.

Pi: Are you a religious man, Mr. Okamoto?
Mr. Okamoto: That’s a rather personal question . . . erm . . . no . . . not really . . .
Pi: Why not?
Mr. Okamoto: Well faith is . . . erm . . . not something that . . .
Pi: Many of us lose God along life’s way.
Mr. Okamoto: I didn’t lose God.
Pi: Then what do you believe?
Mr. Okamoto: Mr. Patel, I’d really like to . . .
Pi: Please.
Mr. Okamoto: I’ve never been a believer. Religion is a habit rather than a truth. A crutch in times of need.
Pi: So you’re an atheist.
Mr. Okamoto: Yes.
Pi: I respect that. Atheists are believers of a different faith. It’s agnostics I don’t understand. They don’t commit to anything. Choosing doubt as a philosophy of life is like choosing immobility as a mode of transport . . . I will tell you everything, Mr. Okamoto . . . because my story will make you believe in God.

Mr. Okamoto is essentially a fictional representation of the audience, many of whom might not be strongly connected to any organizational faith. The play feels like an evangelical attempt to push religion — any religion — on theatergoers. One afternoon in the market, Pi meets with Father Martin (Avery Glymph) of the Catholic church, Zaida Khan (Qarnain) from a Hindu temple, and Pandit-ji (Sridharan) of a Muslim mosque, testing all three denominations. “I just want to love God,” he tells his sister and parents.

Seeking a better life in Canada, the family boards a cargo ship with their animals, but a terrible storm leaves Pi on a large lifeboat with a few of the animals. It’s like a flood of biblical proportions has wiped out humanity, except for the ever-faithful Pi, who is cast adrift with the hyena, Orange Juice, the zebra, and Richard Parker. When Richard Parker attacks him, Pi ecumenically calls out, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Rama, Sita, Durga, and Shiva.”

While at sea, Pi imagines he is visited by his relatives who were killed in the storm, and from time to time Admiral Jackson (Glymph) stops by to offer survival tips. As days extend to weeks and months, Pi fights hunger as he and Richard Parker struggle to stay alive, talking to each other as they face the unknown.

Back in the frame story, Mr. Okamoto finds Pi’s account frankly unbelievable, demanding the truth so he can close the case and absolve both Japan and the shipping company of liability, but when Pi offers a different version of events, the government functionary has to reevaluate his decision. “Which is the better story?” Pi asks him, as if trying to sell him a Bible.

The stagecraft of Life of Pi can be breathtaking when the narrative avoids going overboard. Numerous people operate the animal puppets, with one of the puppeteers or actors providing the voice; it won’t take long before you stop thinking of Richard Parker as a puppet and more of a vicious threat who can tear Pi to bits. The storm scene is truly scary. The ensemble playfully depicts fish swimming in the ocean or butterflies flitting past, accompanied by projections that further the illusions.

The technical team deserves mountains of kudos: The quickly morphing, magical set and effective costumes are by Tim Hatley, the projections by Andrzej Goulding, the puppet design by Nick Barnes and Finn Caldwell, the lighting by Tim Lutkin, and the sound by Carolyn Downing, all of whom have been nominated for Tonys. Nikki Calonge, Fred Davis, Rowan Ian Seamus Magee, Jonathan David Martin, Betsy Rosen, Celia Mei Rubin, Scarlet Wilderink, and Andrew Wilson operate the puppets, with Richard Parker voiced by Brian Thomas Abraham, who also plays the cook, and Orange Juice voiced by Kakkar; the original music is by Andrew T. Mackay.

Abeysekera makes a strong impression in the lead role, able to stand out amid all the scintillating puppetry, but his performance cannot make the audience forget about the overwhelming religious message.

On the way out, I saw those two dogs again; they looked exactly the same as they did on my way in, unchanged by the events of the past two hours. One of the pups let out a big yawn; I can’t say I blame him.

