Tristan & Yseult, Emma Rice’s exuberant reimagining of the legendary medieval romance, transforms a tragic tale of forbidden love into a theatrically inventive blend of music, irreverent humor, and physical comedy. With a live band, imaginative staging, and a playful sensibility, Rice, who directs, creates a production that moves effortlessly between laughter and heartbreak, breathing fresh life into this timeless love story.
Since 2010’s That Hopey Changey Thing, Off-Broadway theatergoers have fretted over American politics alongside the Apple family, denizens of the Hudson Valley village of Rhinebeck. With We’ll See now at the Public Theater, playwright and director Richard Nelson presents the 13th installment of his “Rhinebeck Panorama” and his eighth Apple play (counting three COVID live streams). Thanks to a familiar and remarkable ensemble, and Nelson’s signature fly-on-the-wall naturalism, We’ll See achieves its quiet, bittersweet power by placing larger political concerns alongside the hyper-specific and finely drawn relationships of its characters.
Welcome to a 21st-century American Jewish home, where whatever comes along is embraced with love—with some exceptions. Debbie Goodstein’s The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue introduces a prototypically eclectic family, who bear little resemblance to the Jews of their great-grandparents’ era.
In Dan Giles’s play The Charioteer, two siblings attempt to forge a relationship despite their reluctance to share their true feelings, wanting to connect but unsure of themselves. High school senior Charly (Mia Wurgaft) visits her brother Owen (Jake Horowitz) at college and has her first drink—and her first experience of getting blackout drunk. Owen, who went away to college a few years earlier, has essentially abandoned his family. Owen takes Charly along to an anarchist house party, where he essentially abandons her in favor of spending the night trying to reconcile with his ex-girlfriend Ellen.
Parcel from America subtitles itself “The Irish Musical,” and begorra, is it ever. A near-original, loosely adapted from a story by Tomáseen Foley, with music by Malcolm Hillgartner and Kevin Corcoran and book by Hillgartner, Jahnna Beecham, and Michael J. Hume, it wears its Irishness on its sleeve—not to mention on its brogues, its Aran sweaters, and set designer Harry Feiner’s evocative County Limerick backdrop. A placid evening, with goodhearted small-towners looking after one another and banding together as a community when one of its own is suffering, it’s a feel-good show, and a welcome one.
Tristan & Yseult, Emma Rice’s exuberant reimagining of the legendary medieval romance, transforms a tragic tale of forbidden love into a theatrically inventive blend of music, irreverent humor, and physical comedy. With a live band, imaginative staging, and a playful sensibility, Rice, who directs, creates a production that moves effortlessly between laughter and heartbreak, breathing fresh life into this timeless love story.
Since 2010’s That Hopey Changey Thing, Off-Broadway theatergoers have fretted over American politics alongside the Apple family, denizens of the Hudson Valley village of Rhinebeck. With We’ll See now at the Public Theater, playwright and director Richard Nelson presents the 13th installment of his “Rhinebeck Panorama” and his eighth Apple play (counting three COVID live streams). Thanks to a familiar and remarkable ensemble, and Nelson’s signature fly-on-the-wall naturalism, We’ll See achieves its quiet, bittersweet power by placing larger political concerns alongside the hyper-specific and finely drawn relationships of its characters.
Welcome to a 21st-century American Jewish home, where whatever comes along is embraced with love—with some exceptions. Debbie Goodstein’s The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue introduces a prototypically eclectic family, who bear little resemblance to the Jews of their great-grandparents’ era.
In Dan Giles’s play The Charioteer, two siblings attempt to forge a relationship despite their reluctance to share their true feelings, wanting to connect but unsure of themselves. High school senior Charly (Mia Wurgaft) visits her brother Owen (Jake Horowitz) at college and has her first drink—and her first experience of getting blackout drunk. Owen, who went away to college a few years earlier, has essentially abandoned his family. Owen takes Charly along to an anarchist house party, where he essentially abandons her in favor of spending the night trying to reconcile with his ex-girlfriend Ellen.
Jen Diamond has invented a deadly contagious disease, named her play after it, and set the drama during an outbreak. What is truly infectious in The Morbs, though, are its other storyline—about three former sorority sisters reuniting after several years—and the trio of dynamic performances that bring it to life.
In the post–World War II U.S.S.R., and in its satellites in Eastern Europe, any way of thinking that did not conform to Communist—that is, Stalinist—ideology was considered treasonous. Suspected traitors were tortured, imprisoned, and executed. The most rudimentary rigged trials were conducted, and the outcomes were predetermined. Laura Zlatos’ Show Trial gives a satirical spin to the actual trial of Milada Horakova, a 50-year-old women’s rights activist and parliamentarian, in 1949.
When there is a generation gap, when communication between children and parents goes awry, it often stems from divergent views, sometimes political, sometimes value-based, and sometimes both. Those parents who struggle to ease their children’s lives by providing them with material comforts that they themselves lacked are often disappointed when their kids reject affluence, and risk their financial or physical security for a greater “cause.” That is the case in playwright David Zax’s Aftermath.
Though advertised as “a new play,” Matthew Freeman’s The Ask, now at Theater 555, premiered in New York City more than two years ago. In this drama of ideas, two strong-willed strangers clash in a mating dance essential to American charities: the solicitation of wealthy donors by career fund-raisers. Back in 2024, The Ask--expertly directed by Jessi D. Hill--packed the same wallop it does now (and even more, thanks to the superb performance of Betsy Aidem as Greta); but the original run was brief and so far Off-Broadway that it failed to create the splash that might have been expected. Now, in a more prominent venue, again directed by Hill, this substantial intermissionless drama is likely to make waves and, in due course, be seen around the country.
