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.
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.
Memoirs of Amorous Gentlemen, directed and choreographed by Rob Ashford, is a visually arresting musical whose dark, decadent atmosphere proves more compelling than its book. Though the production’s inventive design draws audiences into the seedy world of a Parisian brothel, the visual experience ultimately outshines the material it serves.
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.
King of the Yees, playwright Lauren Yee’s most recent play, packs a comic punch that rattles the mind into a state of confusion. If the objective is to pack as much comedy as possible into a two-hour play about a daughter’s appreciation of her father, then well done. However, Joshua Kahan Brody’s direction sets such a frantic pace that one frequently finds oneself asking: What is happening now, and who is that? And because three of the actors play no fewer than six characters each, the production has the feel of a madcap comedy. It is a silly and sentimental story.
Sashay away? Nah, in Little House on the Ferry the drag queen tap-dances—and it’s just one of the old-fashioned musical-theater pleasures of this exuberant production, described in promotional material as an “immersive nightclub musical.”