JUKEBOX HEROES: A BEAUTIFUL NOISE / & JULIET

Young and old Neil Diamond (Will Swenson and Mark Jacoby) explore their life and legacy in A Beautiful Noise (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

A BEAUTIFUL NOISE: THE NEIL DIAMOND MUSICAL
Broadhurst Theatre
235 West Forty-Fourth St. between Broadway & Eighth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through January 7, $84.50-$318.50
abeautifulnoisethemusical.com

There are few things I dread more in theater than jukebox bio musicals, which generally consist of a fawning, glossed-over book and mediocre orchestrations of famous songs that always sound better on the albums made by the star who’s being celebrated. For every well-received Jersey Boys, about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, there are unfortunate, overblown, clichéd shows about Michael Jackson, Cher, Tina Turner, the Temptations, Donna Summer, and Carole King. That’s not a good track record.

But every once in a while an extremely clever jukebox musical hits Broadway, taking familiar, existing songs and building an exciting and original story around them. Rock of Ages was a hugely entertaining tale constructed out of songs by such ’70s dinosaurs as Styx, Journey, REO Speedwagon, Foreigner, and Quarterflash. American Idiot re-created the fictional narrative of a Green Day concept album without Broadway-fying the music. Jagged Little Pill examined American suburbia through Alanis Morissette’s oeuvre. And Head Over Heels smoothly inserted hits by the Go-Go’s into a little-known Elizabethan drama like they were a natural fit.

A Beautiful Noise: The Neil Diamond Musical, scheduled to run through January 7 at the Broadhurst, is a major disappointment. The frame story is that the Brooklyn-born Diamond (Mark Jacoby) is meeting with a therapist (Linda Powell) to explore key moments in his life and career. “This isn’t going to work,” he tells her. He’s not kidding.

The book, by four-time Oscar nominee Anthony McCarten (The Collaboration, The Two Popes), goes back and forth between the present day, as Diamond begins to open up to his doctor, who is making him revisit his songs in the huge volume The Complete Lyrics of Neil Diamond, and the past, as his younger self (Will Swenson) rises from shy Brill Building songwriter to folkie to pop superstar. Along the way we meet his parents, Rose (Bri Sudia) and Kieve (Tom Alan Robbins), his early supporter Ellie Greenwich (Bri Sudia), predatory producer Bert Berns (Robbins), and the women who would become his wives, Jaye Posner (Jessie Fisher), Marcia Murphey (Robyn Hurder), and Katie (unseen).

Neil Diamond (Will Swenson) goes for the glitter in jukebox bio musical (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

Tony-winning director Michael Mayer (Spring Awakening, Hedwig and the Angry Inch) can’t find the right rhythm as the narrative meanders, and Tony-nominee Swenson (Hair, Les Misérables) swaggers as Diamond but is unable to embody him as the show presents us with spiritless versions of “I’m a Believer,” “Solitary Man,” “Song Sung Blue,” “Cherry, Cherry,” “Love on the Rocks,” “America,” “Cracklin’ Rosie,” and the obligatory singalong “Sweet Caroline.” (The arrangements are by Sonny Paladino, with orchestrations by Paladino, Bob Gaudio, and Brian Usifer.)

David Rockwell’s set is plenty flashy, with bright lighting by Kevin Adams, standard choreography by Steven Hoggett, and a wide range of costumes by Emilio Sosa. I found myself more involved with the woman a few rows in front of me who kept taking her phone out to video several songs than the actual narrative.

“I don’t . . . I don’t like to talk about myself,” Diamond tells the doctor early on. A Beautiful Noise doesn’t have that much to say about Diamond that we don’t already know (or need to know), so if you really need to hear his music — and you should, because his catalog is one of the best in the business — stream one of his albums or find a tribute band playing in your area.

A delightful cast parties its way through & Juliet (photo by Matthew Murphy)

& JULIET
Stephen Sondheim Theatre
124 West Forty-Third St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through April 21, $89-$338
andjulietbroadway.com

Meanwhile, something inspiring and exhilarating is happening over at the Stephen Sondheim Theatre, where they are taking a new spin on the Bard, whose catalog is unquestionably the best in the business. David West Read’s & Juliet does a fantastic job with a sensational concept: Anne Hathaway (Betsy Wolfe) argues that her husband, William Shakespeare (Stark Sands), screwed up the ending of Romeo and Juliet, and she has decided to change it so Juliet (Lorna Courtney) actually survives and is now in search of a new life, without Romeo (Ben Jackson Walker).

