M. Butterfly

C+

Since I did not see either the original 1988 Broadway production or the 1993 film, I approached this revival, directed by Julie Taymor, without preconceptions. Although I had read the mostly negative reviews and the criticisms of David Henry Hwang’s revised script, I was prepared to enjoy the production on its own terms and, to some extent, I did. Clive Owen (Old Times), whose natural charm makes him an unconventional choice to play the socially awkward Rene Gallimard, carries it off well. In the key scene where Song Liling (Jin Ha; Troilus and Cressida) enchants him by performing an aria from Madama Butterfly, he is undermined by unfortunate makeup that makes him look like a drag queen; in later scenes he is much more believable as a woman. Incidentally, he is an exceptional dancer in one of the Chinese opera scenes, all of which are quite colorful and energetic. The secondary roles are competently filled by Enid Graham (Bull in a China Shop) as Rene’s wife Agnes, Murray Bartlett (HBO’s “Looking”) as Pinkerton/Marc, Michael Countryman (Six Degrees of Separation) as Sharpless/Toulon/Judge, Clea Alsip (The Way We Get By) as Pinup Girl/Renee, and Celeste Den (Chinglish) as Comrade Chin. The set design by Paul Steinberg with large movable panels that slide and swivel is eye-catching at first but grows tiresome quickly. Constance Hoffman’s costumes are excellent. The complex story of sexual fantasy, self-delusion, the blindness of love, espionage, Western imperialism, and the Chinese cultural revolution remains fascinating even though the playwright’s revisions to bring it closer to actual events may have added too much information at the cost of mystery. There are occasional moments, particularly at the trial, when it becomes too much like a geopolitical lecture. Nevertheless, there is much to admire. Running time: two hours 20 minutes including intermission.

Six Degrees of Separation

B-

It isn’t often these days that you see a straight play with 18 actors on Broadway, so I salute the producers for bringing us this expensive revival. John Guare’s popular 1990 send-up of limousine liberals is based on a true story about a young man (the excellent Corey Hawkins) who passes himself off as Paul Poitier, son of actor Sidney, to worm his way into the homes of several wealthy East Side couples who should know better.The story is told by one such couple, art dealer Flan Kittredge (a surprisingly underwhelming John Benjamin Hickey) and his wife Ouisa (Allison Janney, competent but no match for my memories of Stockard Channing),. “Paul” is well dressed, charming and articulate, knows details about their children at Harvard, and  dangles the promise of casting them in the film Cats that his father is coming to New York to direct. They let him stay overnight. When Ouisa goes to wake him the next morning, he is in bed with a hustler (James Cusati-Moyer). During the long scene in which his hosts chase him around the apartment, the naked hustler has ample time to demonstrate that he has all the requisites for a successful career. Later the Kittredges learn that their friends Kitty (Lisa Emery) and Larkin (Michael Countryman) had their own encounter with “Paul” the previous night. We eventually meet their horrid children (Colby Minifie, Keenan Jolliff and Ned Riseley) who are portrayed as cartoon characters. Chris Perfetti fares better as Trent, the young man who has inadvertently set the events in motion. My biggest complaint about the play is the episode in which “Paul” cons two young would-be actors from Utah (Peter Mark Kendall and Sarah Mezzanotte) with tragic results. It is an abrupt shift from the satire of the rest of the play. I found director Trip Cullman’s approach to the play generally too broad. Mark Wendland’s set is very red and very tall. Clint Ramos’s costumes are fine. The play aspires to deeper meanings that it never reaches. Running time: one hour 40 minutes, no intermission.

Privacy *** B

The collaboration between London’s Donmar Warehouse and the Public Theater is off to a good start with this ingenious production created by writer James Graham and director Josie Rourke. Substantially revised from the 2014 Donmar version, the play is an informative essay on the uses and abuses of cybersurveillance, wrapped in the tale of an emotionally closed British writer who moves to New York to learn to open up a bit (or is it really just to pursue his ex?). The admirable Daniel Radcliffe, who never repeats himself in his choice of roles for the New York stage, plays the writer. The other actors — De’adre Aziza, Raffi Barsoumian, Michael Countryman, Rachel Dratch and Reg Rogers — skillfully play a multitude of roles including psychiatrist, parents, neighbors, cyberexperts and intelligence agency officials. We even get an appearance on video by Edward Snowden. There’s also an onstage digital researcher (Harry Davies). Audience participation is an important part of the proceedings. People are urged to turn on their cellphones (silent mode, of course), log onto the theater’s wi-fi network, use Google, take selfies and email photos of favorite New York locales. None of this material goes to waste. The first act sets up the basic situation and settles the writer in New York. In the second act, both funnier and scarier, he ventures into the world of online dating. Radcliffe is front and center the whole time except for a lengthy episode in Act Two which begins as a case of identity theft and turns into something darker. There's a demonstration of the mountain of information collected by one's smartphone that is truly alarming. Lucy Osborne’s set is simple but witty; it features the ultimate overstuffed couch for analysis and a New York skyline made of Amazon cartons. Duncan McLean’s projections add a lot, including identifying the many characters. Paul Tazewell’s costumes are unobtrusive. Occasionally the informative and entertainment elements of the play get in each other’s way. At other times the material threatens to become repetitive. Nevertheless, it makes for a most unusual theatrical experience. Too bad the entire run is virtually sold out. Running time: 2 1/2 hours including intermission.

The Open House ***

Another day, another play about a dysfunctional family. Since my two previous experiences with Will Eno's work were negative -- I hated "Thom Pain (based on nothing)" and was bored with "Middletown" -- I planned to skip his new play at Signature Theatre until a respected friend persuaded me it to see it. I won't go so far as to say that the third time was a charm, but I did find this droll absurdist comedy by far the most entertaining of the three. The unnamed family consists of the tyrannical Father (Peter Friedman), confined to a wheelchair by a stroke, Mother (Carolyn McCormick), a shell of a woman after years of living with a verbally abusive husband, Uncle (Michael Countryman), Father's sad sack widowed brother, and Son (Danny McCarthy) and Daughter (Hannah Bos), the two adult children who have returned home for their parents' anniversary. Father's vicious tongue is a deadly weapon, ready to wound anyone who dares to engage him. Even the family dog has fled. Unbeknownst to his family, Father has decided to sell the house. The high concept is that each of the five characters we meet leaves the house and is replaced by a new character played by the same actor. Before play's end, the stage is occupied by a much happier bunch -- a real estate agent, a painter-landscaper, a couple who might buy the house and their attorney. It's a clever stunt, but I refuse to glean any deep metaphysical thoughts from it. The cast is excellent (especially Friedman), the living room set by Antje Ellermann is picture perfect, Bobby Frederick Tilley II's costumes are fine and Oliver Butler's direction is smooth. I liked it enough that I bought a ticket for Eno's upcoming Broadway debut "The Realistic Joneses." Running time: 75 minutes, no intermission.