this week in shakespeare

SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK: HAMLET

Kenny Leon’s Hamlet follows his Much Ado About Nothing at the Delacorte (photo by Joan Marcus)

HAMLET
Central Park
Delacorte Theater
Tuesday – Sunday through August 6, free, 8:00
shakespeareinthepark.org

Don’t let the recent parade of Hamlets stop you from seeing Kenny Leon’s incisive adaptation that opened last week at the Public’s Delacorte Theater in Central Park.

There has been a surfeit of faithful versions and unique reimaginings of William Shakespeare’s 1599–1601 tragedy in New York City since 2015, from Robert Icke’s staging at Park Ave. Armory with Alex Lawther in the title role, Yaël Farber’s variation at St. Ann’s Warehouse starring Ruth Negga, and James Ijames’s Pulitzer Prize–winning Fat Ham at the Public and on Broadway with Marcel Spears to the Public Theater Mobile Unit’s traveling show with Chukwudi Iwuji, Michael Laurence’s Hamlet in Bed at Rattlestick, and Thomas Ostermeier and Theater Schaubühne Berlin’s iteration at BAM with Lars Eidinger.

Tony winner Leon turns this Hamlet into a kind of sequel to his 2019 Delacorte triumph, a rollicking modern-day interpretation of Much Ado About Nothing that took place at a Georgia estate prominently displaying “Abrams 2020” banners, referring to two-time former Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams. Set designer Beowulf Boritt is back, tearing the estate in half; one part of the house is sinking into the ground, an Abrams poster sticking out at an angle, like a lonely, overturned grave marker, while a black SUV is stuck in the mud on the other side. It is as if a tornado, or a dangerous presidency, ripped through the land, leaving America in tatters, the white tiles on the grass evoking a cemetery. (The Delacorte itself will be torn down after this summer’s Hamlet and Public Works presentation of The Tempest to undergo a major renovation; it is scheduled to reopen in 2025.)

The central facade features a large portrait of a military hero in full dress uniform, looking like a dictator: the previous king’s funeral is just getting underway as a quartet performs three biblical hymns alongside a flag-draped coffin. “When you go, you’ll have to go alone / When you go, you’ll have to go alone / No one in this world / Can take your journey / When you go, you’ll have to go alone,” they sing. Leon adds in Harry Belafonte’s “Day-o,” an out-of-place tribute to the recently deceased artist and activist, but he also gives us a lovely introduction to Ophelia (Solea Pfeiffer), who offers, “You and Me (No Love Stronger).” Ophelia is given more agency than usual in this adaptation as she considers her affection for Hamlet (Ato Blankson-Wood).

Ato Blankson-Wood is impressive as the introspective Hamlet in latest Shakespeare in the Park production (photo by Joan Marcus)

“For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, / Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, / A violet in the youth of primy nature, / Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, / The perfume and suppliance of a minute, / No more,” Laertes (a firm Nick Rehberger) warns his sister before leaving.

Ophelias’s father and Claudius’s chief counsel, Polonius (Daniel Pearce), admonishes, “In few, Ophelia, do not believe his vows, / I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth / Have you so slander any moment leisure / As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. / Look to ’t, I charge you. Come your ways.”

The dead king’s brother, Claudius (John Douglas Thompson), has quickly gained the throne by marrying his brother’s widow, Gertrude (Lorraine Toussaint). Deeply affected by this turn of events, Hamlet feels like he is alone. “A little more than kin and less than kind,” he whispers to the audience about his new stepfather. Blankson-Wood is brilliant as Hamlet slowly descends into madness, with Leon exploring the character’s state of mind more insightfully than I can remember ever seeing before.

Hamlet is soon visited by the ghost of his father, who appears like a distorted monster, projected onto the gable of the house, his otherworldly voice (recorded by Samuel L. Jackson) explaining to his son that Claudius murdered him; he proclaims, “Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.” At one point Allen Lee Hughes’s lighting casts the shadow of Hamlet’s head across his father’s portrait, suggesting that he will never be able to escape from the former king’s legacy. (The lighting is by Allen Lee Hughes, with sound by Justin Ellington and projections by Jeff Sugg.)

Claudius calls for Hamlet’s old friends Rosencrantz (Mitchell Winter) and Guildenstern (Brandon Gill) to spy on him. Meanwhile, Hamlet arranges for a traveling troupe of players (Mikhail Calliste, Lauryn Hayes, LaWanda Hopkins, and Colby Lewis) to put on a show that will reveal to the king that Hamlet knows that he is a liar and a murderer. “The play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king,” he says. The players perform a rap song, Jason Michael Webb’s “Cold World,” which features such un-Shakespearean lyrics as “Days are precious when you’re livin’ in a warzone / Tryna live, heart heavy like a diamond / City’s cold, but the streets are even colder / Gotta get out ’fore they say my time is over.” When Hamlet describes the plot, with its murder and marriage, Claudius gets up and storms off. The battle is on.

