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.
“I’ve heard that this is being referred to as an Off-Broadway play,” sighs comedian Julio Torres at the outset of Color Theories. Julio, author and leading actor, casts a knowing glance across the audience, pausing for a comically timed beat, and shakes his head laconically: “No … no, no, no, no. … That could not be further from the truth.” As this sly, charming theater piece zips along, however, it becomes clear that Color Theories is indeed an Off-Broadway play, not merely a spiffily staged stand-up routine.
Just like that other Alexander currently celebrated on the New York stage, fashion designer Alexander McQueen rose from humble origins to make his mark in an elite milieu. Darrah Cloud’s new bio-play House of McQueen features Bridgerton heartthrob Luke Newton in the title role, with Broadway musical star Emily Skinner as McQueen’s mother, Joyce, and Catherine LeFrere as his friend and patron Isabella Blow—the two most important women in McQueen’s life.
Henrik Ibsen’s play The Wild Duck received a confused reaction from most critics after it was published in 1884. Almost alone, George Bernard Shaw acclaimed it, and while its reputation has gradually grown, it isn’t performed nearly so much as A Doll’s House or Hedda Gabler or Ghosts: the last New York City production in English was in 1987. For a play that the stern critic John Simon called “one of the finest tragicomedies in all dramatic literature,” the neglect is shocking, so Theatre for a New Audience deserves kudos for resurrecting it. The result, however, is often disappointing.
It’s a minor theatrical annoyance, but one that does irk some critics: When your set displays a large wall clock, center stage, make sure it’s running. The wall clock in This Is Government, Nina Kissinger’s disappointing new comedy at 59E59, displays 4:55 in the 15-minute first scene and stays there, with the three denizens of Washington’s Cannon House Office Building moving the hands manually to tick off the subsequent scenes in a roughly seven-hour dramatic arc. It plays amateurishly, and so, unfortunately, does much of This Is Government.
There have been plays affirming LGBTQ people’s fitness as parents. There have been plays where child characters are played by puppets, and stories in which a child who feels different identifies as some type of animal. Boxing has been used as a metaphor, and there have been productions with lots of props and scenery that are upended by the final scene—one that comes to mind, Blasted, was staged at Soho Rep, whose new show, Wolf Play, includes all these things.
Despite Alex Edelman’s opening caveat that “my comedy barely works if you’re not a Jew from the Upper East Side,” he is one of the rare, masterful stand-up comics who can “cast out” and then successfully “reel back in” a diverse audience. He can take his monologue way off-topic, on a tangent that itself could be a stand-alone show. Although the thrust of Just for Us is his attendance at a white-supremacist gathering, along the way he signs and mimics the distress of a gorilla at Robin Williams’s death (the gorilla really grieved), then quips that Brexit should be called “The Great British Break-Off,” and lovingly, yet mercilessly, spears his family, their Hebrew names, his brother’s Winter Olympics prowess as part of the Israeli skeleton team, and his Orthodox Jewish parents’ finessing of Christmas (including a decorated tree in the garage) to comfort a bereaved Christian friend.
Selling Kabul, Sylvia Khoury’s play currently running at Playwrights Horizons, is significant and timely. Although written in 2015, the drama’s focus on the collateral damage of the pullout of U.S. forces in Afghanistan is even more urgent in light of President Biden’s complete withdrawal three months ago. Significant, timely, and urgent do not, however, necessarily make for great theater. To its credit, Selling Kabul does not minimize the political and ideological concerns, but it offers an impressively riveting, suspenseful, and deeply moving portrayal of four complex individuals caught up in the sweep of national turmoil.
Lanford Wilson’s 1975 play The Mound Builders centers on an archaeological excavation in Illinois of a pre-Columbian civilization, a conceit rich in metaphor and suggestion, and expressed in often-lyrical language. (The mounds in question refer to the earthworks constructed by the early inhabitants of the area.) The historical reach and resonance of the concept is combined with the claustrophobia of domestic dysfunction: the play was described in the New York Times review of the original Circle Repertory Company production as “an epic in the guise of a family drama.”
Water is an essential part of life. It helps maintain bodily function and provides nutrients and sustenance for plants and animals. It seems unfathomable that life can exist without water, yet that is the reality for the citizens of Flint, Mich. Erika Dickerson-Despenza’s new play, Cullud Wattah, addresses the pollution of the city’s water system and how it has affected the citizens. Cullud Wattah also focuses on the disparity and inequities that prevail in cities with a majority population of minorities.
Morning Sun by Simon Stephens is a multigenerational play about a mother, daughter, and granddaughter. Most of their story, both set in and serving as an homage to New York City, has been told before: mother-daughter conflicts, failed love affairs, and childhood friendships that don’t stand the test of time. Stephens has crafted fast-paced, staccato dialogue that moves effortlessly through decades to tell their story.
Paul Osborn’s play Morning’s At Seven is one of theater’s great rescues. A flop on Broadway in 1939, it was resurrected in 1980 by director Vivian Matalon, whose peerless production established it as a classic piece of Americana. It’s a gentle satire on small-town life, with busybodies and petty jealousies and snobbery, and although it’s as sturdily constructed as a Chekhov play, it’s not as dark. There may be conflicts, but the characters have more fun—and are fun to be around.
