Buena Vista Social Club

B+

 

This vibrant musical at Atlantic Theater Company was inspired by the bestselling 1997 album of authentic Cuban music from the 1950s played by the musicians who had performed it 40 years before at the long-gone titular venue, as well as by the Oscar-nominated 1999 Wim Wenders documentary about them. The talented director Saheem Ali (Fat Ham) developed the project with David Yazbek (The Band’s Visit) as creative consultant. Marco Ramirez (The Royale) wrote the book. The wonderful music, which is the beating heart of the show, is taken from the original album and its successors. The book, which overcompensates in breadth for what it lacks in depth, touches at least briefly on a lot of themes, including ambition, betrayal, colorism, class, regret and the stirrings of revolution. We meet several of the musicians at the time of the recording and flash back to fictionalized versions of their relationships during the 1950s. Omara (Natalie Venetia Belcon; The Glorious Ones) is a popular recording artist with a reputation as a diva, who condescends to fill in as singer on the album. In her youth, she (Kenya Browne) sang in a touristy sister act at the Tropicana with her sister Haydee (Dayana Esperanza; Mary Jane). When she is introduced to authentic Cuban music at the Buena Vista Social Club, she decides to leave her sister to sing with Ibrahim (Olly Sholotan; “Bel Air”) but his dark skin becomes an obstacle. The old songs played at the recording session stir up old feelings. The musicians are all superb, but I must single out tres player Renesito Avich and flutist Hery Paz for special mention. Choreographers Patricia Delgado and Justin Peck (Carousel) have created some lively nightclub dance numbers for three couples, but their abstract duos for surrogates of the young sisters left me cold. Arnulfo Maldonado’s (A Strange Loop) efficient set combines the seedy club with the recording studio, a seaside promenade and the Tropicana. Dede Ayite’s (Slave Play) costumes are appropriately colorful. At times I wished there were English translations for the songs, but surtitles might have been a distraction. The relative weakness of the book is more than compensated for by the quality of the musical performances. I think I would have enjoyed it just as much, if not more, if they had forgone the book and just presented a concert. Running time: two hours including intermission.

Infinite Life

 C

It’s hard for me to believe that more than three months have passed since I set foot in a theater. I wish I could say that my return to theatergoing this afternoon was a positive experience, but, alas, I cannot. Today’s performance was a late preview of Annie Baker’s latest play at the Atlantic Theater Company. My expectations were not high because, with the exception of John, I have not found any of her plays enjoyable. I was baffled that Circle Mirror Transformation won an Obie and even more surprised when The Flick bagged a Pulitzer. The Antipodes had no point that I could detect. While her ability to capture the quotidien is admirable, her plays often seem to meander aimlessly. The current play is set in an alternative medicine clinic for pain management in Northern California where the treatment is based on fasting. Of the five female patients we meet, four are of retirement age, while one, Sofi (Christina Kirk; Clybourne Park), is in her late forties. Eileen (Marylouise Burke; John, Fuddy Mears) is a returning patient who once was a Christian Scientist. Yvette (Mia Katigbak; Awake and Sing!) seems to suffer from every disease imaginable. Elaine (Brenda Presley; The Lyons) has thyroid problems, as does her absent cat. Ginnie (Kristine Nielsen; Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike) is unabashedly nosy. Midway through the play the handsome Nelson (Pete Simpson; Is This a Room) arrives, and upsets the equilibrium. The play covers the ten or so days that Sofi is there for treatment. Her ailments are closely tied to her psychosexual problems. She is strongly attracted to Nelson. Some of the scenes are at night with the audience seeing little more than shadows. Sofi occasionally addresses the audience to inform us how much time has elapsed between scenes. Sofi’s experiences form the center of the action, to the extent that there is any. The other female characters are underdeveloped. The acting is uniformly strong, with Kirk and Burke standing out. The usually wonderful Nielsen is essentially wasted in this role. The scenic design by dots (The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window) features seven rather dilapidated lounge chairs sheltered by a wall of ornamental blocks. The costumes by Asta Bennie Hostetter (John) suit the characters well. Director James Macdonald (The Children, Cloud Nine) gives the play lots of room to breathe. The audience included many young adults who laughed frequently. I envied them for finding the play congenial. Running time: one hour 50 minutes; no intermission.