Leon (Topdog/Underdog, A Soldier’s Play) streamlines the play to a mere two hours and forty-five minutes with intermission, eliminating the subplot of the Norwegian crown prince Fortinbras, who mounts a challenge to Hamlet after Hamlet’s father slays his father. We don’t see Barnardo (Trí Lê), Horatio (Warner Miller), and Marcellus (Lance Alexander Smith) initially encounter the ghost. There is no mention of any state being “rotten,” no “to the manner born,” no “thoughts be bloody,” but none of that is missed.

Polonius is wonderfully portrayed by Pearce (Mother of the Maid, Timon of Athens) as a persnickety, bow-tied southern gentleman in a seersucker suit. Thompson, one of our greatest classical actors whether doing Shakespeare (The Merchant of Venice), Eugene O’Neill (The Iceman Cometh), or August Wilson (Jitney), is stirring as Claudius, commanding the stage with a moving vulnerability, while Toussaint (A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Stuff Happens) is a worthy cohort, finding compassion for her son even as her husband grows more combative. Greg Hildreth (Company, Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow) nearly steals the show as the gravedigger, who uses skulls like bowling balls.

Lorraine Toussaint and John Douglas Thompson sparkle as Gertrude and Claudius in Hamlet (photo by Joan Marcus)

The staging does supply some significant problems. As opposed to Leon’s Much Ado About Nothing, which was set in modern-day Atlanta, it is not clear when and where his Hamlet unfolds, in Denmark, Georgia, or a different location. While Much Ado had an all Black and brown cast, Hamlet has several Caucasian actors. There are subtle references to what is happening in Trump-era America, the dialogue is spoken with a flowing style, and Jessica Jahn’s costumes are contemporary dress, from Claudius’s blue suit to Laertes’s dungaree jacket to Hamlet’s hoodie and Ophelia’s revealing bustier. So impressive in Much Ado, the car now seems like an excess prop. Leon might be attempting to meld past with present, but it can cause confusion, as when letters are delivered during a time when SUVs and 2020 placards are present.

Following in the footsteps of such actors as Sarah Bernhardt, Laurence Olivier, Richard Burton, Nicol Williamson, Mel Gibson, Kenneth Branagh, and Ethan Hawke — and, at the Delacorte itself, Michael Stuhlbarg in 2000, Sam Waterston in 1975, Stacy Keach in 1972, and Albert Ryder in 1964 — Blankson-Wood (Slave Play, The Total Bent) is a Hamlet for these times. His journey into madness has a method in it, a young man troubled by what he sees going on all around him, with his parents, his girlfriend, and the ruling class.

“I will be brief. Your noble son is mad. / ‘Mad’ call I it, for, to define true madness, / What is ’t but to be nothing else but mad?” Polonius says to Claudius. Blankson-Wood’s Hamlet is no skulking college student or shy mama’s boy; he is a prince trying to find his way in a complex and dangerous world, one that provides no sympathy. He delivers six of Hamlet’s seven soliloquies (“How all occasions do inform against me” has been cut) with a thoughtful, understated tenderness, not demanding attention to himself but instead to the character’s search for an unreachable inner peace.

It’s heartbreaking but, after all, Hamlet is a tragedy, no matter where or when it is set.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

THE SHYLOCK AND THE SHAKESPEAREANS

Jacob (Jeremy Kareken, center) negotiates a deal with Antonio (Eric Oleson) and Bassanio (Chapman Hyatt) in The Shylock and the Shakespeareans (photo by Richard Termine)

THE SHYLOCK AND THE SHAKESPEAREANS
New Ohio Theatre
154 Christopher St.
Wednesday – Sunday through June 17, $20 streaming, $30 in person
www.untitledtheater.com
newohiotheatre.org

The premise for Edward Einhorn’s The Shylock and the Shakespeareans is filled with intriguing possibilities: a reimagining of William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice in which the Bard is the hero of a ragtag mob of racists and anti-Semites. Unfortunately, the execution doesn’t quite live up to the promise.

As the audience enters the New Ohio Theatre (for what will be the venue’s final full-length presentation before it closes), musician and composer Richard Philbin is in a corner, playing wonderful Klezmer/medieval-tinged tunes on flute, clarinet, and bassoon, which he continues doing throughout the show. Mike Mroch’s set is a dark alley with graffiti on concrete walls — “The Jews Will Not Replase Us,” misspelled to immediately establish the ignorance of the bigots — along with dozens and dozens of pictures of Shakespeare, many with his eyes ripped out, evoking one of the playwright’s most famous and controversial soliloquies, which begins, “Hath not a Jew eyes?”