Soutra Gilmour’s lively set prepares the audience from the start, with the curtainless stage containing a large neon sign of the title, the word Romeo having fallen off, as well as a glistening jukebox ready to fill the room with great music. Bill Sherman’s orchestrations and arrangements will delight you, no matter what your preconceived feelings are about the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Robyn, Demi Lovato, Katy Perry, *NSYNC, and Justin Timberlake. But for good measure, Bon Jovi, Ellie Goulding, and P!nk are added to the mix (and Céline Dion!).

However, the songs were not chosen randomly; they were all written or cowritten by Swedish producer Max Martin, who’s clearly an experienced hitmaker of the highest order. (The conceit of sticking with one songwriter’s work doesn’t always pan out, as evidenced by Bat Out of Hell, with famously bombastic songs Jim Steinman wrote for Meat Loaf and others.)

The story begins in Elizabethan England, as Will is about to present the world premiere of Romeo and Juliet, but Anne steps in the way, asking, “What if . . . Juliet didn’t kill herself? . . . I mean, what do I know, but it seems like she’s got her whole life ahead of her, she’s only had one boyfriend. Maybe she doesn’t kill herself just because he killed himself?”

Against his better judgment, Will collaborates on the new plot, making Romeo a serial cheater and creating a new best friend for Juliet, a gender-neutral character named May (Justin David Sullivan). To avoid being sent to a nunnery by her parents (Nicholas Edwards and Veronica Otim), Juliet takes off for Paris with May and Angélique (Justin David Sullivan and Melanie La Barrie), her nurse and confidante. Anne writes herself into the play and portrays the carriage driver.

In Paris, they go to a Renaissance Ball, where Juliet meets a musician named François DuBois (Philippe Arroyo, although I saw the excellent understudy Brandon Antonio), whose testosterone-fueled father, Lance (Paulo Szot), is the host of the fancy soirée. “As you can see, I play the virginal,” François tells Juliet, who responds, “Me too. I feel like doing it once shouldn’t count.”

Juliet (Lorna Courtney) looks for love in charming Broadway musical (photo by Matthew Murphy)

Pretty soon there’s all kinds of couplings and uncouplings going on as Angélique and Juliet sing “Oops! . . . I Did It Again,” May and François lead the company through “I Kissed a Girl,” Anne and Juliet duet on “That’s the Way It Is,” Lance, François, and May team up on “Shape of My Heart,” and everyone joins in on “Can’t Stop the Feeling!”

Directed with virtuoso aplomb by Luke Sheppard (The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, In the Heights), who turns the proceedings into a kind of affectionate adult fairy tale, & Juliet is a rousing success. It tackles misogyny, homophobia, gender bias, and other forms of social injustice with a playful sense of humor and a genuine heart, from Paloma Young’s elegant costumes, which mix the traditional with the modern, Howard Hudson’s frenzied lighting, Andrzej Goulding’s dazzling projections, and Gareth Owen’s explosive sound. Jennifer Weber’s appropriately energetic choreography keeps it all moving through Gilmour’s set, which includes miniature landmarks, fun furniture, and, yes, a balcony.

Native New Yorker Lorna Courtney (Dear Evan Hansen, West Side Story) is thoroughly engaging as Juliet, a young woman ready to take control of her own life. Sullivan portrays May with a touching bittersweetness, and La Barrie is eminently likable as Angélique, who remains by Juliet’s side even when she thinks she’s making some very bad choices. Two-time Tony nominee Sands (Kinky Boots, To Kill a Mockingbird) and Wolfe (The Mystery of Edwin Drood, Falsettos) make a great pairing as a husband and wife battling over more than just theatrical conventions and expectations.

At its heart, the wonderful show is centered around Emmy winner Read’s (Schitt’s Creek, The Performers) terrific book, which provides plenty of room for character development while never missing an opportunity for a clever literary laugh.

