this week in theater

CABIN FEVER: FACING GRIEF AT SUMMER CAMP

Six campers and a counselor search for healing in Grief Camp (photo by Ahron R. Foster)

GRIEF CAMP
Atlantic Theater Company, Linda Gross Theater
336 West 20th St. between Eighth & Ninth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 11, $56.50-$111.50
866-811-4111
atlantictheater.org

There has been a surfeit of plays about grief the last few years, most of them involving children and/or adults sitting around in circles in group or family therapy, sharing their personal stories. In her off-Broadway debut, twenty-seven-year-old Eliya Smith, who is in her final semester in the University of Texas at Austin’s MFA playwriting program, takes a different approach in the fiendishly clever Grief Camp, continuing at the Atlantic through May 11.

Bereavement camps have been popping up all over, offering healing for those who have lost loved ones; they have such names as Camp Good Grief, Comfort Zone Camp, and Camp Hope. Smith sets her tale at an unnamed summer camp in the real town of Hurt, Virginia. (It was named for a local landowner and attorney, not the pain of loss.)

Louisa Thompson’s set is a large, somewhat disheveled cabin with four double bunk beds, two electric box fans on the floor, a bathroom in the back, and a small porch with a swing chair outside. On the natural wood walls are pages torn out of magazines, postcards, and a string of colored pennants.

It is home to six campers and one counselor: Bard (Arjun Athalye), who is addicted to Duolingo; Luna (Grace Brennan), a Los Angeles vegetarian who wants to be an artist; Blue (Maaike Laanstra-Corn), who is writing the rather strange musical untitled mansion island purple house project for her high school; Gideon (Dominic Gross), a cool dude who can’t swim and is worried about his missing green dinosaur; Olivia (Renée-Nicole Powell), who doesn’t look forward to any of the scheduled activities; her younger sister, Ester (Lark White), who hates grief camp; and Cade (Jack DiFalco), a former camper who is now a counselor, living and working with the others in the cabin.

Grief Camp continues at the Atlantic through May 11 (photo by Ahron R. Foster)

Each morning, everyone is woken up by the camp’s founder, the never-seen Rocky, who blows a terrible reveille on the trumpet, makes announcements, gives the weather report, and advises some form of “Rise and shine, kids! Welcome to another perfect day from which to begin the rest of your lives.” It’s not the most encouraging or original bromide.

Over the course of about ten days — the script calls it a “time soup” — the campers bond, argue, battle with the counselors, and avoid getting caught up in woe-is-me self-pity. Esther is afraid she is a terrible person and confides in Luna. Blue holds readings of her ever-morphing musical. Campers are sick of chores, pray to the toenail god, and fight over the bathroom. A guitarist sits in the swing chair and sings Debbie Friedman’s rendition of “Mi Shebeirach,” the Jewish prayer for healing. The campers don’t mope around in mourning or compare one another’s tragedies, although there is a palpable feeling of grief permeating the atmosphere.

In a one-on-one with Olivia, Cade tells her to take out her journal and address the following prompt: “Sometimes, in our grief, we invent guilt in order to feel control over a situation. Sound familiar? Of course it does. So go ahead. Address that guilt head on. Apologize to the person to whom you feel guilt. Explain how you would —”

Olivia cuts him off, wanting to just talk instead. They discuss college, flirting, and Olivia’s different-colored eyes. Olivia asks Cade why he keeps coming back to the camp; he replies, “This place saved my life.” A moment later, Olivia says, “If I had to come back here I suspect I would kill myself.”

Blue (Maaike Laanstra-Corn) discusses the high school musical she’s writing in Eliya Smith’s off-Broadway debut at the Atlantic (photo by Ahron R. Foster)

In another scene, Cade strongly advises, “At some point, Olivia, you’re gonna have to stop acting like you’re broken.” That line serves as the centerpiece of the ninety-minute play. Smith and Tony-nominated director Les Waters (Dana H., Big Love) carefully avoid any lapses into sentimentality or solipsism, treating Cade and the campers like unique characters in their own right and not as plot points to rhapsodize about grief. In fact, we don’t even learn the specific loss that each camper experienced, only some of them. In addition, Blue’s oddball musical slowly twists into focus but without becoming obviously metaphorical.

The ensemble, several of whom are making their off-Broadway debut, engagingly portray complex characters about to move on with their lives but not yet ready to face the world. The realistic costumes are by Oana Botez, with sharp lighting by Isabella Byrd and terrific sound design by Bray Poor, from rainstorms to Rocky’s staticky announcements to Luna singing into a floor fan.

Early on, Luna encourages Bard to curl up in the fetal position. He is tentative at first, but when he eventually tries it, he declares he is the biblical Moses in a basket on a river. “Why can’t you just be like a regular baby,” Luna says. Smith explains in the script, “The children are not precocious wunderkind iconoclasts or tiny prophets. They are not special. Something extraordinarily bad happened to each of them. They are ordinary.”

In other words, just like the rest of us.

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

UPTOWN SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK: CTH IS DETERMINED TO STILL HOLD IT IN HARLEM

HOLD ’EM IN HARLEM
Renaissance New York Harlem Hotel Ballroom
233 West 125th St.
Thursday, May 22, $100-$1500, 6:00 – 11:00
Memnon: Marcus Garvey Park, July 5–27, free (tentative)
www.cthnyc.org

On May 22, the Classical Theatre of Harlem (CTH) will have its annual fundraising gala, at the Renaissance New York Harlem Hotel. Tickets for the “Hold ’Em in Harlem” benefit, comprising gambling games, a silent auction, an open bar, passed hors d’oeuvres, celebrity guests, and prizes, start at $100 for nonplayers and go up to $150 per poker player, $1,500 for a full player table, and $50,00 for exclusive sponsorship. The 2025 special guests are Malik Yoba, Grantham Coleman, Laila Robins, Russell Hornsby, Felix Solis, and Kevin “Dot Com” Brown. The money raised helps support CTH’s mission “to maintain a professional theatre company dedicated to returning the classics to the stages of Harlem; to create employment and educational outreach opportunities in the theatre arts; to create and nurture a new, young, and culturally diverse audience for the classics; and to heighten the awareness of theatre and of great art in Harlem.”

One of the highlights of each season is Uptown Shakespeare in the Park, free summer shows put on in Marcus Garvey Park; past years have featured Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Twelfth Night, and Macbeth in addition to Betty Shamieh’s Malvolio, Will Power’s Seize the King, and A Christmas Carol in Harlem.

However, this year’s summer production, Power’s Memnon, about an Ethiopian king who travels to Troy to fight for the Trojans, is in danger of being canceled because the National Endowment for the Arts has just started cutting arts funding to New York institutions, including CTH.