What Einhorn calls “A Comedy with Tragic Elements” starts with a prologue in Venice in which the Jewish Jessica (Yael Haskal) and the Asian Christian Lorenzo (Chase Lee) are spotted together making out by Salarino (Ethan Fox) and Salarina (Janine Hagerty), who are wearing white hoods that we soon learn are the mark of the Ku Klux Klan–like Shakespeareans. “They have witchcraft in their lips,” Salarina says about the couple. “Lorenzo loves not wisely.”

The central plot of The Shylock and the Shakespeareans is similar to that of The Merchant of Venice. Bassanio (Chapman Hyatt) is in love with heiress Portia (Nina Mann) and wants to flaunt his love by gifting her diamonds that cost three thousand ducats. Bassanio has no money, so he asks his older cousin Antonio (Eric Oleson), a rich merchant, to loan him the cash, but Antonio explains that his wealth is all tied up in ships that are out at sea. Instead, Bassanio convinces Antonio to meet with Jacob (Jeremy Kareken), a Jewish jeweler, to make a deal.

“How many times have I told you? Never trust a Jew,” Antonio tells his cousin. “They are sneaks. They are liars. And they are cannibals.” When Bassanio questions Antonio’s belief that Jews are flesh-eating devils, Antonio explains that it all comes from Shakespeare, that the Bard “opened my eyes about a lot of things.” Bassanio responds, “I don’t know, Antonio. Some of the people at his rallies, they seem a little crazy. That Gobbo guy, he scares me.” A disappointed Antonio complains, “You always have to put him down. I don’t know why you have to do that.” The scene brings to mind Donald Trump’s defense of the people involved in the 2017 Unite the Right march in Charlottesville and the January 6 insurrectionists, with Gobbo (Craig Anderson) a kind of QAnon Shaman or Proud Boy leader. In addition, Gobbo has no love lost for Terach (Kingsley Nwaogu), a Black Jew who is Jacob’s only friend. Defending his hate, Gobbo, formerly Jacob’s servant, says, “I just say in public the things that most people say in private.”

Antonio refuses to call Jacob by his real name, instead referring to him by the derogatory term “shylock,” which he tells Bassanio means, according the Shakespeare, “don’t trust them.” Their initial meeting features the best exchange in the play.

Antonio: This is the shylock?
Jacob: Jacob is my name.
Antonio: I know who you are.
Jacob: I know who you are too. You and a gang of Shakespeareans vandalized our synagogue. You were one of the ring leaders.
Antonio: The synagogue, Bassanio, is where shylocks do their business.
Jacob: It’s where we pray.
Antonio: You prey upon us there and everywhere.
Jacob: I mean prayers. Like in a church.
Antonio: The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.
Bassanio: Wait, I think I’ve heard that before. Who said that?
Jacob & Antonio: Shakespeare.

Portia’s (Nina Mann) suitors must choose from three boxes in reimagining of The Merchant of Venice (photo by Richard Termine)

Whereas in The Merchant of Venice it is Shylock who demands a pound of flesh if Antonio defaults on the loan, a troublesome plot point that to this day does no favors for Jews, painting them as vicious businessmen, Einhorn instead has Bassanio suggest it, offering, “If you are not paid, you can take a bite out of my Christian flesh. From wherever you like.” Antonio demands, “Not his flesh! Mine. You can eat mine. Or cook it into matzo.” Jacob argues, “Matzo is just flour and water.” Antonio cries out, “And Christian children.” They eventually arrive at an agreement in which Jacob will charge Bassanio three thousand ducats — the actual cost — for a diamond necklace, and Antonio will pay for it once his ships arrive back home. In lieu of interest, Antonio will have to tell his fellow Shakespeareans that Jews do not eat Christians, convincing them that the blood libel is a lie.

Meanwhile, Morocco (Nwaogu) and Aragon (Fox) join Bassanio as suitors for Portia’s hand, having to choose the correct box out of three: a gold one that says, “Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire,” a silver one that says, “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves,” and a lead one that says, “Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.” Portia, who also is an unscrupulous cross-dressing judge, is assisted by her servant, Nerissa (Stephanie Lichtfield), who sleeps in the stables and lusts after Gratiano (Thomas Shuman), who works for Antonio.