At one point, Juliet declares, “This is already the best night ever, and all we’ve done is leave my bedroom!” Angélique explains, “Juliet, we have to go. If your parents see you, you’ll be forced to join the nunnery.” Anne cuts in, proclaiming, “Well, we will have none of that.” Angélique asks, “What?” May says, “Ew.”

“Sorry, my husband makes puns. It’s a force of habit,” Anne clarifies, even explaining the joke for those who might not have gotten it immediately.

There’s nothing to apologize for.

THE REBECCA LUKER SONGBOOK: A BENEFIT CONCERT

Who: Julie Benko, Andréa Burns, Carolee Carmello, Nikki Renée Daniels, Laura Darrell, Ali Ewoldt, Marina Kondo, Emilie Kouatchou, Bryce Pinkham, Scarlett Strallen, Jessica Vosk, Sally Wilfert, more
What: Tribute to Broadway favorite Rebecca Luker
Where: Symphony Space, 2537 Broadway at Ninety-Fifth St.
When: Monday, May 22, $35-$250, 8:00
Why: On May 10, 2018, Alabama-born Broadway star Rebecca Luker presented “Project Broadway: The Rebecca Luker Songbook” at Symphony Space, a concert featuring the world premiere of eighteen songs written specifically for her by such composers as Deborah Abramson, Sam Davis, Stephen Flaherty, Jenny Giering, Sheldon Harnick, Henry Krieger, Andrew Lippa, Matthew Sklar, and Joseph Thalken. The three-time Tony nominee (Show Boat, The Music Man, Mary Poppins) announced in 2020 that she had ALS, and she died on December 23 of that year, survived by her husband, Tony winner Danny Burstein, and his two sons.

On May 22, a wonderful collection of Broadway stars will honor Luker and the fifth anniversary of “The Rebecca Luker Songbook” when they gather at Symphony Space and debut twenty-four different songs written for Luker, by Carmel Dean, Scott Eyerly, Giering, Mike Heitzman and Ilene Reid, Krieger, Lippa, David Loud, Martin Lowe, Joshua Rosenblum, Sam Willmott, and others. (The project included more than eighty original numbers.) Among those performing will be Julie Benko, Andréa Burns, Carolee Carmello, Nikki Renée Daniels, Laura Darrell, Ali Ewoldt, Marina Kondo, Emilie Kouatchou, Bryce Pinkham, Scarlett Strallen, Jessica Vosk, and Sally Wilfert; Thalken will serve as music director, with Deborah Avery on clarinet, Katherine Cherbas on cello, Craig Magnano on guitar and ukulele, and Benny Koonyevsky on percussion. The concert will raise funds for Project ALS, which “identifies and funds the most promising scientific research that will lead to the first effective treatments and a cure for ALS. We recruit the world’s best scientists and doctors to work together — rationally and aggressively — to develop a better understanding of the ALS disease process and, in parallel, better therapeutic strategies.” Tickets range from $35 to $250; the concert, directed by producer Annette Jolles, will also be livestreamed for $35.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

Beowulf Boritt’s New York, New York set is best thing about new musical (photo by Paul Kolnik)

NEW YORK, NEW YORK
St. James Theatre
246 West 44th St. between Broadway & Eighth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 30, $49-$259
newyorknewyorkbroadway.com

Start spreading the news: You’re not going to want to be a part of this.

The new Broadway musical New York, New York is a mostly tone-deaf tale inspired by Martin Scorsese’s 1977 flop, in which Robert De Niro starred as troubled sax man Jimmy Doyle and Liza Minnelli played the object of his affections, singer and actress Francine Evans. David Thompson and Sharon Washington’s book for the musical is built on the mere shell of that plot, and they proceed to craft a supremely dull love story as the two protagonists seek success in the big city, with or without each other. The whole mess feels like one giant excuse to feature the massively popular title song in a show, teasing the tune early before blasting it out in a fantastical grand finale.

