Elmer Rice’s The Adding Machine shows surprising vitality after more than a century. Although critic Edmund Wilson disdained the play in 1924 for its “pessimistic heresies” and “effects of ferocious ugliness,” the importance of it did not escape other critics. When Death of a Salesman premiered in 1949, Harold Clurman noted that the theme of Arthur Miller’s play was “not, strictly speaking, new to our stage,” citing Rice’s 1923 work. With Salesman now on Broadway to rehash the shortcomings of capitalism, the New Group deserves kudos for offering a chance to see its precursor.
A one-man theatrical hurricane, Ned Van Zandt barrels onto the stage in Lost in Del Valle, a genre-bending dark comedy that transforms the Huron Room at SoHo Playhouse into a fever dream of excess, ruin, and hard-won redemption. Directed with razor-sharp precision by Amir Arison, and accompanied on stage by guitarist Mike Moore, this U.S. premiere is as unflinching as it is mesmerizing—an unforgettable descent into the chaos of a life lived on the edge.
On the tiny stage of Irish Rep’s basement Studio Theatre, two women sit at a cafe table catching up on their lives. The Approach has a cast of three, and the pairing of women changes for each scene. This Dublin-set play centered solely on women talking with one another is written and directed by men (Mark O’Rowe and Conor Bagley, respectively)—and, alas, for a good portion of its 70-minute run time, it fails the Bechdel test.
Scorched Earth, a dance theater piece created, directed and choreographed by Luke Murphy, asks, “What does it take to be of a place?” At the center of the play is the tension between William Dean (Will Thompson), a confident new arrival in a rural Irish community, and John McKay (Luke Murphy), a local tenant who lives on land that is up for auction. The work digs into territorialism and the violence that can occur over land disputes.
Bent Through Glass, written and performed by Alex Koltchak, transforms unimaginable loss into a work of emotional clarity, as a grieving father traces the aftershocks of his daughter’s suicide with unflinching honesty. Under the sensitive direction of Michael Sladek, this deeply personal solo piece becomes not only a testament to anguish, but a quietly radiant affirmation of love’s endurance, shaped by Koltchak’s willingness to bare his soul.
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.