There’s much to admire in the first half of the play, with solid character development, strong dialogue, and terrific music. Kareken, who cowrote the Broadway play The Lifespan of a Fact, is stalwart as Jacob, portraying him as a bold and brave man with high principles who is not about to let others get the best of him, a stand-in for the Jewish people around the world, particularly today, when the rise of anti-Semitism is everywhere. Oleson gives Antonio just the right edge, an intelligent man who should know better but has fallen under the spell of the Shakespeareans. Ramona Ponce’s costumes, which meld medieval with modern, are highlighted by the Elizabethan ruffs worn by the bigots around their necks and the yellow circles on the lapels of the Jews, a reference to the rotas that Jews had to wear in Europe beginning in 1217 and which became the Star of David under the Nazis.

The play — a follow-up to Einhorn’s 1997 A Shylock, the first full play from his troupe, Untitled Theater Company No. 61 — loses steam as Einhorn (Alma Baya, City of Glass) turns the focus on Jessica, who has converted to Christianity and eloped with Lorenzo. She is disappointed that Lorenzo is friends with Antonio even though Antonio believes that “Venice is for the Venetians. Not for foreigners and certainly not for Jews.” Not only are the Shakespeareans — the Middle Ages version of the America First movement — anti-Semitic and racist but they also despise immigrants while controlling the narrative. “Your friends spread hate,” Lorenzo tells Antonio, who replies in classic bigot projection, “We are the victims of hate. No one is hated more unfairly than the Shakespeareans.”

Although Einhorn calls attention to critical matters that are still relevant today, the tale grows ever more choppy, with overblown and repetitive slapstick competing with poignant drama. Jessica’s interaction with Portia feels forced, and what happens after Jacob speaks the famous words “I am content” is confounding in multiple ways as Einhorn attacks the current scourge of white supremacy, perhaps born in part from the legacy of Shakespeare’s play. The work also raises important questions about the future of Jewish culture amid so much hatred and intermarriage, lamenting what Shakespeare and others have wrought over the centuries, but those discussions seem squeezed in.

“We know a threat when we see it,” Antonio warns Jacob. “You want us to be blind, but Shakespeare has opened our eyes.” After all these years, it’s a tragedy that so many still need their eyes opened to the truth.

FAT HAM

Fat Ham reimagines Shakespeare’s Hamlet taking place at a family barbecue (photo by Joan Marcus)

FAT HAM
American Airlines Theatre
227 West Forty-Second St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 2, $45-$242
212-539-8500
www.fathambroadway.com

Last July I saw James Ijames’s delightfully delicious Fat Ham at the Public Theater. The show has made the smoothest of transitions to Broadway at the American Airlines Theatre, with the same cast, crew, and set. If anything, the play is now even better, nominated for five Tonys, for Best Play, Best Featured Actress, Best Costume Design, Best Lighting Design, and Best Direction. Below is an update of my original review, slightly amended to account for the move to the Great White Way, with revised photos and a tiny tweak to the script.

There’s no “To be or not to be” in James Ijames’s rousing, spirited adaptation of one of William Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies, Hamlet. In the Pulitzer Prize–winning Fat Ham, continuing at the American Airlines Theater through July 2, there’s no “To thine own self be true,” no “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,” no “Good-night, sweet prince,” no “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.” But to give you the tasty flavor of Ijames’s big queer Black take on the familiar tale, his Hamlet, known as Juicy (Marcel Spears), says, “Ah, there’s the rub” only after Rev (Billy Eugene Jones) shares the secret to smoking pork.

The ninety-five-minute show, coproduced by the National Black Theatre and the Public, takes place in the backyard of, according to the script, “a house in North Carolina. Could also be Virginia, or Maryland or Tennessee. It is not Mississippi, or Alabama or Florida. That’s a different thing all together.” The time is “a kind of liminal space between the past and the present with an aspirational relationship to the future that is contingent to your history living in the south. All that to say . . . I’m writing this play from inside the second decade of the twenty-first century. This world aesthetically sits anywhere in the four to six decades preceding the current moment.”

At its core, the story echoes the original. Juicy’s father, the king (Claudius; Jones), has been murdered by his brother, Rev, who then married his brother’s widow, Tedra (Gertrude; Tony nominee Nikki Crawford). Juicy hangs out with his best friend, Tio (Horatio; Chris Herbie Holland). Everyone assumes that Juicy is destined to wed his supposed true love, Opal (Ophelia; Adrianna Mitchell). Her very protective brother, Larry (Laertes; Calvin Leon Smith), is in the military and suffers from PTSD. Tedra’s best friend, Rabby (Polonius; Benja Kay Thomas), Larry and Opal’s mother, loves drinking and celebrating the Lord.