World War II has just ended, and Colton Ryan is Jimmy, an Irish piano player known as Kid Wonder who keeps losing jobs because he can’t control himself (or his drinking). Anna Uzele is Francine, a Black singer from Philadelphia who was a USO star during the war, now looking to make a brand-new start of it in old New York. It’s love at first sight for Jimmy but not for Francine, who wants to prove herself on her own. Jimmy’s best friend is Tommy Caggiano (Clyde Alves), who provides comic relief as a tough-talking Italian with a heart of gold. “Listen, New York City is the greatest social experiment ever,” Tommy tells Francine upon meeting her. “Everybody lives here. And everybody’s natural enemy lives here. And we manage not to kill each other. For the most part.”

Jimmy cuts in, “Tommy, Tommy, let me. New York is a major chord! Not like Philly. That’s a minor chord. A major chord is when everything in your life works out perfectly. When you have everything in the right order. One is music. Two is money. And three is love.” Unfortunately, that weak metaphor comes back to haunt us later.

Francine Evans (Anna Uzele) and Jimmy Doyle (Colton Ryan) search for love in Broadway musical inspired by film (photo by Paul Kolnik)

Thompson and Washington populate this social experiment with a diverse mix of minor characters attempting to build, or rebuild, their lives in postwar 1946 New York City. Mateo Diaz (Angel Sigala) is a gay Cuban bongo player whose mother, Sofia (Janet Dacal), is abused by her always-angry husband, Luis (Leo Moctezuma), who carries a baseball bat with him wherever he goes. Jesse Webb (John Clay III) is a Black soldier and trumpet player who can’t find a music gig because of his race. Alex Mann (Oliver Prose) is a young Polish violinist desperate to study with master teacher Madame Veltri (Emily Skinner), whose son is missing in action. And Gordon Kendrick (Ben Davis) is a wealthy British producer who is interested in Francine, but not just for her vocal talent.

“Little dreams, little life. Big dreams, big life,” Francine tells Jimmy, speaking for all the people pouring into the melting pot that is New York, trying to better their lives but too often trapped by racism, classism, and misogyny.

New York, New York has big dreams itself, but it meanders all over the place. Lexington, Kentucky, native Ryan (Girl from the North Country, Dear Evan Hansen) is unconvincing as a New York jazzman and has no chemistry with Uzele (Six, Once on This Island), who lights up the stage when she sings, belting out “But the World Goes ’Round” and reminding us that Minnelli’s version of the title track is far superior to Frank Sinatra’s. An exceptional Jim Borstelmann (Chicago, The Producers) wins the hearts of the audience in multiple roles, from newspaper vendor to bassist. Tony nominee Skinner (Side Show, Billy Elliot) beautifully portrays the heartbroken violin virtuoso, but the other characters are lost in stereotypical, uninteresting plot devices.

Dance scene atop construction I-beam is highlight of New York, New York (photo by Paul Kolnik)

However, the show looks fantastic; Beowulf Boritt’s set ranges from clubs, Times Square, and a radio station to streets and alleyways laden with low-rent apartments and fire escapes; a highlight is a dance performed on a construction I-beam that references the famous photo “Lunch atop a Skyscraper,” in which eleven construction workers enjoy a break sitting on a beam that appears to be floating above the city.

Susan Stroman’s (POTUS, Crazy for You) direction and choreography are surprisingly inconsistent, either lackluster or over the top. That lack of consistency extends to Sam Davis’s arrangements, Davis and Daryl Waters’s orchestrations, and Alvin Hough Jr.’s music direction, which is not surprising given how many hands stirred this melting pot, with songs by John Kander, Kander and Fred Ebb (who passed away in 2004), Kander and Lin-Manuel Miranda, and Kander, Ebb, and Miranda.

Ken Billington’s lighting and Kai Harada’s sound make sure we stay awake, while Boritt and Christopher Ash’s projections add to the metropolitan vibe, although a scene involving what is now known as Manhattanhenge feels anachronistic.

In the film, “Happy Endings” is a fantasy sequence, but in the show it is a tired trope; the actual ending onstage is a different kind of fantasy, meant to melt away those little town blues, but, like too much of this musical, it just burns credulity.