Days of Wine and Roses

B-

It’s over 20 years since Kelli O’Hara (The King and I, The Light in the Piazza) suggested to Adam Guettel (The Light in the Piazza, Floyd Collins) that he write a musical for her and Brian D’Arcy James (Sweet Smell of Success, Into the Woods) based on Blake Edwards’s 1962 film about Kirsten and Joe, a couple struggling with alcoholism. That project has finally come to fruition on the stage of Atlantic Theater Company’s Linda Gross Theater. One might wonder why anyone would choose this screenplay to musicalize. The answer, in short, seems to be to provide a showcase for O’Hara’s prodigious vocal talents and acting chops. In that regard, it succeeds. However, the film does not yield itself easily to musicalization. Craig Lucas’s (Prelude to a Kiss, The Light in the Piazza) book generally hews fairly close to the screenplay, incorporating large blocks of dialog, but Guettel’s songs are not hummers and some of his lyrics neither advance the action nor deepen the characterization. The main difference in the musical is that the role of their daughter Lila (Ella Dane Morgan, Waitress) has been substantially enlarged, which somewhat blurs the focus. For some reason, the locale has been changed from San Francisco to New York. It is mentioned that Joe served in the Korean War and there is a brief hint that he suffers from PTSD. Since that war didn’t start until the middle of 1950, it seems strange that 1950 is listed in the program as the year the play is set. The other non-singing characters are well-cast. Byron Jennings (She Loves Me, Is He Dead?) is strong as Kirsten’s father and David Jennings (Tina, Once on This Island), no relation to Byron, is fine as Jim, Joe’s AA sponsor. Lizzie Clachan’s (Blindness, A Number) scenic design economically suggests a wide variety of locations. Dede Ayite’s (Slave Play, How I Learned To Drive) costumes fit the period. Michael Greif’s (Dear Evan Hansen, Machinal) direction is fluid and unfussy. For Kelli O’Hara fans, the show is a must see. I just wish that I found everything else as stirring as her performance. Running time: 95 minutes, no intermission.

The Mother

C+

Atlantic Theater Company is presenting the New York premiere of Florian Zeller’s drama about a middle-age woman with a severe case of empty-nest syndrome. You may remember another play by Zeller from a few seasons back, The Father starring Frank Langella as an older man sinking into dementia. The current play, actually written four years before The Father, is, in my opinion, considerably less artful. (The third part of the trilogy, The Son, just opened in London to enthusiastic reviews.) In both plays there are scenes presented in multiple variations. In The Father, everything was presented from the title character’s point of view, and charted his decline. In the current play, the motivation for the variations is less clear and the result is less involving. Fortunately, the woman who loves her son too much and her husband too little is played by Isabelle Huppert (“Elle,” Medea) , always a compelling presence. Chris Noth (Farragut North, The Best Man) is effective as her perplexed husband. The Son struggling for independence is well-played by Justice Smith (Yen). Odessa Young (Days of Rage) is also fine as The Girl. I think that Trip Cullman’s (Lobby Hero, Days of Rage) direction veers toward the gimmicky and values style over substance. Does the scenic design by Mark Wendland (Six Degrees of Separation) really benefit from a modern white sectional that seats 14 and sinks into the floor between scenes? Should there be a ridiculous number of prescription bottles scattered below it? Is there a point to placing Ms. Huppert on that sofa reading a book for 15 minutes before the play begins? The costumes by Anita Yavich (Fool for Love, The Legend of Georgia McBride) are apt. There are a few dramatic moments along the way, but there is an abstracted distancing feel to the production that dulls their impact. While I was happy to have the opportunity to see Ms. Huppert and, to a lesser extent, Mr. Noth, I was disappointed that the play never approached the quality of The Father. Running time: one hour 20 minutes, no intermission.