The letter from the NEA blatantly states, “Pursuant to the Offer letter, the tentative funding recommendation for the following application is Withdrawn by the Agency and the National Endowment for the Arts will no longer offer award funding for the project. The NEA is updating its grantmaking policy priorities to focus funding on projects that reflect the nation’s rich artistic heritage and creativity as prioritized by the President. Consequently, we are terminating awards that fall outside these new priorities. The NEA will now prioritize projects that elevate the Nation’s HBCUs and Hispanic Serving Institutions, celebrate the 250th anniversary of American independence, foster AI competency, empower houses of worship to serve communities, assist with disaster recovery, foster skilled trade jobs, make America healthy again, support the military and veterans, support Tribal communities, make the District of Columbia safe and beautiful, and support the economic development of Asian American communities. Funding is being allocated in a new direction in furtherance of the Administration’s agenda. Your project, as noted below, unfortunately does not align with these priorities.”

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Classical Theatre of Harlem (@classicalharlem)

CTH’s free performances result in tens of thousands of audience members, hundreds of jobs, and an economic impact of more than $600,000 on Harlem. CTH also hosts indoor theater, a literary series at Harlem Stage, acting classes for kids, the Behind the Curtain exclusive interview and Icons series, and career development resources. Apparently, those are no longer priorities for the current administration.

“This isn’t just a line item — it’s a devastating blow to the working artists, small businesses, and Harlem families who count on this production every year,” CtH producing artistic director Ty Jones said in a statement. “This is a fight for cultural equity, artistic freedom, and the soul of Uptown.”

In order for the show to go on — Memnon is scheduled to run July 5–27 — donations are needed now. If you can give, please do so; every $60 equals a free seat at the show, while $500 supports a week of rehearsals for one performer.

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

SEARCHING FOR HAPPINESS: ANDREW SCOTT AND SARAH SNOOK GO SOLO

Andrew Scott reaches for dying hope in Vanya at the Lucille Lortel (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

VANYA
Lucille Lortel Theatre
121 Christopher St. between Bleecker & Hudson Sts.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 11
lortel.org/currently-playing

There are currently two extraordinary solo shows, one on Broadway, one off, based on classic literary works from the 1890s, and they could not be more different.

Both feature extremely talented and sexy award-winning actors from English-speaking countries overseas; in one, the performer creates a warm, intimate space, attempting to make individual eye contact with each of the 299 audience members, while in the other the star spends nearly the entire show looking directly into onstage cameras, although every one of the 1,025 audience members will feel the power and intelligence in that gaze.

At the Lucille Lortel in the West Village, Dublin-born Andrew Scott, a three-time Emmy nominee and two-time Olivier winner who has portrayed Moriarty in Sherlock, the hot priest in Fleabag, the title character in Ripley, and Adam in Andrew Haigh’s well-received 2023 film, All of Us Strangers, is taking on all eight roles in Simon Stephens’s adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s 1899 Uncle Vanya, called simply Vanya.

Meanwhile, Adelaide-born Sarah Snook, an Emmy and Olivier winner who is most well known as Siobhan “Shiv” Roy in Succession, plays all twenty-six parts in Kip Williams’s adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s 1890 novella, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Under the whimsical direction of Sam Yates — who created the show with Scott, writer Stephens, and scenic designer Rosanna Vize — Scott, whose only previous New York stage appearance was in David Hare’s The Vertical Hour in 2006–7, employs only subtle shifts in his performance to indicate which character he is at any given moment, with slight vocal changes and the use of such objects as a tennis ball, sunglasses, a necklace, and a scarf. Vize’s attractive set includes a kitchen with a working sink, a door standing by itself in the center, a piano with a small Christmas tree on it, a glowing orb, a table with a lamp and bottle of booze, a large swing, and a curtained back wall that opens to reveal a mirror in which the audience can glimpse themselves, a way to combat the solitude of the solo performer and involve the audience even further.

It definitely helps to know the basics; as one colleague noted to me after the show, “I enjoyed it, but was it Uncle Vanya?” Over the years, the play has proved to be malleable, reshaped and reimagined into various time periods and locations and methods of storytelling. Tony winner Stephens, who has written such diverse presentations as The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Heisenberg, and Blindness, sets his version in an undefined time and place, although it seems to be the latter part of the twentieth century, before cell phones and home computers; he has Anglicized the names, added nearly three dozen F-bombs, and references the 1994 Johnny Depp movie Don Juan de Marco.

Ivan (Ivan Petrovich “Vanya” Voynitsky) and his niece, Sonia (Sofya Alexandrovna), run the family estate owned by Alexander (Aleksandr Vladimirovich Serebryakov), Sonia’s father; a pompous film director, he was married to Anna, Ivan’s late sister and Sonia’s mother. Alexander has arrived with his much younger second wife, Helena (Yelena Andreevna), who is lusted after by Ivan and the local country doctor and environmentalist, Michael (Mikhail Lvovich Astrov). Ivan’s cranky, well-read, aging mother, Elizabeth (Maria Vasilevna Voynitskaya), lives at the estate, along with the old nurse Maureen (Marina Timofeevna) and Liam (Ilya Ilich “Waffles” Telegin), a poor landowner and family friend who has not gotten over his wife’s desertion with another man years before, opting to remain faithful to her until her utterly unlikely return.

Andrew Scott takes a swing and scores as eight characters in solo Uncle Vanya (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

The play opens with a conversation between Michael and Maureen that relates to all the characters:

Michael: How long have we known each other, Maureen?
Maureen: Oh my god, Jesus. Let me think. You came here for the first time, when was it, when Anna, Sonia’s mother, was sick? Then you had to come again the next year. That was two visits in two summers before . . . before she died. So that’s eleven years, is it?
Michael: Have I changed, do you think?
Maureen: Oh god yeah. You have. You used to be so handsome. And you were so young then, Michael, and now you’re old. And of course you drink more than you used to, Michael.
Michael: Yeah . . . Yeah I’ve worked myself to the bone. I’m on my feet all day. I never rest. And then you get home and you pray to God a patient isn’t going to call you out again. But they do, they always do. So in all the time I’ve known you, Maureen. In the last decade. I’ve not had a single day off. What do you expect me to do but get old? And then you look around you and all you can see are lunatics. The people here are lunatics, Maureen. Every single one of them. And when you surround
yourself with lunatics, after a while, you become a lunatic too. I’ve started growing my own carrots. Little tiny carrots. How did that happen? See, I’ve become a lunatic too. It’s not that I’m losing my mind. My brain is still largely in the right place. But my feelings are dull and dead. I don’t want anything. I don’t need anything. I don’t love anybody. Except you. I love you, Maureen.
Maureen: Are you sure you don’t want a drink?

Shortly after that, Ivan, who deeply resents Alexander, explains to Michael and Maureen that he hasn’t been sleeping well, “ever since Alexander and his new wife got here. They’ve knocked our lives completely out of kilter. I sleep really deeply at absolutely the wrong times of day. I’m eating all this weird food. From, like, Kabul. I’m drinking wine in the day. It’s not good for me, Doctor. It’s not good for me at all. Before they got here I didn’t have a moment to spare, did I, Maureen? I was working all the time. Me and Sonia were. Preparing the harvest. Managing the orders. Making deliveries. Now it’s just Sonia that’s doing everything, because all I do is eat, sleep, drink, repeat, eat, sleep, drink, repeat!”