The play opens with Juicy on the back porch of a suburban home helping prepare for a barbecue party for Rev and Tedra’s bethrothal as Tio watches porn on his phone. “Your daddy ain’t been dead a week and he already Stanley steamering your mom. Cold,” Tio says. “Stanley steamering your mom . . . ,” Juicy quizzically repeats. Tio clarifies, “Eating your momma’s box? Doing the nasty with your mom? That better?” This is not your grandparents’ Hamlet.

Rev (Billy Eugene Jones) leads a prayer before family and friends partake of barbecue in Fat Ham (photo by Joan Marcus)

A few minutes later, Juicy is visited by the ghost of his father, Pap, dressed in white, eerie smoke drifting around his neck and shoulders. Pap wants his son to avenge his death — and to stop eating candy bars unless he wants to get “the suga,” which runs in the family. Pap orders Juicy to split Rev open: “Make his thighs into hams. His intestines into chitlins. Pickle his feet and boil his head down to a skull! Crisp up his belly and dry out his balls and grind them up into a fine powder. Lay that all out on the table, invite over your nearest and dearest, and feast. And then make me a plate.” Pap also belittles his son’s education choices, studying human resources at the University of Phoenix. “Scam. Who goes to college online to learn how to manage human beings. Them things don’t go,” he scolds.

The potential relationship between Juicy and Opal has a bit of a problem that only the two of them are aware of: They are both gay. Meanwhile, Larry has a dark secret of his own. But the party goes on, as Rev sings Teena Marie and Juicy warbles Radiohead’s “Creep,” a kind of replacement for the “To be or not to be” soliloquy: “I don’t care if it hurts / I wanna have control / I want a perfect body / I want a perfect soul / I want you to notice / When I’m not around / So fuckin’ special / I wish I was special / But I’m a creep / I’m a weirdo / What the hell am I doin’ here? / I don’t belong here.” The lyrics represent what so many young queer Black men experience, not wanting to be made to feel invisible and less than.

Juicy uses charades to tell his uncle he knows what he did: “The play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of . . . the . . . King. Preacher. He is a preacher in this play,” he tells the audience. The game is on as Rev and Juicy battle it out.

Fat Ham is outrageously funny, featuring superb over-the-top performances by the ensemble. Spears (Othello, A Midsummer Night’s Dream) has a tender gentleness, a softness, to his every move; dressed in all black (the contemporary costumes are by Dominique Fawn Hill), he would fit right in as Usher in Michael R. Jackson’s A Strange Loop, another “big Black queer” character with a complicated relationship with his family and other people who’s trying to figure out just who he is and what he wants out of life. Human resources is probably not Juicy’s best career path. Perhaps Ijames named him after the Notorious B.I.G. song “Juicy,” in which Biggie Smalls declares, “You know very well / Who you are / Don’t let ’em hold you down / Reach for the stars / You had a goal / But not that many / ’Cause you’re the only one / I’ll give you good and plenty.”

Juicy’s (Marcel Spears) father (Billy Eugene Jones) is smokin’ in Fat Ham (photo by Joan Marcus)

Ijames (White, Kill Move Paradise) interjects Shakespeare at just the right moments, as when, after Larry and Juicy share an intimate moment, the latter turns to the audience and delivers one of the Bard’s masterpieces, the poetic speech that begins “What a piece of work is a man!” But Ijames keenly changes one pronoun, and the meaning of the prose is altered following the scene we just watched,

Stacey Derosier’s lighting keeps things bright and cheery, as does Darrell Grand Moultrie’s choreography on Maruti Evans’s backyard set. Director Saheem Ali (Nollywood Dreams, Merry Wives) ably balances the wackiness with the serious nature of so much of Ijames’s dialogue alongside whimsical references to Ms. Cleo, OnlyFans, and sexy muppets. But it’s not all lighthearted fun.

At one point, Tio, talking about what he is learning from his therapist, explains to Juicy, “He said . . . These cycles of violence are like deep. Engrained. Hell, engineered. Hard to come out of. Like, your Pop went to jail, his Pop went to jail, his Pop went to jail, his Pop went to jail, and what’s before that? Huh? Slavery. It’s inherited trauma. You carrying around your whole family’s trauma, man. And that’s okay. You okay. But you don’t got to let it define you.”

Juicy is determined not to follow in his father’s footsteps, trying to overcome the systemic institutional racism that dooms so many Black men and tears apart families. That’s not exactly the same thing as the handing down of the crown from generation to generation of white men and boys — but it has the potential to become the half-million-dollar crown Biggie was famous for wearing.

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.