CAMELOT

Guenevere (Phillipa Soo) and Arthur (Andrew Burnap) contemplate their future in Camelot (photo by Joan Marcus)

CAMELOT
Vivian Beaumont Theater at Lincoln Center Theater
150 West 65th St. between Broadway & Amsterdam Ave.
Tuesday – Saturday through July 23, $58-$298
212-362-7600
www.lct.org

You know there’s a problem when you cringe every time the conductor at a musical signals to the orchestra that the next song is going to begin. That was my experience at the current revival of Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe’s Camelot, running at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theater through July 23.

To make matters worse, director Bartlett Sher, who has given us delightful stagings of South Pacific, The King and I, and My Fair Lady in recent years, and book adapter Aaron Sorkin, the author of A Few Good Men and a contemporary rereading of To Kill a Mockingbird, have drained all of the magic out of the show, literally and figuratively, leaving us with the ghost of a beloved musical journey.

Based on T. H. White’s 1958 best-selling novel The Once and Future King, Camelot is the story of young King Arthur (Andrew Burnap), his promised bride, French princess Guenevere (Phillipa Soo), and the brave knight Lancelot Du Lac (Jordan Donica), who swears to defend Arthur while coveting Guenevere. In the opening scene, the king’s three closest knights, Sir Dinadan (Anthony Michael Lopez), Sir Sagramore (Fergie Philippe), and Sir Lionel (Danny Wolohan), are furious when the carriage carrying Guenevere breaks protocol and stops at the bottom of a hill, the princess escaping into the woods.

Guenevere (Phillipa Soo), Arthur (Andrew Burnap), and Lancelot (Jordan Donica) are involved in a dangerous love triangle in Lincoln Center revival (photo by Joan Marcus)

“A thousand-year-old tradition, Merlyn — royal brides are greeted at the top of the hill,” Lionel says. Merlyn (Dakin Matthews), Arthur’s mentor, answers, “Alright, well, in the name of Arthur, King of all England, it is decreed that royal brides will henceforth be met at the bottom of the hill. A new tradition. Does that do it?” It is as if Sher and Sorkin are announcing that they are creating a new tradition with this updated interpretation of the old-fashioned musical, but they are unable to inject life into this venerable warhorse.

Songs such as “The Simple Joys of Maidenhood,” “The Lusty Month of May,” “If Ever I Would Leave You,” and “Fie on Goodness” are flat and lifeless, corpses dug up from the past. Merlyn is not a mage but a wise adviser; as in the 1993 Broadway revival, the same actor also portrays Pellinore, a ratty, doddering old man who takes Merlyn’s place in Arthur’s life.

Arthur’s former lover, Morgan Le Fey (Marilee Talkington), is not a witch or an enchantress but a brilliant scientist. “In the new century, science is going to crack the world wide open. And I wouldn’t want to see your face when you realize it didn’t make a difference,” Morgan tells Arthur, as if trying to convince him to follow Dr. Anthony Fauci and not Fox News and get vaccinated. “There’ll be greed and injustice and hate and horror,” she adds.

The words justice and injustice appear about a dozen times throughout this Camelot: “If we’re to care about justice, we have to care more about injustice,” Arthur tells Lancelot and Pellinore. The Sorkinization extends to equality as well: “Equality is a myth made by the less-than-equal,” Sir Lionel says to Dinadan and Sagramore. It’s safe to say that this Camelot is not stuck in the Middle Ages.

Talking to Guenevere about human nature, Arthur espouses, “It has an impulse to be generous and it has a fierce desire for fairness.” But when it comes to a final decision Arthur must make, he instead hews inflexibly to his ethics: No one is above the law, not even a king and his queen.

Sher and Sorkin are so focused on contemporary standards of correct behavior that no electricity ever develops among Tony winner Burnap (The Inheritance, This Day Forward), who is a nice, kind Arthur; Tony nominee Soo (Into the Woods, Hamilton), who is a strong, charming Guenevere; and Donica (My Fair Lady, The Phantom of the Opera), who is a brash, overbearing Lancelot.

