All My Sons

A

Roundabout Theatre Company’s revival of Arthur Miller’s first successful play is as fine a production of a Miller play as I ever hope to see. All the elements — casting, direction, scenic design, costumes, lighting, sound design and projections —are near perfect. Tracy Letts (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf), Annette Benning (Spoils of War, Coastal Disturbances) and Benjamin Walker (American Psycho, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson) all give performances that I will not soon forget. Francesca Carpanini (The Little Foxes), Hampton Fluker (Too Heavy for Your Pocket) and Michael Hayden (Judgment at Nuremberg) are solid in feature roles, as are Jenni Barber (The Nance), Monte Greene, Nehal Joshi (School of Rock) and Chinasa Ogbuagu (Her Portmanteau, Sojourners) in supporting ones. Together they convincingly portray a close-knit community. Director Jack O’Brien (Carousel, The Hard Problem) uncovers a depth and breadth in the play that I had not found in previous productions. He also knits the various subplots together with uncommon skill. Douglas W. Schmidt’s (Into the Woods, The Front Page) set depicts an idyllic Midwestern yard and house facade. Jane Greenwood’s (She Loves Me, Major Barbara) costumes capture the period well. Jeff Sugg’s (Sweat, Bring It On) projections are used sparingly but effectively. Miller’s depiction of the dark side of the American Dream sadly remains as relevant now as it was in 1947. Today it may be a group of anonymous Boeing executives who are putting unsafe planes in the air instead of an individual parts supplier, but they are motivated by the same corrosive greed. Rarely have I been in an audience that was so totally involved. It is definitely one of the dramatic highlights of the season. Running time: two hours 20 minutes including an intermission and a brief pause.

The Hard Problem

B-

This 2015 play by Tom Stoppard (The Coast of Utopia, Arcadia, Travesties), his first in nine years, has finally reached New York in a sleek Lincoln Center Theater production directed by Jack O’Brien (The Coast of Utopia, The Little Foxes). While not among Stoppard’s best efforts, it offers much of interest. The titular problem refers to determining the nature of human consciousness. When we meet Hilary (Adelaide Clemens; Hold On to Me Darling), she is a psychology student preparing for a job interview at the Krohl Institute of Brain Science with the assistance of her tutor Spike (Chris O’Shea; The History Boys), whose interest in her is not entirely academic. They debate whether altruism is just egoism’s disguised survival mechanism. When she arrives at Krohl for her interview, she meets Amal (Eshan Bajpay: Can You Forgive Her?), a “quant” who is competing for the same job. While he is not hired by department head Leo (Robert Petkoff; All the Way, Ragtime), Amal accidentally attracts the attention of Jerry (the excellent Jon Tenney; The Heiress), the hedge fund manager who has founded the institute, and ends up being hired at the fund. Hilary also runs into former schoolmate Julia (Nina Grollman; The Iceman Cometh), who teaches Pilates to institute employees, and Julia’s lover Ursula (Tara Summers; Gypsy of Chelsea), who works there. Julia’s main function in the play is to impart the information that when she was 15 Hilary had a daughter who was immediately put up for adoption. Ursula gives Hilary advice that will improve her chances of getting the job. We see Jerry in two roles, barking mercilessly at Amal, and being solicitous to his 13-year old daughter Cathy (Katie Beth Hall). Did I mention that she’s adopted? (Wink, wink). Hilary thrives in her new job and is sent to a conference in Venice to present a paper. Spike conveniently is also there and they hook up again. Hilary hires an assistant Bo (Karoline Xu; You Across from Me) who has left the hedge fund for the institute to feel she is doing work that contributes to society. Her boyfriend is none other than Amal. Hilary throws a party to celebrate the publishing of a paper about an experiment that Bo conducted under her guidance that suggests that altruism is innate and egoism is learned. It turns out that Bo tampered with the data to get a result that would please Hilary. As a consequence of the experiment, Hilary also finds out that her prayers for her daughter’s wellbeing have been answered. What you might expect to be the climax takes plays offstage and the play ends on a very quiet note. The ongoing debates over altruism vs. selfishness, coincidence vs. miracle, brain vs. mind take precedence over plot. In addition to the principal roles, there is an ensemble of six (John Patrick Doherty, Eleanor Handley, Olivia Hebert, Sagar Kiran, Baylen Thomas and Kim Wong) whose function consists of moving sets between scenes and sitting on risers at the back of the stage watching the other actors. While David Rockwell’s (She Loves Me, The Nap) scenic design is a wonder of drop-down panoramas, pop-up beds, movable furniture, and sliding panels, it somehow seems distracting for a play that is basically about ideas. Catherine Zuber’s (My Fair Lady, Oslo) costumes are apt. O’Brien’s direction is a bit too busy for my taste. While the play never deeply engaged me, it did hold my interest. I was surprised that Ms. Clemens got a solo bow during the curtain call as her performance, while quite competent, did not reach star level. Running time: one hour 50 minutes; no intermission.