But when Alexander reveals his plans for the estate and Ivan catches Michael with Helena, one of the most famous guns in the history of theater explodes.

Vanya is a unique and thrilling experience. Scott is absolutely magnetic; you won’t be able to take your eyes off him, just as it feels like he can’t take his eyes off you. There are odd moments; turning Alexander into a film director feels unnecessary, and a sex scene is both steamy and awkward, given that Scott is playing both roles.

But overall, the hundred-minute show is as wistful and funny as it is heart-wrenching and touching. The incorporation of the piano to recall Anna is haunting, and the swing evokes a more innocent childhood for Ivan, Scott, and the audience.

Early on, Elizabeth tells Ivan, “You’ve changed, Ivan. Sorry, Sonia, but it’s true. You’ve become cynical. I barely recognize you these days. You had a good soul. You used to be so clear in your convictions. They used to shine from you. . . . What’s odd, Ivan, is that it’s like you blame your misery on your convictions. Your convictions aren’t the problem. You’re the problem. You never put your convictions into practice. You could have gone out and done something. You never did.” Vanya responds, “Done something? Do you have any idea, Mother, how difficult it is to go out and ‘do something’ nowadays?” That’s an exchange everyone can relate to in 2025.

So is it Uncle Vanya?

In Andrew Scott’s capable hands, does it matter?

Sarah Snook portrays all the characters in unique staging of Oscar Wilde classic (photo by Marc Brenner)

THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY
Music Box Theatre
239 West 45th St. between Broadway & Eighth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 29, $74–$521
doriangrayplay.com

Sarah Snook is sensational in her New York stage debut, portraying all the characters in Kip Williams’s exciting solo adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s beloved homoerotic gothic horror morality tale, The Picture of Dorian Gray. For two hours without intermission, Snook, who won an Olivier for her performance in London, ambles across the stage, followed by several mobile cameras operated by Clew, Luka Kain, Natalie Rich, Benjamin Sheen, and Dara Woo, dressed in black, stopping behind and in front of several large screens hanging from the ceiling. A giant Snook is projected onto the screens, dominating the theater as she smiles, winks, and nods knowingly while the dark story unfolds.

The genius in the Sydney Theatre Company production is that the onstage Snook interacts with prerecorded versions of herself as the other characters; thus, the live Snook is seen having conversations with the others on the screens, sometimes several at a time, all aware that they are being looked at and reveling in that connection.

Artist Basil Hallward has painted a portrait of a beautiful young man named Dorian Gray. Showing the work to his aristocratic friend Lord Henry “Harry” Wotton, who wants it to be shown publicly at a prestigious event, Hallward declines, explaining, “I know you will laugh at me, but I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it. . . . Harry, every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

Dorian arrives at the studio to continue to pose for Basil, who does not want Lord Wotton to corrupt his innocent young model and new friend. He tells Harry to stay away from him, offering, “He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the single exception of myself.” Dorian asks, “Have you really a very bad influence, Lord Henry? As bad as Basil says?” Lord Wotton replies, “There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral.” Saying he is glad to have met Lord Wotton, Dorian admits, “I wonder shall I always be glad?”

Upon seeing the finished portrait, Dorian is blissful yet taken aback. “How sad it is! How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June,” he declares. “If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that — for that — I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul for that!”

And thus, the deal is done.

Sarah Snook briefly takes a seat in The Picture of Dorian Gray (photo by Marc Brenner)

Dorian is taken under the wing of Lord Wotton’s aunt, Lady Agatha, and meets such high-society types as the Duchess of Harley, parliamentarian Sir Thomas Burdon, the charming gentleman Mr. Erskine of Treadley, and the silent Mrs. Vandeleur, an old friend of Lady Agatha’s who decided she had “said everything that she had to say before she was thirty.” Among the others who enter Dorian’s kaleidoscopic world are his housekeeper, Mrs. Leaf; actress and puppeteer Sibyl Vane; Francis Osborne, the doorman; chemist Alan Campbell; Dorian’s friend Adrian Singleton; and Sybil’s younger brother, sailor James Vane.

Murder, suicide, and other forms of mayhem ensue as Dorian’s bloom of youth and beauty never seem to fade despite his depravities while the portrait depicts an ever older and more decrepit figure.

Marg Horwell’s set is mostly spare except for a few props that appear briefly, such as a long table, a puppet show, and an elegant couch with flowers; Horwell’s period costumes and the many wigs Snook wears are fanciful and ornate. The pinpoint precision of Nick Schlieper’s lighting, Clemence Williams’s sound and music, and David Bergman’s video makes it all feel real, especially one scene in which a group is seated at a long table; it is not immediately clear which Snook is the live one. Williams and Bergman also have fun using face filters as Snook cheekily poses for the camera.

The only time Snook is not looking directly into the camera is when she is in the nursery, admiring herself in a handheld mirror; in one corner is a collection of portraits based on paintings by such artists as Sebastiano del Piombo, Jean-Étienne Liotard, and Bronzino, but each now with Snook’s face.

Snook is remarkable as the narrator and all the characters, able to engage with an audience she never actually looks at, acting to be seen on a screen as if the audience is watching a morphing portrait. Despite our being well aware of the artificiality of it all, we fall for the gambit hook, line, and sinker, sucked into this technological marvel; it is a Dorian Gray made for 2025.

It is also an excellent companion piece to Andrew Scott’s Vanya. Just as multiple characters in Stephens’s Chekhov retelling discuss how much others have changed, that concept is key to Dorian Gray as well, and not just in how the man in the portrait deteriorates but Dorian does not. “It’s nigh on eighteen years since I met him. He hasn’t changed much since then. I have, though,” Violet acknowledges. “You are quite perfect, Dorian. Pray, don’t change,” Lord Wotton insists. And Dorian asks of himself, “Was it really true that one could never change?”

In addition, an elusive happiness hovers over Vanya. “I may not have my happiness, Ivan. But I’ve got my pride,” Liam says. Michael debates whether he is happy or not. Sonia asks Helena if she is happy and she answers no. And Alexander brags, “I’m the only happy one in this whole bloody house.” Meanwhile, Lord Wotton says, “Pleasure is Nature’s test, her sign of approval. When we are happy, we are always good, but when we are good, we are not always happy.” And Dorian admits, “I have never searched for happiness. Who wants happiness? I have searched for pleasure.”

In completely different ways, both shows offer pleasures galore, delivering a happiness that will stay with you long after you leave the theater.