HISPANIC GOLDEN AGE CLASSICS | LOPE DE VEGA: THE CAPULETS AND THE MONTAGUES

Who: Red Bull Theater
What: Online benefit reading and free discussions
Where: Red Bull Theater online
When: Monday, September 12, $25, 7:30
Why: Red Bull Theater kicked off its “Hispanic Golden Age Classics — Lope de Vega” initiative on September 8 with the panel discussion “Lope de Vega & Shakespeare,” exploring how the Bard and Spanish playwright and novelist Félix Lope de Vega y Carpio both wrote works about the Capulets and the Montagues; UCLA professor Barbara Fuchs and UCLA PhD candidate Rhonda Sharrah were joined by actor Dakin Matthews, who wrote the new rhyming translation that is being used. The “Diversifying the Classics” programming is centered by a live, online reading of Lope de Vega’s The Capulets and the Montagues (Castelvines y Monteses) on September 12 at 7:30 (available through September 18 at 11:59 pm), performed by Junior Nyong’o as Romeo and Cara Ricketts as Juliet, along with Anita Castillo-Halvorssen, Christian DeMarais, Carson Elrod, Topher Embrey, Alejandra Escalante, Jake Hart, Paco Lozano, Maria-Christina Oliveras, Timothy D. Stickney, and Matthews, directed by Melia Bensussen. On September 15 at 7:30, members of the creative team will participate in the interactive online Bull Session “The Capulets and the Montagues.”

“Castelvines y Monteses is the sixth comedia I have translated, and my first Lopean adventure — after three Alarcóns, one Tirso, and one Moreto. It was a bracing experience to dip for the first time into the font from which sprang all later comedias,” Matthews explains in an introductory essay. “And it was just as bracing to work with material that so closely accorded with that of Shakespeare, who has been the subject of my lifelong fascination and study. And there, of course, lies the first trap that I — and any translator who comes to Lope’s version of the Romeo and Juliet story — must try to avoid. (Which I did not make any easier on myself, I confess, by my determination to use the equivalent Shakespearean proper names in an effort to make the play more appealing to English-speaking producers and audiences.)” Meanwhile, Sharrah notes, “Miguel de Cervantes, [Lope’s] contemporary and rival, may not have meant it entirely as a compliment when he called Lope a ‘monster of nature’ (monstruo de la naturaleza). Yet Lope’s prodigious output was fundamental to developing the theater of his age, and to our understanding of it today. The monster of nature left us many gifts.”

PUBLIC WORKS: AS YOU LIKE IT

A diverse cast of amateurs and pros comes together in As You Like It at the Delacorte (photo by Joan Marcus)

AS YOU LIKE IT
Central Park, Delacorte Theater
Tuesday – Sunday through September 11, free, 8:00
publictheater.org

In celebration of the sixtieth anniversary of the Delacorte Theater and the tenth anniversary of the Public Theater’s Public Works program, which brings together professional artists and community members in short-run, large-scale productions, Shakespeare in the Park has brought back Public Theater artist-in-residence Shaina Taub and Public Works director Laurie Woolery’s 2017 adaptation of the Bard’s pastoral comedy favorite, As You Like It. Continuing in Central Park through September 11, the musical is a delightful take on the story of hidden identity, family dysfunction, and true love, set in and around the forest of Arden and given a decidedly twenty-first-century twist while often referencing the show.

“All the world’s a stage / and everybody’s in the show / Nobody’s a pro / All the world’s a stage / and every day, we play our part / acting out our heart / Year by year, we grow / learning as we go / trying to tell a story we can feel / How do you make the magic real?” Taub, as the melancholy Jaques, sings as a form of introduction, words that relate to the musical, to Public Works, and life itself.

Later, Duke Senior (usually portrayed by Darius de Haas but I saw Amar Atkins), who has been exiled by his younger brother, Duke Frederick (Eric Pierre), and leads a poor but tight-knit community in Arden, declares, “I will not be free / until we are all free / Under the greenwood tree / you shall see no enemy / Do not fear / All / All are welcome here,” letting everyone onstage and in the audience know that this is an inclusive experience. The cast of 127 features performers from ages 7 to 82, mostly amateurs, from partner organizations across the five boroughs: Brownsville Recreation Center, Casita Maria Center for Arts and Education, Center for Family Life in Sunset Park, Children’s Aid, DreamYard, Domestic Workers United, the Fortune Society, and Military Resilience Foundation. Each participant is listed in the program and gets to make a personal statement.

Taub, who wrote the music and lyrics, and Woolery, who directs, have created a multiethnic spectacle with key gender swaps, which deliver added depth to the narrative. Tired of being persecuted by his older brother Oliver (Renrick Palmer), orphaned gentleman Orlando (Ato Blankson-Wood, Trevor McGhie) believes he can prove his worth by winning a wrestling tournament. The bouts are hilariously choreographed in a ring that rises from below the stage; the competitors range from the masked and massive Bronco to Frankie Flow and a wiry and vicious caveman (actual lucha libre wrestlers from the Bronx Wrestling Federation).