Blue Ridge

B-

Atlantic Theater Company is presenting the world premiere of Abby Rosebrock’s (Dido of Idaho) drama set in a church-sponsored halfway house in the mountains of western North Carolina. I don’t know much about halfway houses, but I found it surprising that the residents were there for such varied problems as opioid addiction, alcoholism, mental illness and anger management. The main focus is on the self-destructive Alison (Marin Ireland; Summer and Smoke, The Big Knife), a devoted high school English teacher at the local high school who, after a long affair with her married principal, attacked his car with an axe and was sentenced to a six-month stay there. She immediately befriends Cherie (Kristolyn Lloyd; Paradise Blue, Dear Evan Hansen), another high school teacher, who is a recovering alcoholic voluntarily there. Cherie is black, but her race does not seem to be a significant issue for anyone. She likes it at the group home and thinks she might switch to a career in social work or public health. Wade (Kyle Beltran; The Fortress of Solitude, Gloria) became addicted to prescribed drugs after a work accident. and blames some of his problems on his mixed race. Cole (Peter Mark Kendall; Six Degrees of Separation, The Harvest) has just been discharged from a mental institution; his reasons for being institutionalized never become sufficiently clear. The founders and staff of the home are Hern (Chris Stack; Ugly Lies the Bone), a white pastor, and Grace (Nicole Lewis; Hair, Sense and Sensibility), his black colleague. The residents not only must hold day jobs in the community but must also undertake service projects as part of their treatment. We see the six interact, mainly at a series of bible study meetings. The lyrics of Carrie Underwood songs are cited. Wade gets to sing and play the guitar. The first act builds slowly to a surprising climax that I did not see coming. The second act features a gripping emotional meltdown, but then spins its wheels and ends on an unsatisfying note. Adam Rigg’s (Fabulation, The House That Will Not Stand) set presents the home’s nondescript living room with a hint of evergreen trees peeking through the vertical blinds. The set is surrounded by a frame that lights up brightly between scenes. Sarah Laux’s (The Band’s Visit, The Humans) costumes suit the characters well. Director Taibi Magar (The Great Leap) shows an affinity for the material. For me the opportunity to see Marin Ireland emote was reason enough to attend. The rest of the fine cast more than holds its own onstage with her. At its best moments, the play is quite gripping. It’s just good enough that one wishes it were even better. Running time: two hours including intermission.

Derren Brown: Secret

A-

When I first heard that Atlantic Theater Company was filling a slot in their season with a performance by an Olivier-winning British mentalist rather than with a play, I was annoyed. After seeing Derren Brown in action, I forgive them. The show is not only very entertaining, but a lot more rewarding to sit through than their last play (The Penitent). It’s better crafted too, with a knockout finale that reveals in a delightful way how tightly structured the entire performance has been. It’s hard to say much about it, because the audience has been sworn to secrecy. What I can say is that Brown is a consummate performer who quickly has the audience in the palm of his hand. He establishes trust by sharing a secret from his own life. The often amazing mental feats he performs on audience members range from the simple to the intricate, with one packing quite an emotional wallop. Along the way, Brown also demonstrates a real talent for portraiture. The theme that we limit what we experience because of selective perception is vividly demonstrated. Of course, I wondered how these tricks worked, but explanations are not on the agenda. The seemingly random way he selected audience members made it unlikely that they were “plants.”  If you like to be amazed and delighted, you will have a good time. Just don’t expect a traditional play. My one reservation is that, at 2 3/4 hours including intermission, it is a bit too much of a good thing. Brown’s co-writers Andy Nyman and Andrew O’Connor also directed.