Carousel

B-

Whether or not to see Carousel was a close call for me. Much as I admire the gorgeous score, I hate the book with its treatment of violence toward women. Curiosity to see whether an infusion of talent from New York City Ballet would matter and whether the book could be made more palatable for the #MeToo era tipped the balance so, when the show turned up on TDF, I decided to take the plunge. For me, the answer to the first question is a resounding yes. While choreographer Justin Peck has done a lot of fine work and NYCB soloist Brittany Pollack makes a fine Louise, the real revelation for me was NYCB principal Amar Ramasar, whose Jigger is a magnetic presence who commands attention. The sailors’ dance he leads to “Blow High, Blow Low” is one of the show’s highlights. He probably doesn’t have the voice for it, but I found myself wishing that he had been cast as Billy because he is far more charismatic than Joshua Henry (Violet, The Scotsboro Boys), whose Billy I found competent but unmemorable. As to the book, this production did nothing to make the element of domestic abuse less distasteful, at least for me. Nevertheless, there is much to admire. The glorious voices of Jessie Mueller (Waitress, Beautiful) as Julie Jordan and Renée Fleming (Living on Love) as her cousin Nettie Fowler do full justice to the wonderful songs and Ms. Fleming also exudes a welcome warmth. Lindsay Mendez (Significant Other, Dogfight) and Alexander Gemignani (Violet, Assassins) are wonderful as Carrie Pipperidge and Enoch Snow. Margaret Colin (Jackie: An American Life) is fierce as Mrs. Mullin. As the Starcatcher, John Douglas Thompson (Satchmo at the Waldorf, Jitney) has little chance to demonstrate his considerable talent; his silent appearances throughout the play seem a pointless distraction. The heavenly scene with the human gates is a bit kitschy. With an orchestra of 25, the music sounds lush, although I wish the volume had been reduced during the soliloquy. I was quite disappointed in Santo Loquasto’s (Hello, Dolly!) scenic design. A Carousel without a carousel is a letdown. One horse at the side of the stage doesn’t do it for me. Later we do get the top of a carousel that pops down from above like a huge inverted umbrella, but even that doesn’t revolve. Except for the elaborate background for the celestial scenes, the sets looked cheaper than what I would expect on Broadway. Ann Roth’s (Three Tall Women) costumes are rather bland. Director Jack O’Brien’s (The Coast of Utopia, Hairspray) concept of the play seems a bit muddled. To sum up, there are many strengths and many weaknesses in this Rodgers and Hammerstein revival. The bottom line is that, although I have many reservations about it, I am glad I didn’t miss it. Running time: two hours 40 minutes.

The Front Page *** B-

Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur’s much revived and adapted 1928 comedy is back on Broadway in a lavish, star-studded production led by Nathan Lane as editor Walter Burns and John Slattery as reporter Hildy Johnson. A slimmed-down John Goodman plays Sheriff Hartman, Jefferson Mays is the hypochondriac reporter Bensinger, Holland Taylor is Mrs. Grant, Hildy’s intended mother-in-law, Sherie Renee Scott is Mollie Malloy, the doxy with a heart of gold, and Robert Morse is Mr. Pincus, the befuddled messenger. And those are just the actors listed above the title! When minor roles are filled by the likes of Dylan Baker, Patricia Connolly, David Pittu and Lewis J. Stadlen, the casting can only be called profligate. The action takes place in the press room of the Criminal Courts Building in Chicago, which overlooks the gallows where an alleged Communist who killed a black policeman is scheduled to be hanged in several hours. The repartee among the reporters fills most of the first act, which takes a long time to build up steam. Things get livelier in the second act after the doomed man escapes. There is snappy dialogue and madcap physical comedy. The play really comes to life when Nathan Lane finally makes his entrance late in Act II. A touch of tragedy struck a discordant note. The third act ties up loose ends nicely. The actors are in top form, most of all Mays and Morse. I was slightly disappointed with John Slattery, an actor I have long admired but who seemed a bit old and a bit off as Hildy. In some ways, the material seemed dated: the print media no longer command the attention they did in 1928 and are no longer the exclusive province of men. Other things seemed all too timely: there are still trigger-happy cops, civic corruption and cynical courting of the black vote. The set design by Douglas W. Schmidt is excellent and the costumes by Ann Roth are spot-on. Jack O’Brien’s direction is fluid, but he has not yet found a way to enliven the first act. It was an enjoyable, if not memorable, opportunity to return to the era when plays could have three acts and more than two dozen roles. Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes, including two intermissions.