Rosalind (Rebecca Naomi Jones) is banished by her uncle, Duke Frederick (Eric Pierre), in Shakespeare adaptation (photo by Joan Marcus)

After pulling out a surprise victory, Orlando falls instantly in love with Rosalind (Rebecca Naomi Jones), the daughter of Duke Senior, and is subsequently banished by her uncle. Rosalind, accompanied by her best friend, Celia (Idania Quezada), Duke Frederick’s daughter, disguise themselves as Ganymede and Aliena, respectively, and head out into the forest joined by their loyal fool, Touchstone (Christopher M. Ramirez). Orlando flees the court and goes to Arden as well, seeking out his sweetheart.

Soon Orlando, not recognizing that Ganymede is in fact Rosalind, is befriended by his disguised love, who teaches him the art of wooing. Celia develops a liking for Oliver. Touchstone becomes desperate to hook up with farmhand Andy (Jonathan Jordan), who might have a thing for farmer William (Damion Allen). And shepherdess Silvia (Brianna Cabrera; Claudia Yanez) is mad for shepherdess Phoebe (Bianca Edwards), who wants nothing to do with her and instead develops a taste for Ganymede.

Distressed by Phoebe’s spurning, Silvia sings, “You Phoebe me / Why you gotta Phoebe me?” Phoebe cruelly retorts, “You say my glance is lethal / but girl, I know you’re lying / cause I’m giving you a death stare / and I don’t see you dying!” To “Phoebe” someone becomes a joke throughout the rest of the play.

Meanwhile, whenever Orlando bursts out into a solo, he is joined by a riotous backup group dressed in gleaming all-white, De Boys band dancers (Tristan André, Pierre Harmony Graves, Bobby Moody, Edwin Rivera), who groove with him seamlessly to the immense delight of the audience.

But trouble awaits when Duke Frederick decides to invade the forest and put an end to all the romantic shenanigans.

The large cast rehearses indoors for As You Like It (photo by Joan Marcus)

Taub, who previously adapted Twelfth Night for Public Works, serves as a kind of narrator as Jaques, appearing now and then to offer such warnings as “We shall make the same mistakes and never learn!,” “The worst fault you have is to be in love,” and “Give me leave to speak my mind and I will through and through cleanse the infected world, if they will patiently receive my medicine!” Of course, the medicine she and Woolery (Manahatta, Eureka) deliver is more than just a panacea but at the very least a temporary cure for whatever ails you.

The songs run the gamut from pop to R&B to rap and romantic ballads, with wonderful orchestrations by Mike Brun and original choreography by Sonya Tayeh, playfully restaged with additions by Billy Griffin. Duke Frederick’s entrances and exits are particularly memorable, accompanied by a royal guard that proclaims, “All hail Duke Frederick” to a melody that recalls the evil Imperial March theme from Star Wars, while the De Boys boy band brings down the house each time they put on the moves.

The set, anchored by a rear bridge and three trees on a revolving center, is by Myung Hee Cho, with lavish costumes by Emilio Sosa, lighting by Isabella Byrd, and sound by Sun Hee Kil. The animal puppets are by James Ortiz, the designer behind the remarkable puppets in The Skin of Our Teeth and Into the Woods.

The cast is a delight, from the leads to the bit players; in the program, the actors are listed alphabetically and each gets the same amount of space, three or four lines, whether it’s Taub, Jones, Blankson-Wood, or Ramirez or Vivian Jett Brown as Miss Amiens, Tommy Williams or Jason Asher as the referee, or Monica Patricia Davis or Alfreda Small as Ada.

The show was written in response to the 2016 presidential election and how it has torn apart the nation. It returns at a time when we all need healing and a way to come together despite our differences. In As You Like It, Jaques calls it “a miserable world,” but it’s significantly better with musicals like this in it.

macbitches

Five theater students discuss their upcoming production of the Scottish play in macbitches (photo by Wesley Volcy)

macbitches
Chain Theatre
312 West Thirty-Sixth St. between Eighth & Ninth Aves.
Wednesday – Sunday through September 10, $25
www.chaintheatre.org

One of the most iconic images of theater itself is that of Janus, the two-faced Roman god of beginnings and endings, sometimes depicted as happy on one side and sad on the other. Every play, of course, has a beginning and an ending, but it’s not always clear when a show starts, and too many works seem to be unable to find a satisfying conclusion. Such is the case with the world premiere of Sophie McIntosh’s aptly titled macbitches, running at the Chain Theatre through September 10.