The Penitent

D

I wish I could say that David Mamet’s new play at the Atlantic Theater Company marks his return to greatness. While it’s by no means his worst, it falls far short of his best work. It is about a psychiatrist Charles (Chris Bauer) who suddenly gets religion when a young patient commits a terrible crime. Although he has frequently testified as a mitigating witness for the defense, he refuses to do so in this instance. The boy accuses him of antipathy toward gay people, a charge supported by a newspaper piece misquoting the title of an article he wrote as “Homosexuality as an Aberration” instead of “Homosexuality as an Adaptation.” The bad press leads to worse for Charles. Meanwhile, his wife Kath (Rebecca Pidgeon, Mamet’s wife) does not understand his position. The stilted opening scene between them really gets things off to a bad start. We next see Charles with his friend/lawyer Richard (Jordan Lage), who urges him to relent and testify. The second act begins energetically with a scene between Charles and an attorney (the fine Lawrence Gilliard Jr.) deposing him who knows his way around the Old Testament. In the final scene, we learn the cost of Charles’s allegedly principled stand and, to my great annoyance, find out information that casts everything that preceded it in a new light.Tim Mackabee designed the minimalist set — a table and two chairs and two angled walls. Laura Bauer designed the costumes. Perhaps there was some deep significance I missed in the fact that Kath alternated between jeans with holes in the knees and jeans without holes. Atlantic’s artistic director Neil Pepe (Marie & Rosetta, Hold on to Me Darling) directed. The press, the legal system, psychiatry, religion, marriage and friendship all take a beating. There are no winners here, including the audience. Running time: 85 minutes including intermission.

Hold On to Me Darling ***

It’s good to see Kenneth Lonergan get his playwriting chops back in this new comedy at Atlantic Theater Company, his best work for the stage since Lobby Hero in 2001. Timothy Olyphant (“Damages” and “Justified” on TV) plays Strings McCrane, a 39-year-old comically self-absorbed country western singer and movie star who reexamines his life upon the death of his mother. When he heads back home to rural Tennessee for the funeral, he decides to cast off the trappings of celebrity and try the simple life. It may not turn out well for him, but it certainly pays off for the audience. The satire is broad and the dialogue, frequently hilarious. Jenn Lyon from “The Wayside Motor Inn” plays Nancy, the seemingly good-hearted masseuse he meets at his hotel. Adelaide Clemens is Essie, the second cousin twice removed that he encounters at the funeral. C.J. Wilson is Duke, his big brother, with whom he has a volatile relationship. The rarely unemployed Keith Nobbs (“The Legend of Georgia McBride”) plays Jimmy, his overly devoted, long-suffering personal assistant. Jonathan Hogan is Mitch, a figure from the distant past who suddenly reappears. The actors are uniformly excellent. The play could benefit from some trimming as it’s a bit too slight for its length. The second act loses steam and the final scene does not seem to fit very well. Walt Spangler (“Between Riverside and Crazy”) once again comes up with a terrific revolving set that includes seven distinct locations. The costumes by Suttriat Anne Larlarb help greatly in creating the characters. Neil Pepe’s fluid direction keeps everything moving smoothly. It’s a little too much of a good thing, but I’m not complaining. Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes including intermission.

Guards at the Taj *

If this is the play that won the 2015 Laurents-Hatcher Foundation Award of $150,000 ($50,000 to playwright Rajiv Joseph, $100,000 for the production), the pickings must have been mighty slim. The best I can say about it is that it provides employment for two excellent actors, Omar Metwally and Arian Moayed. I was happy to learn that a generous donor financed a trip to India for the actors to see the Taj Mahal. With what they have to endure every night at the Atlantic Theater, they earned it. Humayun (Metwally) and Babur (Moayed) are members of the Royal Guard at Agra. Although from very different backgrounds, they have been friends since childhood. Humayun, from a privileged family, is the organization man ready to obediently do whatever he is asked. Babur, of humble origins, has a rebellious streak and is a dreamer, thinking up fanciful inventions like a transportable hole and a palanquin that can fly to the stars. When the play begins, they are on guard just before dawn on the day the Taj will first be revealed after 16 years of construction. When the emperor decides to insure that no one who worked on it will ever be able to build something more beautiful, they must carry out his order. The tone of the play wavers unsteadily between Grand Guignol and black comedy. About two-thirds of the way through the play’s seemingly endless 80 minutes, one of the characters says “There is no point.” I could not have said it better. Timothy R. Maccabee’s set is effective in its simplicity and Bobby Frederick Tilley II’s costumes are evocative. Steppenwolf member Amy Morton (Who’s Afraid of Virginina Woolf, August: Osage County) directed. If you are unlucky enough to already have a ticket, I suggest not dining before the performance. Running time: 80 minutes, no intermission.