It's Only a Play ***

This much-revised comedy by Terrrence McNally, which is breaking box office records on Broadway, has a stellar cast including Nathan Lane, Matthew Broderick, Stockard Channing, Megan Mullally, F. Murray Abraham and Rupert Grint (from Harry Potter films), plus promising newcomer Micah Stock. Lane and Channing are at the top of their form, rattling off a nonstop series of bitchy zingers, many of them theatrical insider jokes that flatter the audience by making them feel in the know. Abraham, as an acerbic critic, reveals a manic comic side that I never knew he had. Mullally was out so I can’t comment on her; understudy Isabel Keating seemed flightier than necessary. Rupert Grint, as a hotshot British director who claims to crave failure, has to cope with a poorly written role and a hideous costume. Stock, who resembles a young Jim Parsons, holds his own in a long, hilarious scene with Lane. And then there’s Matthew Broderick as the author of the play whose opening night is being celebrated. He copes reasonably well with difficult material in Act One — a lecture on the depressing state of Broadway theater and a prayer for those involved in the business — but seems to retreat into a shell of blandness in Act Two. The fun is greatly abetted by an over-the-top set design by Scott Pask and hilarious costumes, including the outerwear of unseen celebrities from other Broadway shows, by Ann Roth. Director Jack O’Brien occasionally lets the pace lag. The wisp of a plot is about the anxieties of waiting for reviews on opening night, a somewhat dated concept in the age of instantly accessible reviews on newspapers’ digital sites. The second act fizzles more than it fizzes. McNally would have done well to follow one of the theatrical trends he deplores in the Act One lecture — 90-minute plays without an intermission. A string of one-liners, no matter how funny, does not stay fresh for two hours and forty minutes. It’s too much of a good thing.

The Nance ***

(Please click on the title to see the complete review.)
All praise to Douglas Carter Beane for creating Chauncey Miles, a role that Nathan Lane was born to play. He is a complex character -- a homosexual who plays a flamboyant gay stereotype in burlesque, but who finds drag demeaning, whose politics are arch-conservative, whose preferred sex is a romp in the park or a pickup at the Automat in Greenwich Village, but who, surprisingly, attracts the love of Ned (Jonny Orsini), an young innocent new to the big city. A pre-election vice crackdown in 1937 puts both his livelihood and his lifestyle in jeopardy. Beame's clever concept is to alternate scenes of Chauncey's personal life with burlesque routines and backstage scenes. The burlesque sketches with his stage partner Efram (the excellent Louis J. Stadlen) are hoary but still hilarious. The three strippers, Sylvie, Joan and Carmen (Cady Huffman, Jenni Barber and Andrea Burns) are the funniest to tread the boards since "Gypsy." The rapid alternation of short scenes in the first act works like clockwork. The second act does not fare as well. The level of inventiveness is not as high, the focus gets a little blurry, and the ending is peculiar and abrupt. For Lane fans, his performance makes the play a "must-see" despite the flaws. Orsini runs the gamut from wooden to inspired; he certainly shines in the obligatory nude scene. John Lee Beatty's set design is effective and Ann Roth's costumes are evocative. Director Jack O'Brien's work is mostly fine. I wish the second act were better, but I am still very glad that I saw the play. This Lincoln Center Theater production at the Lyceum is still in previews as I write this. Running time: 2 hours, 25 minutes including intermission.