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

RIFF’S RANTS & RAVES: SIX SHOWS TO SKIP

Lily Rabe and Billy Crudup star in Lincoln Center revival of Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts (photo by Jeremy Daniel)

GHOSTS
Lincoln Center Theater at the Mitzi E. Newhouse
150 West 65th St. between Broadway & Amsterdam Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through April 26, $98-$182.50
212-362-7600
www.lct.org

Lincoln Center Theater’s current revival of Ghosts, directed by three-time Tony winner Jack O’Brien from a new translation by Mark O’Rowe, begins with two actor/characters reading from the script, repeating lines with slight changes, as if rehearsing in front of the audience, before putting the pages away and starting the play proper. It’s an awkward start.

The play concludes, about 110 minutes later, with a painful, seemingly endless, overly melodramatic scene between a mother and her son, followed by the full cast returning their scripts to the center table. No, we did not just witness a dress rehearsal but a final presentation — one that seems to still need significant work.

In between is a clunky adaptation that is unable to capture the essence of Henrik Ibsen’s original 1881–82 morality tale, which has been seldom performed in New York, save for a Broadway run in 1982 and two versions at BAM, by Ingmar Bergman in 2003 and Richard Eyre in 2015.

The story unfolds on John Lee Beatty’s elegant dining room set. Painter Oswald Alving (Levon Hawke), the prodigal son, has returned home from Paris to his widowed mother, the businesslike Helena (Lily Rabe), who is in the process of signing over an orphanage to the church, represented by Pastor Manders (Billy Crudup). This man of the cloth has convinced Helena not to insure it because to do so would be evidence that she and the pastor “lack faith in God . . . in his divine protection.”

Oswald is attracted to the young maid, Regina (Ella Beatty), whose father, Jacob (Hamish Linklater), is a carpenter working for Mrs. Alving. Jacob’s goal is to open a classy boardinghouse for sailors on the mainland and have Regina join him there. Manders, who enjoys playing both sides against the middle, as if he knows things the others don’t and always has a secret up his sleeve, does not consider Jacob a man of the strongest character.

At one moment the pastor can praise someone, then tear them down in the next, as when he tells Helena, “Your impulses and desires have governed you all your life, Mrs. Alving. You’ve always resented authority and discipline, and as a result, you often rejected or ran away from things that were unpleasant to you. When being a wife became so, you abandoned your husband. When being a mother became so, you sent your son away to live with strangers … and as a result, you’ve become a stranger to him.”

A tragic event shifts the relationships as devastating facts explode all over.

Ghosts feels like a ghost of itself; while it has its moments, in the end nothing solid remains. The show merely dissipates into the air; failing to resonate today, it seems to get lost in the ether. The performances are uneven, and the conclusion is the final nail in the coffin.

Two couples face a possible apocalypse in Eric Bogosian’s Humpty Dumpty (photo by Matt Wells)

HUMPTY DUMPTY
The Chain Theatre
312 West Thirty-Sixth St. between Eighth & Ninth Aves., third floor
Wednesday – Sunday through May 3, $35
www.chaintheatre.org

Written in 2000 in the wake of the Y2K fears that life as we knew it on planet Earth would end, Eric Bogosian’s Humpty Dumpty is finally getting its New York City premiere, at the Chain Theatre; it’s easy to see what took so long.

Two couples have decided to take a break from their busy lives and head up to a vacation house in upstate New York, in the middle of nowhere. First to arrive are book editor Nicole (Christina Elise Perry) and her novelist husband, Max (Kirk Gostkowski); they are soon joined by Max’s best friend, successful screenwriter Troy (Gabriel Rysdahl), and his actress girlfriend, Spoon (Marie Dinolan). Occasionally stopping by is the property’s handyman, Nat (Brandon Hughes).

“No cable up here. And no fax machine anywhere. Cell phone barely works. And how do we do email?” Nicole complains. Max responds, “We don’t. That’s the point. For one week, we don’t do anything. No faxes. No email.”

They get a whole lot more than they bargained for when the power goes out for an extended period of time and the world outside threatens to turn into a battle zone they have no idea how to deal with, or with all the eggs that come their way.

Soon the five characters are at one another’s throats, but you’re not likely to care, as there’s nothing you’d rather do less than spend any time with these five annoying, self-absorbed nut cases. Because we have no affection for them in the first place, there’s no change in their development as the inexplicable and ever-more-confusing crisis worsens, just more of the same. And there’s not much director Ella Jane New can do on David Henderson’s cramped set.

When Max screams, “Troy, will you shut the fuck up!,” it’s too bad they all don’t listen.

Leonard Bernstein (Helen Schneider), waiter Michael (Victor Petersen), and Herbert von Karajan (Lucca Züchner) share an odd evening in Last Call (photo by Maria Baranova)

LAST CALL
New World Stages
340 West Fiftieth St. between Ninth & Tenth Aves.
Wednesday – Monday through May 4, $39-$159
lastcalltheplay.com
newworldstages.com

Peter Danish’s Last Call is a befuddling new play about an accidental meeting between a pair of giant maestros for the first time in decades. In 1988, American conductor and composer Leonard Bernstein (Helen Schneider) bumped into Austrian conductor Herbert von Karajan (Lucca Züchner) at the Blaue Bar in the Sacher Hotel. The eighty-year-old Karajan was in Vienna to conduct Brahms’s Symphony Number One “for the millionth time,” while the seventy-year-old Bernstein was there to receive “some silly award” — and attend his longtime colleague/rival’s concert. Within two years, they would both be dead.

Their fictionalized conversation was inspired by the recollections of the waiter who served them that night, named Michael (Victor Petersen) in the play, who shared the tale with Danish. Over the course of ninety slow-moving minutes, Bernstein, a Jew who composed such scores as On the Town, Wonderful Town, and West Side Story and conducted extensively with the New York Philharmonic and the Vienna Philharmonic, and Karajan, a onetime member of the Nazi Party who had long associations with the Berlin Philharmonic and London’s Philharmonia Orchestra, needle and praise each other relentlessly; Bernstein tells Michael that Karajan “is the second greatest conductor in the world,” while Karajan suggests that Bernstein, who has stopped conducting because of prostate issues, “could wear a diaper.”

Here’s a sample exchange regarding how Karajan has cut his intake to only one cigarette and one shot of whiskey a day:

Lenny: I find your restraint positively —
Herbert: Admirable? Impressive?
Lenny: Unbearable.
Herbert: It’s called discipline, Leonard! You should try it.
Lenny: Discipline? Oh, please! I speak six languages, play a dozen musical instruments, and have half the classical repertory committed to memory.
Herbert: Only half?
Lenny: Anyway, at this point in my life, I certainly don’t need a lecture about discipline! Look where all your discipline has gotten you! A half dozen strokes, crippling arthritis, bum kidneys!

That might very well be the best moment of the play, which otherwise grows laborious fast. Krajan and Michael occasionally speak in German, with the English translation projected onto a back wall, but it was very difficult to read from my seat. Turning the bar into a urinal — twice — made little sense, especially when the actors portraying the conductors stood way too close to the porcelain, which might be explained at least in part because those actors are both, inexplicably, women. Bernstein repeatedly refers to his fellow conductor as “von Karajan” when it should have been just “Karajan.” And director Gil Mehmert cannot get the actors and action in sync, failing to make the best use of Chris Barreca’s long, narrow set.

