British fascism may have preceded Hitler and Mussolini, but those dictators inspired homegrown demagogues who reveled in mass rallies and mobilized Blackshirts to harass and terrorize impoverished immigrants. Tim Gilvin’s and Alex Kanefsky’s musical Cable Street recounts, in scenes alternating between the modern day and 1936, how British fascism turned out differently, as residents of London’s multicultural East End united to deter a right-wing rally on their turf.
The closing of Bad Cinderella in June 2023 may have ended Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 43-year Broadway streak, but it sparked a radical re-interpretation of his hit shows from the 1980s and ’90s. Last season featured a stripped-down, video-heavy revival of Sunset Boulevard, while a ballroom-inspired Cats: The Jellicle Ball is currently running. Next season, Jamie Lloyd’s pulsing, monochromatic revival of Evita, having triumphed in London, arrives in New York. However, the most transformative reimagining has arrived with Masquerade, an immersive and interactive Off-Broadway production that deconstructs and reconfigures The Phantom of the Opera.
Titling her play Heartbreak Hotel is a major bit of misdirection from New Zealand dramatist Karin McCracken. Elvis’s recording of his classic 1956 single (by Mae Boren Axton and Tommy Durden) is barely mentioned, and its bouncy blues are a far cry from McCracken’s gloomier deep dive into the nature of heartbreak. Directed by Eleanor Bishop, the play reaches beyond McCracken’s personal drama to examine unexpected, more clinical aspects of a breakup, such as psychological, biological, and physiological symptoms. Interspersed with those sequences are musical interludes—she took up the synthesizer to occupy herself after the end of a six-year relationship, and she has learned six “powerful” chords.
Two occupants of 59E59 from recent seasons inform the new musical now playing there. The Sabbath Girl, from 2024, was a sweet musical romance of a Jew and a non-Jew in modern-day Manhattan. Dear Jack, Dear Louise, from 2025, had playwright Ken Ludwig affectionately serving up the epistolary wartime courtship of his parents, an Army doctor and a chorus girl. Pour these two shows into a blender, add a generation, hit Purée, and you come up with How My Grandparents Fell in Love.
The poster for Milo Cramer’s No Singing in the Navy, showing three wide-eyed sailors, evokes classic military-themed musicals—not only wartime ones like On the Town (1944) and Anchors Aweigh (1945), but also the nostalgia-tinted shows of a generation later: Dames at Sea (1966) and Over Here! (1974). Its “score,” however, bears little resemblance to melody-rich 1930s and ’40s musicals, and its book is awash with absurdist episodes that misfire.
Boasting a top-notch cast and a bona fide writing team, Monte Cristo, the York Theatre’s new musical, appears to be a guaranteed hit. Based on Alexandre Dumas’s classic novel The Count of Monte Cristo and Charles Fechter's play of the same name from 1848, the work seems a natural choice for musicalization. Its depictions of romantic heroism, retribution, and redemption are the core elements of other French masterpieces turned musicals, such as Les Misérables and The Phantom of the Opera. Yet, for all its pedigree, Monte Cristo is a major disappointment. It lacks the sweeping grandeur, the bombast, and the unapologetic sentimentality that have transformed its predecessors into long-running, billion-dollar enterprises.
In My Joy Is Heavy, a raw yet warmly disarming musical memoir, musician-actors Abigail and Shaun Bengson open the doors of their family life and loss to the audience. Under the sensitive direction of Rachel Chavkin, the production blurs the boundary between stage and house, transforming private grief into a communal—and unexpectedly joyful—theatrical encounter.
There are, a variety of sources have it, no legitimate rhymes for “orange.” But get a load of: “Yes, I know it feels foreign/ Just to suck a week-old Mandarin orange.” In About Time, the new revue at the Marjorie S. Deane, Richard Maltby Jr. does it. And he’s 88.
Silver Manhattan, a modestly scaled musical about guitarist-singer Jesse Malin that was recently workshopped at the Gramercy Theatre, has moved downtown to the Bowery Palace, a gemütlich arts venue that opened last month. At street level, the Palace is an upscale bar; the basement, previously a dance club, is now a cozy, 100-seat playhouse, ideal for Silver Manhattan.
In I Wish My Life Were Like a Musical, written by Alexander S. Bermange and directed by Eamon Foley, four talented performers share their love of musicals—even though their show has just closed unexpectedly. The plucky quartet spends the ensuing 75 minutes delightfully recounting their personal reasons for loving theater while spoofing some of the most popular musicals of all time. Their commitment to the genre is infectious. And even though their love is temporarily unrequited, they wave the banner of devotion like Jean Valjean from Les Misérables, one of the many shows parodied.