Cicely Hamilton’s Phyl, a 1911 comedy that challenges the constraints imposed on women of the early suffragist era, is receiving its New York premiere from the Mint Theater Company. This rarely seen work by Hamilton—a leading British women’s rights activist—introduces a spirited heroine determined to break free from isolation and convention. Under Britt Berke’s direction, Phyl reveals the quiet radicalism of its heroine’s determination to pursue the life she desires.
As a portrait of two relationships imploding when the couples are confined together, Kate Vozella’s Machine Learning provides 90 minutes of fiercely acted, propulsive drama. As a portrait of AI’s expanding influence in our lives, however, it underwhelms.
Life for blacks in the antebellum South, during the Civil War, and for generations thereafter consisted of a confluence of injustices at the intersection of class, race, and gender. Todrick Hall's complex new musical Midnight grapples with those injustices by reimagining what it might be like if the oppressors became the oppressed.
In Degenerates, playwright Else Went explores the world of incels—typically heterosexual males who cannot form romantic or sexual relationships with women for a variety of reasons. Went’s script immerses the audience in incel and online slang, such as redpill (the belief in an alleged truth about women and the sexual marketplace) and weeb (a fan of Japanese popular culture, particularly anime) as it focuses on some of them, frustrated by loneliness and desiring unconditional love. The incels’ world turns out to be riveting theater.
Eugène Ionesco’s The Bald Soprano, a landmark of the Theatre of the Absurd, transforms the banalities of everyday conversation into a riotous comedy of linguistic confusion and human folly. Under Bradford Cover’s astute direction, the Resident Acting Company brings out the enduring brilliance of this classic, whose absurdist humor continues to resonate in a world where communication too often gives way to cacophony.
“I thought that was normal MAGA loonie. Is that QAnon?” asks Will (Jeremy Shamos) of his husband, Adam (Jeff Biehl), after they watch a TikTok video by their neighbor Jeanie (Crystal Finn) in the San Antonio suburb they have just moved to. Alas, pretty much everyone is familiar with MAGA looniness these days, but QAnon may be hazier, or merely shorthand for crazy. Anne Washburn tries to illuminate these dark corners of the Internet in Anon. The play is admirably ambitious, overlaying the story of the indoctrinated Jeanie and her family and neighbors with motifs and scenes from Shakespeare’s King Lear, though the results are mixed: ideas and characters feel as though they are still in the process of being worked out.
For the past eight years, Audible, the audiobook behemoth, has joined forces with the Minetta Lane Theatre to produce staged plays that are recorded and eventually made available as streaming audio “originals.” Given that history, their latest collaboration, Jamie Armitage’s A Ghost in Your Ear, is extremely on brand. This 90-minute haunting is set in a sound studio, most of the action involves the recording of an audiobook, and audience members listen to the tale via headphones. If the frights are milder than one might hope, the work surprisingly has something to say about the travails of fatherhood, while unintentionally delivering important lessons on the nature of live performance.
Fish, written by Melis Aker and directed by Tatiana Pandiani, is a darkly comic coming-of-age drama inspired by true events about a teenage girl whose search for her missing brother takes a disturbing turn. Set in London in 2016, the play follows 17-year-old Karya as she tests her Turkish mother’s increasingly plausible theory about her brother’s disappearance by launching an online experiment with her best friend, only to discover that some games carry sinister consequences.
On entering St. Ann’s Warehouse for Daniel Fish’s Kramer/Fauci, the entire expanse of the building is visible. The floor is matte black, and on the far wall a bank of lights beams intensely toward the audience, replicating a high school football stadium in Texas. Although the scenic design is credited to Jim Findlay, Joshua Higgason, and Amy Rubin, and the lighting to Scott Zielinski, the importance is the actors, who re-create a 1993 C-SPAN interview with writer (the novel Faggots; the play The Normal Heart) and ACT UP activist Larry Kramer (Thomas Jay Ryan) and Dr. Anthony Fauci (Will Brill), then known as the premier AIDS researcher in the country.
The word belong becomes an obsession for stoker Yank (Jon Beavers) in Eugene O’Neill’s 1922 play The Hairy Ape. Yank has spent his life shoveling coal on a transatlantic liner, and he is the tallest and seemingly strongest of the men doing that work in Ciarán O’Reilly’s engrossing production at the Irish Rep. Yank sees himself as the solid foundation of the entire society, but when a socialite visits the stokehold, it launches him on a downward spiral. He becomes obsessed with the idea that she could look at him only as a “hairy ape.”
Sara Fellini’s Ectoplasm is clearly engineered for a run in October, the month when the supernatural holds sway. Following the success of Paranormal Activity on Broadway, Ectoplasm might be expected to lean into horror and jump scares, but Fellini, who also directed, structures it more like a murder mystery. Though the material is overly familiar, Ectoplasm is buoyed by good acting, interesting details, and a few surprises.
For the first two scenes of Max Wolf Friedlich’s The Holes, the intrigue builds carefully, as a bartender named Joey Alexander (Bubba Weiler) hangs around his cozy but empty establishment on a snowy night. He soon has a visitor, a man (Grantham Coleman) calling himself “Paul,” who hands him an envelope full of cash and an ID that identifies him otherwise: as someone named Wesley. The cash gains Wesley entrée into the back room of the dive bar—in spite of arriving long after his assigned time. “Next time don’t be late,” says Weiler’s stern Joey, adding, “12:24 is not the same as 11:30.” What is behind that door constitutes a mystery that drives the narrative of The Holes. Friedlich calls his play a “fairy tale,” but the gay-inflected twaddle that follows is a far cry from Hans Christian Andersen.