It should be last call for Last Call.

A cast of five tries to climb its way out of a deep hole in Redwood (photo by Matthew Murphy & Evan Zimmerman)

REDWOOD
Nederlander Theatre
208 West Forty-First St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 18, $99.75-$397
www.redwoodmusical.com

Idina Menzel’s heavily anticipated return to Broadway after a ten-year absence is a major disappointment, a vanity project that looks great but never achieves the necessary narrative flow.

Tony winner Menzel (Rent, Wicked) conceived of the show with Tony-nominated director Tina Landau (SpongeBob SquarePants, Superior Donuts), inspired by the true story of Julia Butterfly, the American activist who lived in a giant California redwood tree for more than two years in the late 1990s. Menzel stars as Jesse, a middle-aged woman in need of healing who is escaping her hectic life in New York City and an undisclosed tragedy and fleeing across the country. “I have to find somewhere else to be / where I’m no longer me,” she sings. “So I will drive down these broken lines / past the endless signs — keep on going —” And keep on going she does, with Menzel showing off her truly spectacular pipes, although it seems that Jesse’s wife, Mel (De’Adre Aziza), was left with no explanation, much like the audience at this point.

When she finally makes it to the Redwood Forest, she can’t stop annoying a pair of canopy botanists, Finn (Michael Park) and Becca (Khaila Wilcoxon), who are working there. Stilted explicative dialogue (Landau wrote the stultifying book, with lyrics by her and Kate Diaz) ensues, such as the following:

Jesse: Oh, well, um . . . wow, speaking of color . . . How did all these tree trunks become this . . . deep, deep black? Charcoal, onyx, jet, licorice —
Finn: Excuse me?
Jesse: Eigengraui! Bet you never heard of that color. Oh, it’s a game we play at work — who can think of the most synonyms for a particular descriptor. I always win. I’m better than a thesaurus.
Finn: The trees are black because they’ve been burned. Wildfires and prescribed fires. Did you know that redwoods are one of the most fire-resistant species in the world?
Becca: (To herself) And so it begins . . .
Finn: The bark on that tree is over a foot thick —
Becca: He’d lecture a rock if it listened.
Finn: (To Jesse) Yeah, it holds water, and protects the inner heartwood —
Jesse: Heartwood?
Finn: The wood at the center of the tree —
Jesse: The tree has a heart? Like a heart heart?
Finn: Except it’s dead.
Jesse: Dead?
Finn: The heartwood doesn’t carry water or nutrients anymore, but — it’s the strongest part of the tree.
Becca: This is part of the spiel he gives on his tours — you could sign up for one online in the spring — but right now, I’m so sorry, we really do have to get to work.

The plot goes back and forth between the past and the present, from Jesse and Mel’s first date to Jesse’s relationship with her son, Spencer (Zachary Noah Piser), attempting to explain how Jesse ended up in an off-limits tree in a California forest. References to Jewish sayings and prayers, such as Lo Tash’chit (“Do not destroy nature. You must feel for the trees as you do for humans.”) and Tikkun Olam (“repair the world”), bring the proceedings to a head-scratching halt. Plot holes grow so big that you can, well, fit a giant redwood through them.

However, the production can be spectacular, anchored by a huge tree in the center of Jason Ardizzone-West’s tilting set, surrounded by screens on which Hana S. Kim’s immersive projections transport the audience into the forest, all beautifully lit by Scott Zielinski. Mezzanine seating is suggested to take it all in, but even the visuals start to feel repetitive as the story becomes more and more stagnant. The fine cast, also hindered by Diaz’s overbearing score, can’t save the show, which is in need of big-time repairs.

BOOP! The Musical gets off to a great start before falling apart (photo by Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman)

BOOP! THE MUSICAL
Broadhurst Theatre
235 West Forty-Fourth St. between Broadway & Eighth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through September 28, $58-$256
boopthemusical.com

BOOP! The Musical opens with a spectacular series of scenes in which Betty Boop (Jasmine Amy Rogers), the classic star of 1930s animated black-and-white shorts, is filming Betty Saves the Day, singing, “I may be one of Hollywood’s ‘It’ girls / But when there’s trouble afoot / This tiny tornado in spit and curls / Goes at it till the trouble’s kaput.” She works with her loyal director, Oscar Delacorte (Aubie Merrylees), and his assistant, Clarence (Ricky Schroeder), and enjoys spending time with her fellow cartoon characters Grampy (Stephen DeRosa), an eccentric Rube Goldberg–esque inventor, and his dog, Pudgy (a puppet operated by Phillip Huber).

When reporter Arnie Finkle (Colin Bradbury) asks her, “Who is the real Betty Boop?,” Betty suddenly begins examining her life. She tells Grampy, “It’s not something a girl like me has any right to complain about. I just . . . well, the attention is getting to be a little much. I’m not talking about men chasing me around a room with drool spilling out of their mouths. A good heavy frying pan takes care of them. I’m talking about being famous. People staring at me, taking my picture and wanting my autograph, or one of my shoes.” She adds, “I’ve played so many roles, I don’t know who I am anymore!”

Dreaming of spending one ordinary day as “Miss Nobody from Nowhere,” she sneaks into Grampy’s trans-dimensional tempus locus actuating electro-ambulator and finds herself at Comic Con 2025 in the Javits Center, where everything is in full color, including her. As she deals with the shock, she is helped by a kind man named Dwayne (Ainsley Melham) and superfan Trisha (Angelica Hale). Everyone breaks out into the roof-raising “In Color,” featuring dazzling costumes by Gregg Barnes, superb lighting by Philip S. Rosenberg and sound by Gareth Owen, fab projections by Finn Ross, and exciting choreography by two-time Tony winner Jerry Mitchell, who also directs. “It’s gonna lift you ten feet off the ground!” an attendee dressed as the Scarlet Witch proclaims, and that’s just how the audience feels as well, being lifted above David Rockwell’s terrific sets.

However, it all comes crashing down back to earth, and the rest of the show is a disappointing slog as the narrative falls apart and book writer Bob Martin, who cowrote Smash, decides the plot doesn’t have to make a bit of sense. Grampy propels himself and Pudgy into the color-future, where he reconnects with his lost love, Valentina (Faith Prince). Trisha brings Betty — now calling herself Betsy, not admitting she is the real Betty Boop — back to her house in Harlem, where she lives with her aunt Carol (Anastacia McCleskey) and her jazz-loving older brother, Dwayne. Carol is the campaign manager for the slimy Raymond Demarest (Erich Bergen), a mayoral candidate obsessed with sanitation. “When you think of solid waste, think Raymond Demarest” is one of his slogans.

Jokes repeat. Songs are unnecessary. Plot twists meander and confuse.