Posterity **

I really had high hopes for Doug Wright’s new play at Atlantic Theater Company. I had enjoyed his Pulitzer Prize-winning play “I Am My Own Wife” and thought his book for “Grey Gardens” was well-crafted. The topic of the play — the interplay between recalcitrant subject Henrik Ibsen (the excellent Australian actor John Noble) and reluctant sculptor Gustav Vigeland (Hamish LInklater, fine in a role for which he was not an obvious choice) when Ibsen’s bust was sculpted — sounded promising.  I wish I could say my expectations were met. Things start well with a scene with the sculptor and his nude models, the middle-aged Mrs. Bergstrøm (Dale Soules) and his hunky young apprentice Anfinn (Mickey Theis). They are interrupted by the arrival of the prissy Sophus Larpent (Henry Stram), VIgeland’s solicitor and agent. He tries to induce Vigeland to to do a bust of Ibsen in order to win the backing of a key bureaucrat for the ambitious fountain celebrating humanity that he wants to create for a space in the heart of Oslo. When Ibsen arrives to meet Vigeland, things go badly. Their sparring match goes on for far too long and lacks nuance. Changing circumstances persuade Ibsen to agree to sitting for Vigeland and pouring out his heart to him. There are distracting subplots concerning the apprentice and the absence of usable clay. Very little light is shed on either Ibsen or Vigeland. There are very few peaks or valleys along the way, just lots of talk. We don’t even get to see the bust. Derek McLane’s effective set presents a rustic studio lined with busts covered in cheesecloth. Susan Hilferty’s costumes are apt. Wright also directed, which was probably a mistake. While I admired the playwright’s ambitions, I was quite disappointed with the results. Running time: 2 hours 15 minutes including intermission.

Between Riverside and Crazy ****

With his new play now in previews at the Atlantic Theater Company, Stephen Adly Guirgis proves once again that he is one of our most entertaining playwrights. Walter “Pops” Washington (the superb Stephen McKinley Henderson) is a black former cop whose career was ended by a hail of bullets in a dicey bar 8 years before the play opens. He has been recently widowed, his son Junior (Ray Anthony Thomas) has been in and out of jail and consorts with criminals such as Oswaldo (Victor Almanzar) who has moved in with them. Their household is completed by Lulu (Rosal Colon), Junior’s girlfriend, who has more curves than brains. We also meet Walter’s former partner Detective O’Connor (Elizabeth Canavan) and her fiance Lieutenant Caro (Michael Rispoli), an ambitious, politically well-connected cop. Last but not least is the Church Lady (Liza Colon-Zayas), a visitor who is not what she seems. Walter’s landlord is out to evict him from his rent-controlled apartment on Riverside Drive. Lt. Caro is determined to do whatever it takes to get Walter to sign a settlement with the city that he has been fighting for 8 years to remove loose ends in an election year and enhance his career. What makes the play so exciting is Guirgis’s dialogue. The language is rough, but the humor is wonderful. The play opens with a discussion of nutrition unlike any you are likely to hear again. Guirgis skillfully softens up the audience with humor so that when he turns serious, the impact is twice as strong. The first scene of the second act features the most bizarre sex scene I have seen on a stage — and there’s no nudity involved. The remainder of the second act was less successful and I found the ending weak. Nevertheless, everything else was so enjoyable that these defects barely diminished my pleasure. Walt Spangler’s revolving set captures the look of a grand apartment that had seen better days. Alexis Forte’s costumes suit their characters well. Austin Pendelton’s direction is assured. If you enjoyed “The Motherf**ker with The Hat,” you will love this one; if you didn’t, you probably won’t. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes including intermission.

The Threepenny Opera **

Literally from the very first note, I felt that something was amiss with the new Atlantic Theater production of this Brecht-Weill classic. Although the seven musicians were visible onstage, the sound was coming from a spot somewhere over my head. The decision to amplify the music in a theater ot this size seems both unnecessary and wrongheaded. It creates an artificial gap between the musicians and the actors and diminishes any sense of intimacy. Furthermore, the production lacks both a clear unifying vision and a strong sense of time and place. It rarely engaged me at any level. In the past, I have not been a fan of Martha Clarke and her direction and choreography here do nothing to change my mind. On the plus side,  there are abundant vocal treats; both Laura Osnes as Polly and Sally Murphy as Jenny sing beautifully. It's a pleasure to see and hear Mary Beth Peil as Mrs. Peachum and Michael Park is a fine Macheath. F. Murray Abraham is adequate as Mr. Peachum. Robert Israel's set is dark and dreary. Donna Zakowska's costumes fared better. The whole came across to me as considerably less than the sum of its parts. In the long production annals of the show, this production will be remembered, if at all, as the one that featured an English bulldog in a key role. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes including intermission.