There’s a moment early in Kevin Barry’s darkly comic Autumn Royal, currently running at the Irish Rep under the direction of Ciarán O’Reilly, when siblings May (Maeve Higgins) and Timmy (John Keating), both in their 30s in Cork city, Ireland, realize that the current predicament of caring for their psychotic, decrepit, slowly dying father might have no end in sight.
German poet and playwright Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956) was a world traveler—not by choice, but by conviction. His larger-than-life, highly controversial career caused him to flee Nazism and take refuge in several countries before he was granted permission to settle in the United States. The Theater Breaking Through Barriers (TBTB) production of Brecht on Brecht tracks the playwright’s odyssey using his songs and writings, which include The Threepenny Opera, The Life of Galileo, and Mother Courage and Her Children.
Chasing Jack, by John S. Anastasi, is the story of a man willing to lose it all for the thrill of throwing the die. Dr. Jack Chase (played with boundless energy by Emanuele Secci) is a tireless cardiac surgeon who appears selfless but has one too many skeletons in the closet. The biggest one—a gambling addiction—can no longer remain hidden, and, after losing a patient, he finds himself in court.
The programs handed out at Martyna Majok’s Sanctuary City, produced by New York Theatre Workshop and presented at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, note that they have been “frozen in time”: they were printed for the play’s original run, which began in March 2020, and are now accompanied by a QR code providing updated information. This new information includes a remount director, Caitlin Sullivan, in addition to the original direction by Rebecca Frecknall.
It finally dawned on me that theater was back in New York City when I was once again in the presence of characters in a Richard Nelson play as they sliced bread, grated cheese, sipped wine, and had conversations that made you feel like an eavesdropper more than an audience member.
Many an autobiographical solo show has been born from hardship— growing up closeted, say, or having an intolerable job, or living through a war. Lori Brown Mirabal’s jumping-off point is the complete opposite. It’s right there in her show’s title, Charmed Life: From Soul Singing to Opera Star.
In Fruma-Sarah (Waiting in the Wings), the multitalented Jackie Hoffman portrays Ariana Russo, a barely talented amateur actor who is literally and figuratively at the end of her rope. Stuck in the minor role of the ghostly and ghastly Fruma-Sarah, in a community theater staging of Fiddler on the Roof in Roselle Park, N.J., she must spend the first “hour and seven minutes” of the show offstage, strapped in her flying harness and waiting for her cue to soar.
Voyeur: The Windows of Toulouse-Lautrec explores the life of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, the immensely talented 19th-century French painter and printmaker, using the sidewalks, doorways, and windows of Greenwich Village as the setting for a “pandemic-friendly theatrical experience.” Live performance, puppetry, music and a short black-and-white film combine to help the site-specific production tell the story of the artist who captured the seamier side of the Belle Époque.
In mid-March, as the novel human coronavirus steamrolled New York City, Rattlestick Playwrights Theater had to pull the plug on Ren Dara Santiago’s The Siblings Play. The production, directed by Jenna Worsham, was nearing the end of previews, with four days to go before opening night.
Jazz artist Nancy Harrow is one of the New York music world’s greatest, though woefully underappreciated, treasures. During the Kennedy and Johnson eras, she was a regular on New York City’s cabaret circuit, singing with figures such as Kenny Barron, Bob Brookmeyer, and Jim Hall. Back then, Village Voice critic Nat Hentoff wrote: “Nancy Harrow is not jazz-influenced or jazz-tinged or jazz-pollinated. She is without qualification a jazz singer all the way.”
The title character in Vivian Neuwirth’s Mr. Toole is John Kennedy Toole, author of the 1981 Pulitzer Prize novel A Confederacy of Dunces. Known as “Ken” to family and friends, Toole died in 1969, more than a decade before his book was published. Neuwirth knew Toole when she was a student at St. Mary’s Dominican High School in New Orleans, where he taught English. “He was,” she says, “an amazing teacher” with a “theatrical flair.”
When writer Rex Pickett was trying to get his novel Sideways published, he submitted it to film studios as well as book publishers. He has now adapted the novel as a play, but the story’s cinematic nature works against it on stage. Because there are so many scene changes, scenery is simplified to tables and chairs (and the occasional counter or bed) that can be hastily reconfigured to represent various homes, bars, restaurants and outdoor locales. But Sideways has such a strong sense of place—the Oscar-winning 2004 movie fueled a tourism boom for California’s Santa Ynez Valley, and a map of film locations is still available on the Santa Barbara visitors bureau website—that it’s shortchanged by many scenes looking similar and the same backdrop, a lone tree, remaining for the entire play. What scenic designer David L. Arsenault has created is okay (the multiple levels and a faux hot tub work well); it’s just not enough to evoke the landscapes and idea of traveling.
The challenges are as great as the rewards in Haruna Lee’s Suicide Forest, a tortured, weird, and very personal fantasy that includes passages spoken in Japanese, bouts of simulated schoolgirl molestation, and a lengthy scene in near darkness with characters dressed as goats and wearing headlamps. But those willing to go along on this guilt trip, skillfully guided by director Aya Ogawa, will be find unexpectedly beautiful moments of theatricality and an ending that pivots from madness to reality with the force of an emergency brake being thrown on a speeding train.