For nearly 70 years, the songs of Burt Bacharach, one of the most renowned and versatile figures in contemporary music, crossed genres, continents, and cultures. He collaborated with and accompanied the music industry’s finest singers, lyricists, and fellow musicians. Going Bacharach, directed by David Zippel, is a revue of Bacharach’s musical genesis and his many cross-genre innovations.
The 1975 Australian film Picnic at Hanging Rock unfurls an atmospheric, unsettling little story of mysterious forces disturbing the titular outing, enjoyed by students at a Victoria, Australia, girls’ school circa 1900. In the movie, director Peter Weir keeps the proceedings eerie and foreboding as some of the girls on the picnic just vanish, leaving their classmates and the school personnel baffled and devastated. A well-deserved international success, Picnic at Hanging Rock grips the viewer even as not a lot happens: the film is all mood. The emotions are strong, but nothing about it screams, “I need to be sung.”
Gotta Dance, conceived by Nikki Feirt, is a choreographic musical revue of dances from Broadway shows—all performed by an expert cast of performers who sing and dance. The production, codirected by Feirt and Randy Skinner, flows well, and each number benefits from being staged by someone who had intimate knowledge of the original.
When Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life premiered a few days before Christmas in 1946, New York Times reviewer Bosley Crowther was not exactly filled with glad tidings. “The weakness of this picture,” he bah-humbugged, “is the sentimentality of it—its illusory concept of life.” He observed that the small-town denizens represented in the film, “all resemble theatrical attitudes rather than average realities.” In a return engagement of Irish Repertory Theatre’s It’s a Wonderful Life! A Live Radio Play, Anthony E. Palermo’s adaptation of the film’s screenplay unapologetically leans into the sentimentality and accentuates the theatrical attitudes to deliver a sparkling and joyful Yuletide delight.
The musical The Baker’s Wife has had a notoriously checkered history. With a book by Joseph Stein and music and lyrics by the young Stephen Schwartz, it first appeared in 1976. But, amid casting changes (Patti LuPone survived) and infighting, producer David Merrick closed it before it got to Broadway. Over the years it has had many iterations, in hopes of correcting whatever sank it then (critics excoriated the book but praised the music). LuPone’s song “Meadowlark” has become a standard for cabaret singers. The current revival at the Classic Stage Company (CSC), boasting a stellar cast, is likely to be its best shot at resuscitation.
Adapting a Thornton Wilder play into a musical has notable historical precedents. His 1954 comedy, The Matchmaker, was, of course, the basis for Hello, Dolly! And in 1955, Our Town was transformed into a live television musical starring Frank Sinatra. Now comes The Seat of Our Pants, based on Wilder’s wildest work, his 1942 Pulitzer Prize–winner, The Skin of Our Teeth. Under the direction of Leigh Silverman, with book and score by Ethan Lipton, this faithful interpretation gets by on novelty in the first act, thrives on its merits in the second, and offers hope, if not structure, in the third.
In this theatrical age of digital scenery, hybrid storytelling and contemporary subject matter, Reunions seems old-fashioned with its painted backdrop for scenery and simply told stories set in pre–World War I Europe. Yet from this old-fashioned presentation come many of the show’s pleasures, including some charming ditties, fine period costumes and note-perfect performances, particularly by a couple of beloved old hands of the New York stage.
Rare is the musical that begins with an undescended testicle. But that’s the opening parry of Fixing Frankie, by Joe Langworth (book and lyrics) and Steve Marzullo (music). More than the troubled hero’s scrotum needs fixing, and Langworth and Marzullo take him down some curious byways, piling on unnecessary details and side stories. Ultimately, though, Frankie’s healing is a touching little story, if one that could use a little touching up.
Holocaust historians have documented how heroes and heroines, Jews and Gentiles, put themselves at mortal risk to rescue others—but of those who have escaped, how many would re-enter a war zone and twice court danger? Hannah Szenesh, the Folksbiene Yiddish Theater’s one-woman musical drama, written and directed by David Schechter, is a sweeping testimony to the talent and courage of one such heroine.