Yes, Max Fleischer’s original Betty Boop films might not have had the tightest scripts, but they had to fill seven minutes; the musical runs two and a half hours (with intermission) and, despite a lovely lead performance by Rogers in her Broadway debut, is unable to sustain itself, losing focus again and again, choosing style over substance, trying to stuff too much into a show that had tremendous potential.

Smash ends up being more of a dud on Broadway (photo by Matthew Murphy)

SMASH
Imperial Theatre
249 West 45th St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through January 4, $69-$321
smashbroadway.com

Is Smash a smash?

After seeing Smash on Broadway, I did some research on the 2012–13 series it is based on, which I had never watched. Created by Theresa Rebeck, who has written such plays as Seminar, Bernhardt/Hamlet, and I Need That, the NBC show offered a backstage look at the making of a musical based on Marilyn Monroe, called Bombshell, and featured a wide-ranging cast of theater performers, including Debra Messing, Christian Borle, Megan Hilty, Brian d’Arcy James, Jeremy Jordan, Leslie Odom Jr., Krysta Rodriguez, Will Chase, and Katharine McPhee. Rebeck got fired after the first season, and the program was canceled after the low-rated, problematic second season.

The criticisms about the Broadway musical that kept popping up in the reddit threads coalesced around major changes in the central plot, altering character motivations, keeping songs that were now irrelevant, and the inability to decide whether it is camp, a farce, or a more serious look at backstage shenanigans. Many fans also said they’d rather have seen Bombshell itself as a fully fledged Broadway musical instead of the current adaptation which they found undercooked and overwrought, in need of more tinkering and workshopping.

It wasn’t so much the content of the complaints that grabbed my attention as the general chaos they all alluded to and confirmed my thoughts that the Broadway Smash is a dud, a complete mess that is not ready for prime time on the Great White Way.

Robyn Hurder stars as Ivy Lynn, a Broadway fave who has been tapped to play Marilyn in Bombshell, which is being written by the married team of Tracy Morales (Krysta Rodriguez) and Jerry Stevens (John Behlmann) and directed and choreographed by Nigel Davies (Brooks Ashmanskas). Ivy Lynn’s longtime, loyal understudy is the extremely talented Karen Cartwright (Caroline Bowman), whose husband, Charlie (Casey Garvin), is playing Joe DiMaggio and likes to bring homemade cupcakes to the set; Nigel’s assistant, Chloe Zervoulian (Bella Coppola), is charged with trying to hold it all together; and producer Anita Molina Kuperman (Jacqueline B. Arnold) keeps her eyes on the budget, followed along by her social media assistant, Scott (Nicholas Matos).

It’s all thrown into disarray when Tracy and Jerry give Ivy Lynn a book on method acting by Susan Proctor (Kristine Nielsen), who Ivy Lynn hires as her coach; Susan, looking like a witch from The Crucible, convinces Ivy Lynn to remain in character 24/7 and whispers advice in ther ear, often contrary to what the director, cast, and crew are doing. As Ivy Lynn, who is popping pills Susan gave her, becomes more and more nasty and demanding, Karen spends more and more time in the limelight, along with Chloe, as they prepare for a critical dress rehearsal for investors and influencers.

The songs, by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, are repurposed from the TV series but often feel out of place here, with uninspiring orchestrations by Doug Besterman. The book, by Bob Martin and Rick Elice, lacks any kind of cohesion, as characters repeat themselves, relationships grow stale, subplots come and go, jokes about drinking and drugging are offensive, and, basically, most of what happens is hard to swallow, as Tony-winning director Susan Stroman has no chance of making any of it work and choreographer Joshua Bergasse can’t kick it into high gear.

No, Smash is no smash.

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

HERE I AM: A TRANS RABBI SHARES HER STORY IN BECOMING EVE

Tommy Dorfman stars as a trans rabbi trying to come out to her father in Becoming Eve (photo by Matthew Murphy)

BECOMING EVE
Abrons Arts Center Playhouse Theater
466 Grand St. at Pitt St.
Through April 27, $29.88-$130
212-598-0400
www.nytw.org
www.abronsartscenter.org

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, synagogues around the world read and discuss Genesis 22:1–24, the story of Abraham’s binding of his son Isaac on Mount Sinai, preparing him as a human sacrifice until an angel of G-d intervenes, replacing Isaac with a ram at the last moment. Known as the Akedah, the passage has been hotly debated for millennia by religious leaders, scholars, and laypeople, exploring issues of faith, obedience, familial responsibility, and the value of human life.

One line of thought considers whether Abraham, and perhaps Isaac as well, is aware that it is a test and that Abraham believed that G-d never planned on having him go ahead with the slaughter of the son who was born to him and his wife Sarah in their old age.

In Emil Weinstein’s debut play, the searing Becoming Eve, another interpretation comes to the fore: whether what happened on Mount Sinai was actually a transformation of Isaac’s soul from female to male, as argued by Rabbi Yechiel Michel of Zloczow in the seventeenth century.

Based on Abby Chava Stein’s 2019 memoir, Becoming Eve: My Journey from Ultra-Orthodox Rabbi to Transgender Woman, the lightly fictionalized play, continuing at Abrons Arts Center through April 27, focuses on Chava (Tommy Dorfman), a trans rabbi who has not come out yet to her deeply religious family, whose ancestors include the Baal Shem Tov, the eighteenth-century founder of Hasidism.

Chava has been spotted wearing a dress in midtown Manhattan by a member of her parents’ tight-knit Williamsburg community, and, fearing that the observer will reveal her secret, she decides to tell her father, Tati (Richard Schiff), and mother, Mami (Judy Kuhn), enlisting the support of Jonah (Brandon Uranowitz), a rabbi who has recently started a progressive shul on the Upper West Side.

Chava is afraid her parents won’t understand, explaining to Jonah, “They live in a hermetically sealed nineteenth-century village that happens to be in Brooklyn. They don’t know the Internet. They don’t know Superman.”

Jonah is excited to learn of Reb. Michela’s interpretation, proclaiming, “That story has always confounded me. This essential paradox, at the very start of our religion, G-d telling Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, his beloved son, when G-d has just promised Abraham that Isaac will father generations! How can both be true? But the whole story is about both-ness, right? This essential both-ness that Abraham has to contend with. But it makes so much sense with the Michela commentary. It cracks the whole thing open. The sacrifice is actually a transformation, which is so essentially Jewish. We’re the people of transition. Of exodus, of leaving and starting over, of walking through doorways. And doorways are fundamentally about liminality, right? The in-between space between two extremes! Between borders and genders and sexualities and — This may have cracked open my Rosh Hashanah speech.”

Tati (Richard Schiff) reads Scripture next to a puppet of his son in powerful new play (photo by Matthew Murphy)

Chava is disappointed when only Tati shows up, and she hesitates in sharing her truth. As she delays, the narrative shifts back and forth between the present and the past, depicted in poignant memory scenes from Chava’s childhood in which she is portrayed by a series of Bunraku-style puppets that get bigger and older as Chava does; they’re operated by Justin Perkins and Emma Wiseman, dressed in all black, with Dorfman standing with them, speaking the dialogue in darkness.