The Night Alive ***

The Atlantic Theater Company continues its role as New York home of contemporary Irish playwrights Martin McDonagh and Conor McPherson (The Beauty Queen of Leenane, The Lieutenant of Inishmore and The Cripple of Inishmaan by the former; Port Authority and Dublin Carol by the latter) with this production of McPherson's latest play, imported from London's Donmar Warehouse and directed by the playwright. We meet five marginal Dubliners -- Tommy (Ciaran Hinds), a man-with-van, divorced and alienated from his children; his needy sidekick Doc (Michael McElhatton), who may be a bit slow; Tommy's disapproving uncle Maurice (Jim Norton), in whose house Tommy rents a room; Aimee (Caoilfhionn Dunne), the prostitute Tommy brings home after rescuing her from a beating; and Kenneth (Brian Gleeseon), her ex-boyfriend/pimp with anger issues. At a very leisurely pace, we are introduced to the first four characters, whose banter is often very funny. We are jolted to attention when the play takes a sudden violent turn with the arrival of Kenneth. Complications arise. The combination of humor, pathos, dread, violence and possible redemption did not blend easily for me. Tommy, Doc and Maurice come across as well-developed characters, but Aimee is underwritten and Kenneth is an enigma. The actors are simply superb; in lesser hands, their roles would be reduced to cliches. Soutra Gilmour's set and costumes are very effective. McPherson seems to be that exceptional playwright who is the best possible director of his own work. The play has much to admire, but I wish it ended one scene sooner. The ending seemed sentimental and unearned. Running time: one hour, 45 minutes; no intermission.

Women or Nothing **

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Whether or not you will enjoy Ethan Coen's new comedy for the Atlantic Theater Company depends largely on how much disbelief you are willing to suspend for some snappy dialogue and a few laughs. For me, accepting the premise of a pair of affluent sophisticated lesbians hatching a lame plot to trick a man into supplying the sperm for the child they want was too much of a stretch. Their plan makes little sense and is divorced from anything remotely resembling reality. On the plus side, the four actors (Halley Feiffer, Susan Pourfar, Robert Beitzel and Deborah Rush) play well together and two of the four scenes work quite well. Unfortunately, the final scene is a letdown. David Cromer's direction gets the most out of the script. Michele Spadaro's lavish set design of a Manhattan apartment incorporates a strange mixture of styles. Sarah Laux's costumes are apt. The play shows progress over Coen's recent one-act efforts, but still lacks the off-kilter inventiveness of a Coen screenplay. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes including intermission. NOTE: Avoid Row B at Atlantic's Linda Gross Theater -- there is no rake between Rows A and B and the seats are not staggered.

3 Kinds of Exile **

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John Guare's strange hodgepodge for the Atlantic Theater Company throws together three pieces loosely connected by the theme of exile. The first piece "Karel" is an extended anecdote about a man with a seemingly incurable rash, who, at the age of 12, had been sent to England with the Kindertransport and had remained there. Martin Moran tells the slight but interesting tale well.

The second piece "Elzbieta Erased" is a reworking of a one-act play Guare wrote for Atlantic's 25x10 series a few years ago about famous Polish actress Elzbieta Czyzewska. The author, playing himself, and charismatic actor Omar Sangare, portraying several characters including the actress, give us the highlights of her life -- a successful career in Poland, following by expulsion after her marriage to David Halberstam and her years in America, repeatedly dogged by bad luck. Her story is fascinating, but the telling is a bit too long.

