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.
The producers of Copperfield! have added the subtitle The New Musical, presumably to alert anyone who saw the notorious 1981 flop Copperfield, which ran only 39 performances, that this show is not a revival of that one, which New York Times critic Frank Rich described as “the kind of musical that sends you out of the theater humming every score other than the one you’ve just heard.” On the contrary, the new Copperfield! is an energetic and melodious delight. If Dickens at Christmastime is a tradition, and A Christmas Carol is starting to feel shopworn, Copperfield! is an ideal substitute.
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.
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.
The producers of Copperfield! have added the subtitle The New Musical, presumably to alert anyone who saw the notorious 1981 flop Copperfield, which ran only 39 performances, that this show is not a revival of that one, which New York Times critic Frank Rich described as “the kind of musical that sends you out of the theater humming every score other than the one you’ve just heard.” On the contrary, the new Copperfield! is an energetic and melodious delight. If Dickens at Christmastime is a tradition, and A Christmas Carol is starting to feel shopworn, Copperfield! is an ideal substitute.
Anachronisms are a reliable source of fun and surprise in musicals, from the very casting and concept of Hamilton going back to “On any gent who wandered by, she’d pull the Theda Bara eye” (“Cleopatterer,” Leave It to Jane, 1917). But anachronisms have seldom had as strenuous a workout as the one they endure in Slam Frank, the musical at the Orpheum. The work of Joel Sinensky (book) and Andrew Fox (music and lyrics), it aims essentially to resurrect a mid-century classic, burden it with pop culture signposts from a variety of eras, reassess its relevance in these troubled times, and find it wanting. Which it does in an anything-for-a-laugh way, to the point where your sides may be sore from being poked in the ribs so relentlessly.
Warnings about the consequences of global warming come early and often in the Off-Broadway premiere of Nick Blaemire’s 2015 pop musical, Soon. But they are a false flag. This is no treatise on the fragility of the physical world. Instead, it is the study of a young woman’s psyche as she wends her way through what often feels like a traditional romantic comedy only to arrive at a surprising crisis point where she risks drowning in her own emotional meltdown.
In a recent New York Times interview, singer-songwriter Jennifer Nettles remarked of her new show, Giulia: The Poison Queen of Palermo, “The joke of it, the irony, is that my little musical about poison is the antidote we need right now.” Based on the audience response at a recent performance, her point was well taken. In witnessing a succession of abusive, barbarous, and toxic men succumbing to murder, many in the crowd clearly found their retribution. As news feeds clutter with stories of national leaders, Senate candidates, and millionaires evading justice for their crimes against women, there is indeed something quite gratifying about watching vigilante vengeance set to an intoxicating, pop-music beat.
Neil Armstrong landed on the moon on July 20, 1969. Less than a month later, the Woodstock festival rocked America’s psyche. The run-up to these landmark events provides the symbolic dissonance for the bighearted and multifaceted new musical, A Walk on the Moon. With a score by AnnMarie Milazzo and book by Pamela Gray, this stage version of the 1999 film (also written by Gray) tracks a not-so-happy housewife through a risky voyage of self-discovery, just one short hike away from Max Yasgur’s farm in Bethel, N.Y., and one giant leap from her otherwise square and earthbound life.
The venue is St. Luke’s Theatre, but for all practical purposes, it isn’t anymore. The Restaurant Row mainstay is now the Wicked Tickle, an East Nashville dive where the beer is cheap, the country-and-western is tangy and smart, and Cindy the bartender is on hand to crack you open a Pabst. And it’s the home of Music City, a return engagement of a musical that played well at the West End Theatre in 2024 and has only ripened with age.
The pub in Irish dramas is a center not just of drinking, but also of telling tall tales. In J.M. Synge’s Playboy of the Western World, a new arrival, Christy Mahon, boasts of killing his father. In Conor McPherson’s The Weir, the regulars exchange ghost stories. But the atmosphere of Catch of the Day, by Megan Jenkins and the Red Fox Theatre company, is different. There’s music already happening on stage when one enters, and the gregarious cast may be engaging the audience in conversation or offering potato chips up and down the aisle or sniping at one another. The slapdash mix of music and comedy is more goulash than ghoulish, yet the lack of structure turns out to be one of the show’s charms.
Girl, Interrupted comes in a choice of formats. Susanna Kaysen’s 1993 memoir is a flippant quick read with an irresistible neurotic edge. The 1999 movie version features Angelina Jolie chewing the scenery around a quietly intense Winona Ryder. “Queens of the Summer Hotel,” the 2021 album by indie star Aimee Mann, is a collection of songs inspired by the book, its sweet melodies belying the dark undertone of its lyrics. Her tunes were originally meant to serve as the score of a staged musical, and now, after a COVID-era delay, they have arrived at the Public Theater as the backbone of a new work, with Pulitzer Prize–winning playwright Martyna Majok faithfully adapting Kaysen’s story, if not her impudent attitude.
Send-ups of television series have become a cottage industry in New York theater, but they usually target familiar, long-established properties. Dylan MarcAurele’s Heated Rivalry: The Unauthorized Musical Parody arrives barely six months after HBO Max premiered Heated Rivalry, a hit drama about rival hockey players who become lovers. Under Alan Kliffer’s direction, the result is fresh and bawdy, and sung with serious voices by a talented cast, all of whom help with scene changes that boost the production’s sketch-comedy vibe.
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.
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.