Sorkin goes out of his way to make Arthur a regular man of the people; instead of celebrating how he miraculously became king, he invents the following exchange: “You’re talking to a man who pulled a sword out of a stone. I was the ten thousandth person to try. How do you explain that?” Arthur asks Guenevere, who responds, “Nine-thousand, nine-hundred, and ninety-nine people loosened it.” Guenevere then adds, for good measure, “We have greatness in our grasp, humanity does. But for some reason, every time we see it, we assign the responsibility to some supernatural force. Or to God,” as if Sorkin is railing against modern-day belief systems.

Taylor Trensch (Bare the Musical, Matilda the Musical) is miscast as Mordred, Arthur’s miserable son, but Talkington (A Nervous Smile, The Middle Ages) stands out as his mother, even if she’s way ahead of her time. Camden McKinnon (A Raisin in the Sun, Renfield) never has a chance as twelve-year-old Tom of Warwick, who gets caught up in the didactic conclusion as Arthur — or, if you will, Sher and Sorkin — promise a better, more equitable future.

Michael Yeargan’s sets are spare but attractive, with doors, tables, desks, and royal chairs rolled on and off by the cast, although an iron gate used for Arthur’s privacy gets confusing and the “round table” is actually rectangular; the shadowy lighting is by Lap Chi Chu, with effective sound by Marc Salzberg and Beth Lake, uncomplicated choreography by Byron Easley, colorful costumes by Jennifer Moeller, and projections by 59 Productions that identify location and the weather, from the castle to a forest.

At one point, Arthur insists, “This is Camelot. People don’t run from here, they run to here.”

I cannot in good faith recommend that anyone run to Lincoln Center to see this Camelot.

THE THANKSGIVING PLAY

D’Arcy Carden, Chris Sullivan, Katie Finneran, and Scott Foley star in The Thanksgiving Play on Broadway (photo by Joan Marcus)

THE THANKSGIVING PLAY
Hayes Theater
240 West 44th St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 11, $109-$169
2st.com/shows
www.playwrightshorizons.org

Call it The Thanksgiving Play That Goes Wrong.

In November 2018, I wrote that the world premiere of Larissa FastHorse’s The Thanksgiving Play at Playwrights Horizons was “a wild and woolly farce that takes on important indigenous issues — in real life and on the stage. [FastHorse] is attempting to level the playing field by increasing diversity and pushing an own-voices sensibility.”

Nearly five years later, the play is debuting on Broadway from Second Stage, with a different director, different cast, different set, and significantly tweaked script that make it all feel like so many dried-out leftovers.

The plot is the same. Logan (Katie Finneran) is a high school drama teacher directing a forty-five-minute Thanksgiving play for elementary school students. She has hired her overly politically correct boyfriend, local street performer Jaxton (Scott Foley), to star in the show, along with professional actress Alicia (D’Arcy Carden), whose experience has been primarily in Disney theme parks; elementary school history teacher and amateur writer and actor Caden (Chris Sullivan) is the research consultant. Logan has decided it will be a devised production, with everyone contributing in an improvised fashion, which delights Caden, who has come with plans for a major epic, but bores Alicia, who says, “I’m an actress. Could I come back when there’s a script? I just got to town and have a hundred things to do.”

Logan, who is proudly vegan and refers to Thanksgiving as “the holiday of death,” has received the Race and Gender Equity in History Grant, the Excellence in Educational Theater Fellowship, a municipal arts grant, the Go! Girls! Scholastic Leadership Mentorship, and the Native American Heritage Month Awareness Through Art Grant and is determined to please all her funders. She is distressed when she discovers that Alicia, who she believed was Native American because of one of her head shots, is not. “So we’re four white people making a culturally sensitive First Thanksgiving play for Native American Heritage Month? Oh my Goddess,” Logan proclaims as if it’s the end of the world.