If only there were an intermission at this point, one could escape "Funiage," a biographical sketch about absurdist novelist and playwright Witold Gombrowicz, who spent much of his adult life in Argentinian exile. Guare has chosen to emulate his subject's style with an absurdist approach incorporating Brechtian touches. It's hard to sit through. Against all odds, David Pittu as Gombrowicz acquits himself honorably. The rest of the ensemble shall remain nameless. Neil Pepe directed. The talent the playwright once exhibited with House of Blue Leaves, Six Degrees of Separation and Lydie Breeze is not apparent here. Running time: 90 minutes, no intermission.

What Rhymes with America *

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When I saw Melissa James Gibson's play This at Playwrights Horizons three years ago, I thought she demonstrated great promise. Alas, she has not delivered on that promise in her new play, now in previews at Atlantic Theater. Hank (Chris Bauer) is an unemployed economist who is trying to win back his estranged wife after spending her retirement savings. He tries to recruit his 16-year-old daughter Marlene (Aimee Carrero) as a go-between. At the hospital where Marlene volunteers, Hank meets Lydia (Seana Kofoed), a 40-ish virgin with issues. The fourth character, who basically steals the show, is Sheryl (Da'vine Joy Randolph), an unsuccessful actress who, along with Hank, works as a super at the Met to earn some money. She gets two big scenes -- recreating her audition for Lady Macbeth and reciting a patter list of characters from Wagner operas. Unfortunately, neither of these scenes has much to do with the central plot of the play, assuming there is one. Gibson clearly has a love of language, but she has not used it to build a coherent play. Laura Jellinek's monochromatic grey set is appropriately bleak. Emily Rebholz's costumes for the supers from the Ring and Aida are amusing. Director Daniel Aukin did not succeed in making a silk purse. There was much grumbling in the audience at play's end. Running time: 80 minutes without intermission.

Storefront Church ***

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The final installment of John Patrick Shanley's Church and State trilogy, now in previews at the newly reopened Atlantic Theater mainstage, is quite different from the other two plays, first of all in length. It has two leisurely acts over two hours as compared to their economical 90 minutes. Although not as good as Doubt (not many plays are), it is much better than Defiance. Actors must love Shanley; he certainly can write a juicy part. All six actors get a chance to shine here. Tonya Pinkins, who made such a strong impression in both Milk Like Sugar and Hurt Village earlier this season, gets to use a Spanish accent and show off her beautiful singing voice. Poor Zach Grenier has to keep his face grotesquely contorted throughout the play. The role of Pinkins's Jewish husband fits Bob Dishy like a glove. Ron Cephas Jones, who also impressed in Hurt Village, portrays a pentecostal minister who is spiritually blocked. Jordan Lage is both amusing and convincing as a bank CEO. The central character is Giancarlo Esposito, as the Bronx borough president. The action takes place at the intersection of politics, religion and commerce. It is loosely based on the controversy over redeveloping the Kingsbridge Armory in the Bronx (which still sits empty today), as well as the current mortgage crisis. The play has its flaws -- it rambles a bit, some of the motivations are unclear (particular those of Pinkins' character), some of the themes are underdeveloped and the final scene doesn't pack as much punch as I hoped it would. The sets by Takeshi Kata are bland, perhaps deliberately so, but the costumes by Alejo Vietti are perfect. Shanley's direction is assured. and full of grace notes.  Although far from perfect, it is consistently entertaining. I urge you to see it.

CQ/CX **

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First, the title: it's a newsroom symbol for "fact verified" and "fact corrected." Not exactly a grabber.
Alas, neither is this new play, by former Times news assistant Gabe McKinley, now in an Atlantic Theater Company production at the Peter Norton Space. The Atlantic is billing it as a "docudrama," which is a very tricky genre. What is the value of reanimating a decade-old scandal, unless it is to provide new insight, clarify the context and motivation or make it more coherent dramatically? Alas, CQ/CX does not really succeed at any of these things. It presents real-life identifiable New York Times figures under slightly altered names, along with characters who may or may not be fictionalized. The imagined conversations and monologues of Times honchos as played by David Pittu, Arliss Howard, Peter Jay Fernandez and Tim Hopper deliberately include several remarks that, colored by the wisdom of hindsight, now sound either foolish or ironic and allow the audience to feel superior. The relations among the three interns in the Times diversity program - a black man, an Hispanic woman and a Jew, respectively played by Kobi Libii, Sheila Tapia and Steve Rosen -- are ploddingly depicted. The old editor played by Larry Bryggman adds a note of pathos, but has little to do with the main action. The biggest flaw is the version of Jayson Blair written by McKinley and played by Libii. Either the role is poorly written or his acting is not up to snuff or both. We leave the theater with no deeper understanding of why he did what he did, which makes the whole proceeding rather pointless. David Levaux directed. The production values are all first-rate, but for me that only emphasized that the play isn't. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes including an intermission.