As the audience enters the space, two characters are onstage, one embroidering, the other impatiently checking her cellphone. Is the play happening? Most audience members sat down, took out their own cellphones, engaged in conversation with their companion(s), or closed their eyes and rested, ignoring what was happening onstage. A few moments later, two more characters arrived through a side door and hung out in the area between the audience and the stage, one looking for someone, the other reading a book. Had the play begun? Few people in the audience paid attention; even the people sitting right in front of these two new characters, who were practically in their laps, remained glued to their phones.

A few of us took advantage of the activity and followed the actors while also exploring the set, a well-decorated living room in a dorm, with small posters of such plays as Hedda Gabler, The Crucible, and Metamorphoses in addition to a giant poster of Russian-American actress, director, producer, and screenwriter Alla Nazimova. A mood was being created and we were getting a feel for the characters through their facial gestures and movements, but the majority of the audience chose not to notice any of that until the lights went down, at which point there could be no argument: The show was underway.

Rachel LaBeau (Caroline L. Orlando) shares her thoughts on theater and Shakespeare in world premiere (photo by Wesley Volcy)

Sophomore Piper Bell (Laura Clare Browne), junior Cam Witkowski (Morgan Lui), and seniors Alexis “Lexi” Lapp (Natasja Naarendorp) and Rachel LaBeau (Caroline L. Orlando) have gathered, anxiously awaiting the call board announcing who will be playing which role in the Minnesota college’s upcoming production of Macbeth. Rachel is fully expecting to be Lady Macbeth, having previously portrayed Hedda Tesman in Hedda Gabler, Janet Van de Graaff in The Drowsy Chaperone, Olivia in Twelfth Night, and Abigail Williams in The Crucible; Lexi is anticipating a key role as well, while Cam and Piper are eager for meaty supporting parts. But they all end up disappointed and more than a little surprised when unknown freshman Hailey Hudson (Marie Dinolan) from a small town in Indiana snags Lady M.

In order to find out who Hailey is, Rachel and Lexi decide to have a small get-together, inviting her to their dorm room. Piper, a perpetually upbeat virgin who grew up in a very Christian family, seems genuinely happy for Hailey, an adorable young woman who likes to say “cool” a lot.

“You must be so excited,” Piper says. “I am! Like literally so stoked,. I already told my parents and they’re gonna come see the show both weekends. They’re like really proud,” Hailey responds. “I’m proud! Oh man, when I gave you your tour last spring, I knew I had a good feeling about you and now look at you! Out there getting the lead your first semester!” Piper exclaims.

But Rachel and Lexi do not share Piper’s enthusiasm, for a few reasons. When Hailey, who refers to Macbeth as “Maccers,” says, “It’s not like Shakespeare is like totally pure . . . I mean, he probably wasn’t actually a real person, right?” Rachel nearly explodes. “Do not tell me you’re an Anti-Stratfordian,” she rages. “People who preach that Shakespeare could never have written his plays because he wasn’t educated enough or well-bred enough or whatever are ignorant, privileged pseudo-scholars who don’t want to believe that true art, true genius can come from anyone.”

Soon Rachel and Lexi are plying the innocent Hailey, who clearly is not enjoying her cosmo, with shots of Fireball and Svedka to help them pull off a devious plan.

Best friends Rachel (Caroline L. Orlando) and Lexi (Natasja Naarendorp) concoct a mean plan in macbitches (photo by Wesley Volcy)

Most of macbitches could pass the Bechdel test; although the five women talk about men — from classmates to the two school theater directors, Arik, who helms the plays, and Martin, who guides the musicals — it’s the ladies who are in charge of the narrative. In a way, they all have a version of Lady M inside them, making their own decisions as they search their desires.

But then the story turns on a dime, throwing everything that came before it under the bus as Rachel and Lexi become mean girls who seriously threaten Hailey. While it was clear that the two roommates had an ulterior motive for inviting Hailey over, what they aim to do is so extreme that it is difficult to believe. The play up till then had been thoroughly engaging, with well-drawn characters, excellent acting, smooth direction, and no men, reminiscent of Sanaz Toosi’s recent Wish You Were Here, about five close female friends in Iran, as well as Erica Schmidt’s ingenious 2019 Mac Beth for Red Bull, in which seven students at an all-girls school put on a contemporary version of the Scottish play.

While McIntosh (Ipswich, cityscrape), who is in Columbia’s MFA writing program, and director Ella Jane New (Chasing the River, Six Corners) raise important issues of misogyny, abuse, and harassment, the ending feels like it should be part of a different play. There was a moment that I thought the show would be over, and I would have found that satisfying, but the next scene, though meant to be shocking — not unlike the conclusion of Macbeth — instead was upsetting and disappointing. In Schmidt’s Mac Beth, women grab the power; in macbitches, they give it back.