The vignettes begin with Chava at the age of two and a half, when Tati, thrilled to finally have a son after five daughters, wants to bring his boy to shul for the first time and Mami disagrees. At six, Chava is asking Tati whether doctors will someday be able to perform full-body transplants. At thirteen, Chava is taught by Tati how to put on tefillin; he explains, “The tefillin binds us, father and son, together to the end of time,” recalling the Akedah. At sixteen, Chava grows close with a curious schoolmate, Chesky (Rad Pereira). And at nineteen, Chava is introduced to Fraidy (Tedra Millan), who has been chosen to be his bride.

Meanwhile, in the present day, Chava, Jonah, and Tati have intriguing conversations about family and the Torah. Tati is confused when Jonah offers, “I left Judaism completely for a few years, actually, and then I found my way back, through transdenominational Renewal Judaism, which takes a lot of inspiration from the Hasidic masters.” Tati doesn’t understand why Chava is refusing to attend her brother’s upcoming wedding. When Jonah mentions that Steven Spielberg helped fund the local Yiddish Book Center, Tati claims to have never heard of him. Chava reminds her father that, as a teenager, he had snuck out of his house to see Jaws, an event that he is ashamed of. “You looked America in the teeth and it scared you back to Williamsburg,” Chava says. Tati replies, “I wasn’t scared. It was clearly a machine.” Jonah adds, “Machines can be scary,” to which Tati concludes, “Only if you let them run your life,” a clever reference to biblical fundamentalists like Tati.

Presented by New York Theatre Workshop, Becoming Eve was initially scheduled for the Connelly Theater but had to be moved after the New York Archdiocese, which runs the venue, canceled the show because of its content. Archdiocese director of communications Joseph Zwilling wrote in a statement, “It is the standard practice of the archdiocese that nothing should take place on Church-owned property that is contrary to the teaching of the Church. That applies to plays, television shows, or movies being shot, music videos being recorded, or other performances.” The Connelly is part of the Cornelia Connelly Center, a nonprofit whose mission is “to champion girls, empowering them to realize their full potential from middle school through college and beyond.”

Tony winner Brandon Uranowitz plays an Upper West Side rabbi in Becoming Eve (photo by Matthew Murphy)

The play, which is in English but the characters are actually speaking in Yiddish and Hebrew, feels much more at home at Abrons Arts Center on the Lower East Side, where immigrant Jewish communities have thrived for more than a century. Abrons is part of the Henry Street Settlement, which was established in the late-nineteenth century and whose mission is “to open doors of opportunity for Lower East Side residents and other New Yorkers through social service, arts, and health care programs.”

To signal time shifts, Ben Stanton’s lighting goes dark and UptownWorks’ (Daniela Hart, Noel Nichols, Bailey Trieweiler) sound explodes before Daniel Kluger’s music calms things down. The convincing puppets are by Amanda Villalobos, who has previously worked on such shows as Is This a Room, Wolf Play, and The Old Country.

Becoming Eve unfolds on Arnulfo Maldonado’s exquisitely detailed set, an upstairs office with overstuffed bookcases, a small kitchen, a flyer for a production of The Hamantaschen Monologues, exposed air ducts, Jonah’s cluttered desk, a cabinet with two Torah scrolls, a bemah, and three arched windows. Enver Chakartash’s costumes range from Chava’s sexy dress to Jonah’s casual clothing to Tati’s traditional Hasidic garb.

Weinstein, a trans man who, as a teenager, attended the synagogue that Stein had left, writes incisive dialogue that avoids becoming, well, preachy and didactic, with unexpected twists and turns that are guided with expert precision by director Tyne Rafaeli (Epiphany, The Coast Starlight). Dorfman (Romeo + Juliet, “Daddy”) is heartbreaking as Chava, who is desperate to be accepted by her family; it is wrenching when she changes from her revealing dress to a zipped-up hoodie, terrified at how her father might react. Unrecognizable Emmy winner Schiff (Glengarry Glen Ross, The West Wing) is sensational as the long-bearded Tati, a respectable man stuck in the past, unwilling to face the realities of the modern era.

Tony winner Uranowitz (Falsettos, An American in Paris) is eminently likable as Jonah, a rabbi who understands just how to bridge the gap between Chava and Tati. Three-time Tony nominee Kuhn (Fun Home, Les Misérables) and Millan (On the Shore of the Wide World, The Wolves) excel as the key women in Chava’s life, while Pereira (Take Care, Madonna col Bambino) is touching as Chesky.

One of the best plays of the year, Becoming Eve begins with Chava singing Ariana Grande’s “Break Free,” which includes the lyrics “If you want it, take it / I should have said it before / Tried to hide it, fake it / I can’t pretend anymore,” and ends with SOPHIE’s “Immaterial” (“Im-ma-ma-material, immaterial / Immaterial boys, immaterial girls / Im-ma-ma-material, immaterial / We’re just, im-ma-ma-material [I could be anything I want] / Immaterial, immaterial boys [anyhow, anywhere] / Immaterial girls [any place, anyone that I want] / Im-ma-ma-material, immaterial”).

In Genesis 22:1, G-d calls out to Abraham, who answers, “Hineni” — “Here I am” — which is also the name of one of the most beautiful Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur prayers, sung in the shul by the cantor, who is representing the congregation despite their own personal faults and transgressions. The final word of Weinstein’s play is also “hineni,” a defiant conclusion to a complex, thought-provoking work about who we are, how we are seen by others, and everything in between.

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

FIRST LOVE AND TMI: RYAN J. HADDAD’S HOLD ME IN THE WATER

Ryan J. Haddad thinks it might be love in Hold Me in the Water at Playwrights Horizons (photo by Valerie Terranova)

HOLD ME IN THE WATER
Playwrights Horizons, the Judy Theater
416 West 42nd St. between Ninth & Tenth Aves.
Tuesday-Sunday through May 4, $62.50 – $102.50
www.playwrightshorizons.org

Even with a heavy dose of TMI, Ryan J. Haddad’s Hold Me in the Water is a poignant, touching, and very funny solo show about first love.

In such previous plays as Hi, Are You Single? and Dark Disabled Stories and the immersive installation Wings and Rings in the pandemic presentation The Watering Hole at the Signature, Haddad has shared important moments from his life as a queer actor and writer with cerebral palsy.

Rising from below the stage on a lift like a rock star, he opens his new show, running at Playwrights Horizons through May 4, by saying, “I’m Ryan J. Haddad. For those of you who don’t know me, I don’t know how you ended up here! But for those of you who don’t know me . . .” He then describes himself and the set to the audience, detailing what he looks like and what he is wearing, providing access to those who are blind or have low vision; in addition, everything he says is projected as surtitles for the hard of hearing.