Happy Hour **

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Ethan Coen's trio of one-act plays is the third evening of short works he has done for the Atlantic Theater. I wasn't much impressed with the other two -- and even less so with his lame contribution to "Relatively Speaking" -- so I went with low expectations. To say that this is the best of his three programs for Atlantic is not saying a lot, but it's not nothing. It begins well with "End Days," in which a depressive barfly (the excellent Gordon MacDonald)  rants about the evils of the digital age. His rants alternate with short scenes of his home life. As is so often the case with Coen, he doesn't know when to stop: the play would work better if it ended after the first scene. In "City Lights," Ted, a dyspeptic musician (Joey Slotnick) tries to track down a cabbie (Rock Kohli), in whose taxi he may have left a demo tape. Ted meets an idealistic schoolteacher (Aya Cash), who takes a liking to him, and her friend (Cassie Beck), who does not. Although he retrieves his demo tape, things do not end well. This being the play in which Coen is most closely channeling Mamet, using the C word at least once is obligatory. In the final play, "Wayfarer's Inn," two road warriors forced to stay at a third-rate hotel are planning their evening. The cynical one (Clark Gregg), unhampered by guilt over adultery, is lining up a double date for himself and his depressed traveling companion (Lenny Venito), who decides not to go. A scene at an "authentic" Japanese restaurant introduces us to the two dates, one bodacious and carefree (Ana Reeder), the other (Amanda Quaid), not so much, and also the stern waitress (Susan Hyon). There's a long story about a man and a fish which each of them interprets differently. Back at the hotel, things have taken a bad turn. I was left with a feeling of frustration: Coen knows how to write a good scene, but he still hasn't figured out how to combine scenes into a cohesive whole. I wish his screenwriting skills were more in evidence. The set by Riccardo Hernandez is a bit generic. Sarah Edwards' costumes are fine. Neil Pepe directed. Running time: 2 hours including intermission.

Dreams of Flying, Dreams of Falling *

What's Adam Rapp's new play about? About 90 minutes. That's all I can say with certainty about his absurdist comedy now in an Atlantic Theater Company production at CSC. The cast is led by two wonderful actors (Christine Lahti and Reed Birney). The set (by Andrew Boyce & Takeshi Kata) and costumes (by Theresa Squire) perfectly establish the gracious milieu of privileged Connecticut WASPs. Two families, the Cabots and their guests, the Von Stofenburgs, are about to sit down to dinner. Things soon spin out of control. Mrs. Cabot tries to persuade Von Stofenburg (Cotter Smith), whose reputation has been tarnished by a Madoff-like affair,  to poison her husband so they can run off together. The Cabot daughter (Katherine Waterston), who likes to pluck the hairs out of men's arms for an art project, maintains that there is a she lion in the basement. The Von Stofenburg son (Shane McRae), just returned from two years in a clinic after believing his stuffed animals when they told him he could fly, is in correspondence with a young Iraqi insurgent whom he is helping to acquire "materials." The two young adults have vigorous sex all around the dining room. The black maid (Quincy Tyler Bernstine), is learning French and likes to recite Shakespeare. Mrs. Von Stofenburg (Betsy Aidem) is so bland that her presence barely registers. Wild geese crash against the house, the sky turns strange colors, the murder plots goes awry.... and so forth. While some of the plot lines might have been interesting if developed more fully, here they just seem part of a mishmash. While there were some entertaining moments along the way, there was no sense of unity. Neil Pepe directed.