Alicia (D’Arcy Carden) and Logan (Katie Finneran) face some PC issues in The Thanksgiving Play (photo by Joan Marcus)

Each scene that they discuss unravels either because of length, cost, or political sensitivity. When Caden suggests starting the play four thousand years ago with the agricultural revolution and using lots of fire, Logan says, “I am conscious of not allowing my personal issues to take up more space in the room than the justified anger of the Native people around this idea of Thanksgiving in our postcolonial society. I want to make that crystal clear.” Alicia asks, “Was America even invented yet?” To which Jaxton replies, “It was not. Better times. That makes me wonder if using the word of the conqueror, ‘American,’ could be a trigger for people? What word do you prefer for naming this physical space? I’ve heard ‘Turtle Island’ used a lot. Do you prefer that?” Alicia chimes in, “I like turtles.”

They argue about casting, food, historical accuracy, prayer, Columbus Day, the depiction of violence, and “white people speaking for white people” as they try to figure out what actions they can take in good conscience in today’s equality-conscious culture.

The word “woke” began to take on its current meaning in 2014 following the police killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. In the October 2020 Vox article “A History of ‘Wokeness,’” Aja Romano writes, “In the six years since Brown’s death, ‘woke’ has evolved into a single-word summation of leftist political ideology, centered on social justice politics and critical race theory. This framing of ‘woke’ is bipartisan: It’s used as a shorthand for political progressiveness by the left, and as a denigration of leftist culture by the right.” This evolution of wokeness lies at the heart of the problems with this new iteration of The Thanksgiving Play; in the five years since it debuted off Broadway, the play has become a victim of its own wokeness.

In 2018, MacArthur Genius FastHorse (Cherokee Family Reunion, Urban Rez, What Would Crazy Horse Do?) was right on target, skewering how difficult it was to use the proper language to describe people and events. The battle between Logan and Jaxton’s progressiveness and Caden’s insistence on historical accuracy was hilariously spoofed by Alicia’s utter disinterest in what either side had to say, representing Americans who were fed up with partisan fighting over everything and instead just wanted to get on with it all. At one point, Jaxton says about Alicia’s lack of Native American heritage, “I think we could get away with using her before 2020, but now we’re post the postracial society. We can’t be blind to differences.”

At Playwrights Horizons, Jaxton said “a few years ago” instead of “before 2020,” and therein lies the conundrum. What was a clever, prescient satire in 2018 now feels stale and mean, revealing that the show is already dated. The cast is fine, led by Carden as a sexier Alicia, but Riccardo Hernández’s classroom set is confining, although it’s telling that posters on the wall promote such previous school productions as Sarah Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis, Euripides’s Medea, Sophocles’s Oedipus, and Aleshea Harris’s Is God Is, works that many school districts today would consider too controversial to put on.

The supremely talented Rachel Chavkin (Hadestown, Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812) is unable to get a firm grasp on the proceedings, teetering between farce and a cautionary tale. I wrote about the PH show, “One of the main reasons why The Thanksgiving Play works so well, despite the occasional bumpiness, is because we recognize parts of ourselves in the four characters; of course, off-Broadway audiences tend to be significantly liberal — and often privileged — terrified of uttering or doing the wrong thing when it comes to people of color yet rather clueless about their own giant blind spots. Thus, there are moments in the show when you are likely to hesitate before laughing, wondering whether you are being insensitive by enjoying yourself too much.” That dichotomy is missing here.

The original production began with Logan (Jennifer Bareilles), Alicia (Margo Seibert), and Jaxton (Greg Keller) coming out dressed as pilgrims and Caden (Jeffrey Bean) as a giant turkey, singing, “The Twelve Days of Thanksgiving,” announcing that this was going to be a good-natured social comedy. The Broadway edition opens with a video of children, dressed in homemade costumes, singing the same song, but it is announcing that the debates over the validity of how and why we celebrate Thanksgiving and the entire DEI movement are poisoning the next generations. Each version concludes with the statement: “Teacher’s note: This song can do more than teach counting. I divide my students into Indians and pilgrims so the Indians can practice sharing.” At Playwrights Horizons, the audience laughed at that line; at the Hayes, they gasped. The Thanksgiving Play’s time has come and gone.

“This is a challenge, but we are the future of theater and education. Are we all in agreement?” Logan asks.

Not me.