For seventy minutes, Haddad, baring his soul while using his metallic posterior or reverse posture-control walker, moves around dots’ blue set, which features a nine-inch-high platform, a long, narrow bench, and a pair of modular cubes. The story begins in June 2018, when Haddad immediately fell for a beautiful boy at a summer artist residency in upstate New York. During a pair of inaccessible activities, one at a bookstore, the other at the beach — “Ryan doesn’t do the beach,” he notes — he receives help from “the boy,” as he calls him.

In the first case, Haddad explains, “His grip was firm. He went ahead of me and I leaned on his strong frame as I pulled my legs up one at a time. We walked through the door together. He waited for someone else to bring my walker up behind me before he let go. No questions had to be asked. No mishaps. The trust between our bodies — my hand, his hand — was magnetic and instinctual. And I told him that. And then we started texting.”

They get even closer at the beach, where the boy never lets go, making Haddad feel safe in the water and part of the group. “It was . . . um . . . it was the most intimate I had ever been with another man,” Haddad confesses.

Haddad wants it to be more, and when they start seeing each other, albeit with stops and starts, he thinks he might have found his first true love, shocked “that someone that attractive, that kind, that talented and dreamy and sexy would want to show me any sort of romantic affection.” But Haddad also learn some hard truths about relationships.

Several times, Haddad dives headfirst into graphic depictions of sex that go too far, regardless of race, gender, or whether it involves people with a physical, sensory, or intellectual disability or not. That much intimate, very specific information is a lot to take.

Otherwise, Haddad is an engaging storyteller, discussing emotions that everyone can relate to, from fear, loneliness, and lack of self-esteem to love, trust, and self-confidence. He connects with the audience from that initial ascent; director Danny Sharron gives Haddad plenty of room to reveal his deepest desires.

It’s a relaxed performance: The house lights are on dim, audience members can make sounds and move about to make sure they’re comfortable, and they can leave and come back if they need to use the facilities or require a break in a safe space on the second floor. There will also be select shows requiring masks, with ASL interpreters or audio description, and other enhancements.

As with Dark Disabled Stories, it’s a new way to experience theater, and its inclusivity and accessibility both echo and frame the themes of Haddad’s compelling narrative.

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

SISTERS ARE DOING IT FOR THEMSELVES: LESBIAN EROTICA AT HERE

Bailey Williams and Emma Horwitz open up a lot of boxes at HERE Arts Center (photo by HanJie Chow)

TWO SISTERS FIND A BOX OF LESBIAN EROTICA IN THE WOODS
HERE Arts Center
145 Sixth Ave.
Through May 3, $45
here.org

If you’re going to call your show Two Sisters Find a Box of Lesbian Erotica in the Woods, you had better live up to that amazing title. On- and offstage partners Emma Horwitz and Bailey Williams do just that and more in a rollicking extravaganza about art aesthetics and sisterhood in all their varying forms.

Extended at HERE Arts Center through May 3, the coproduction from Rattlestick Theater and New Georges starts with Horwitz bopping behind a desk, deejaying on her laptop; the playlist includes MUNA’s “Number One Fan,” Lady Gaga’s “Abracadabra,” and Le Tigre’s “Deceptacon,” which boasts, “Wanna disco? Wanna see me disco? / Let me hear you depoliticize my rhyme . . . Because I’m so bored that I’d be entertained / Even by a stupid floor, a linoleum floor, linoleum floor.”

Horwitz is surrounded by a semicircle of hundreds of carefully stacked bankers boxes with such labels as “Co-dependent Defendents” [sic], “Broken Vibrators,” “Top Chef Bottom Chef,” “Help! My Ex Has a Popular Podcast,” and “Gay Girls Who Like Gay Boys Who Also Like Gay Girls.” Over the course of the play — which runs exactly sixty-nine minutes, Williams explains with a smile — many of the boxes will be opened and explored, exposing clever, hilarious, and at times revealing plot devices.

In addition to portraying various versions of themselves, Horwitz is also an interviewer, a trucker, a doctor, a researcher, a businessman, and an executed spy/opera lover while Williams is an artist, a barback, a patient, an escort, a secretary, and a babysitter/pizza deliverer, among other characters. Across sixteen scenarios, they visit a pet shop, a diner, a black box theater, a lesbian spaceship, and the First Annual NIPPLI Conference, in which the National Institute for Paranormal Psychic Lesbian Investigations “posits that there are a number of energetic hotspots that produce hyper-dimensional gateways of electromagnetic significance. . . . They cannot — yet — transport humans. But they can — and do — transport lesbian erotica.”

The piece is inherently self-referential, fully aware that it is an experimental work taking place in a downtown venue, performed by a real-life queer couple to an ecstatic audience. Horwitz and Williams were inspired by such avant-garde theater companies as Split Britches and Five Lesbian Brothers, the woman-run erotica magazine On Our Backs, and the actual Reddit forum “We gotta talk about porn in the woods,” where people post stories of, well, finding lesbian erotica in the woods.

Two Sisters Find a Box of Lesbian Erotica in the Woods consists of a series of wildly funny and fiendishly clever vignettes (photo by HanJie Chow)

One of the show’s leitmotifs involves a mysterious performance artist known as Valentina, who interviewer Emma and artist Bailey may or may not know, have collaborated with, or had a relationship with. When Emma says she recently received a postcard from Valentina, Bailey says, “That is so very, very Valentina . . . a woman with extremely clear boundaries between work and play. Anyway, this is all – we’re here to talk about my new piece, I think?” In describing a previous performance installation, Body Double and the Doubled Body, Bailey explains, “I am here, I am my work.”

Slyly toying with notions of clear professional and personal boundaries, Horwitz and Williams also explore the multiple meanings of “sister,” from blood siblings to chosen family members to women who are good friends supporting each other — and, as another Reddit asks, “to lesbian couples, are you often mistaken as sisters?”

When artist Bailey tells interviewer Emma that she lives with her wife in Rhinebeck, interviewer Emma responds, “Oh! I thought you were sisters!” In a postcard to Valentina, Bailey writes about their pretending to be sisters and drinking Champagne in first class aboard a steamer ship. In another vignette, Emma and Bailey play sisters both named Christina, who are in business together giving psychic readings. “A sister is your first and greatest love,” Christina Bailey says.

Serious issues concerning queer culture, sexual orientation, societal rules and regulations, and private relationships pop up, but always through a comic lens that never gets overbearing or preachy. Tara Elliott (Illiterates, Burq Off!) directs the proceedings with a gleeful immediacy that sucks the audience in from the very start. Normandy Sherwood’s set, costumes, and props (red heels, gloves, soda cans, vibrators) all add to the fun, along with Josiah Davis’s humorous lighting and Johnny Gasper’s witty sound design.

Dancing, singing, telling jokes, and sharing wildly entertaining stories, Horwitz and Williams are so charming and engaging, so welcoming and self-possessed, that you’ll just want to give them both big hugs and hang out with them more — but don’t; that will have to wait for their next show, which can’t come soon enough.

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