The Essentialisn’t is the most awkward title of the theater season so far, but never mind that. Eisa Davis’s intimate musical enfolds its spectators in the cultural recollection of the earliest Africans brought to this country and in Davis’s own search for identity through music, acting, and dance. It’s an ambitious undertaking focused on what Davis calls “personal sovereignty.” Davis, who is billed as creator, performer, and director, poses a multivalent question—“Can you be Black and not perform”—which appears in bright fuchsia neon onstage throughout the play.
The new stage musical Saturday Church traces a Black teenager’s search for belonging through the glittering rhythms of ballroom culture and queer self-expression. Based loosely on Damon Cardasis’s 2017 indie film, the musical unites Cardasis and James Ijames’s book with songs from Sia’s catalogue, as well as Honey Dijon’s music.
This Is Not a Drill is York Theatre’s second production in a year built on a people-stuck-in-a-hotel template. Last December’s Welcome to the Big Dipper involved a blizzard; in Drill, guests of Honolulu’s Hibiscus Resort have their trips disrupted by an emergency alert about an inbound missile.
Emotions turn on a dime in The Porch on Windy Hill, the “new play with old music” at Urban Stages. They’re illogical and inconsistent, and that’s why you’ll probably enjoy the old music more than the new play, which is by Sherry Stregack Lutken, Lisa Helmi Johanson, Morgan Morse, and David M. Lutken. But as for the old music, you are likely to enjoy it very much indeed.
With sharp humor and raw vulnerability, Michael Levin’s Sober Songs, directed by Chris Mackin, dives into the tangled lives of six young adults navigating recovery and their gruff but compassionate sponsor, Cap. Through emotional ballads and witty dialogue, the musical delivers a candid, character-driven look at the messy highs and lows of sobriety.
Any number of things can go wrong when attempting a musical parody of The Exorcist. After all, William Friedkin’s 1973 classic horror movie was itself rumored to be cursed, having experienced more than its share of injuries and deaths during filming. Plus, it can be tricky finding the yucks in William Peter Blatty’s story, which takes blood and puke as seriously as it does Satan and the priesthood. Writer and performer Michael Shaw Fisher gives it a shot nonetheless with Exorcistic: The Rock Musical. Its dynamic cast is wholly committed to the bit and sing as if possessed, but Fisher’s script, which he began drafting in 2012, is convoluted to the point that audience members may be left wondering what the devil is going on.
Rolling Thunder, a hybrid jukebox musical and Vietnam War docudrama, has, in fact, been on a roll. After opening in Brisbane in 2014, it toured Australia twice, in 2016 and 2023. Now, marking the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the war, writer and onetime Sydney Morning Herald theater critic Bryce Hallett has adapted his script for an American audience, bringing this hard-rocking reckoning of the 1960s to New World Stages for its Off-Broadway premiere.
For at least two decades, musical theater has been adapting existing intellectual properties that have had cultural impact with teen audiences, such as Hairspray, Mean Girls, and the recent production of Beetlejuice. Heathers the Musical, a 2014 iteration of Daniel Waters’s 1988 film, is one of those that found new life through song. With book, music, and lyrics written by Kevin Murphy and Lawrence O’Keefe, the musical took the film’s signature sardonic humor to new heights during its original Off-Broadway run.
With Breakin’ NYC, director and choreographer Angel Kaba transforms the stage into a pulsing time machine, tracing hip-hop dance’s rise from the pavement of the Bronx to the global spotlight of the Olympic Games. More than a dance showcase, the production is a celebration of resilience, rhythm, and rebellion—told through the language of hip-hop. After a popular holiday run of 20 performances last year, Breakin’ NYC returns with its vibe intact. The charismatic Ajalé Olaseni Coard hosts the 75-minute show and keeps everything moving along.
LightningCloud, a portmanteau of the wife-and-husband writing team Crystle Lightning and Henry Cloud Andrade, have rumbled into town with their touring production of Bear Grease. Inspired by a certain 1972 stage hit, and even more so by the subsequent film version starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, this Indigenous take on an old favorite asks the musical question: What if the hot boys and cool girls of high school also happen to be Enoch Cree and Huichol? However, as directed by Lightning, the more relevant query for this rambling vehicle is: What happens when a piece that began life as a one-hour parody is stretched into a two-hour variety show?
Before the age of global pop stardom, there was Harry Lauder—a kilted powerhouse of British music hall and vaudeville whose songs and irrepressible personality made him one of the most beloved entertainers of the early 20th century. In Lauder: Scotland’s Kilted King of Broadway, Jamie MacDougall brings this larger-than-life figure back to the stage with infectious warmth and musical flair that turns biography into jubilant theatrical celebration.