Broadway
2ST’s Between Riverside and Crazy Rotates to Great Heights on Broadway

The detailed space of Second Stage‘s Broadway revival of Between Riverside and Crazy now playing at The Hayes Theater, rotates solidly around, taking us into the kitchen so we may listen in to these two characters not talk to one another as they eat their way through the awkwardness of the moment. And when the engagement finally becomes vocalized, we are hooked, instantly, to the conflicted lives of these complicated souls. They “just chilling“, we are told by the captivatingly complex presence of Oswaldo, daringly well portrayed by the engaging Victor Almanzar (BAM’s Medea), with a deep authenticity that resonates. He seems to be filled with electric energy, somehow positive, at this moment. But clearly, that has not always been the case. Yet, with utmost clarity, he states that this connecting engagement is his favorite time of the day, and we lean into his unlying pain and discontent. This is where Oswaldo has found a semblance of home, under the stern eye of Pops, played ever-so-solidly by the brilliant Stephen McKinley Henderson (Broadway’s A Doll’s House Part 2). It’s a true masterclass of artful complication and connection, as the air isn’t exactly calm and without conflict in the rent-stabilized apartment of Pops, but for Oswaldo, this “breakfast buds” moment is as close as it comes to some parental security and a caring attachment.
Sitting in a wheelchair at the kitchen table for no obvious reason other than it’s comfortable, or so he says, the more than capable Pops finds himself in a place of tension. We soon find out that the chair has some sort of solid attachment all on its own. However, you can’t really see it in the way he emotionally eats and engages with all the characters that wander through his kitchen, like the fascinatingly simplistic Lulu, played strongly by Rosal Colón (MTC’s Continuity). She is a wisely constructed contradiction, and it doesn’t sit well with Pops, nor the puppy we never see, or that never seems to get walked. Slowly, but surely, the truth, or at least some essence of the truth, starts to float to the surface, thanks to the solid construction by playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis (Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train; Our Lady of 121st Street), as he is so apt to do with this framework. We revel in its unwinding, as we begin to unpack and understand the collision and compression that exists inside these solid walls. For Pops, the ex-cop and recent widower, the view from his apartment on Riverside Drive is bleak and filled with grief, even from the oddly formulated vantage point jutting out on the side of the stage that becomes a form of escape for all, courtesy of set designer Walt Spangler (Broadway’s Tuck Everlasting), with strong subtle lighting by Keith Parham (2ST’s Man From Nebraska). I’m not sure I ever really understood what it was supposed to be, in the construct, but the energy that is sent out from that platform gives it an air that is unassuming and honest. And we find connection in those that inhabit it.
It seems that because of a shooting inadvertently involving Pops and the police, City Hall is demanding something more from him than what he feels he is due, and the outcome isn’t presenting itself clearly. The two sides, with his first partner, Detective O’Connor, played true by Elizabeth Canavan (ATC’s Halfway Bitches…), and the man she is engaged to, Lieutenant Caro, a part usually portrayed by Michael Rispoli (“The Rum Diary“), but played well by understudy J. Anthony Crane (MTC’s Sight Unseen) at the performance I attended, standing in for the opposing side of the argument, have wound up in that tense dining table and bedside stalemate. Much to Pops’ disappointment, his recently paroled son, Junior, played with intensity by the talented Common (“Selma“), is unceremoniously inserted into the mix and into deepening trouble, and that adds a layer of complication that hangs heavy in the air. On top of all that, Pops’ landlord wants him out of the expansive apartment, for financial reasons, and the heavy-handed visits from the Church, connected to the passing of his wife, keep showing up, failing to leave him alone in his pain and pride as he would like them to. That is until one of those visits revitalizes him in one way, but throws him down in another, thanks to the miraculous visitation from this one particularly engaging Church Lady, played to the heavens by Maria-Christina Oliveras (Broadway’s Amélie).

Stephen McKinley Henderson and Victor Almanzar in Second Stage’s Between Riverside and Crazy on Broadway. Photo by Joan Marcus 2022.
Old wounds get exposed at a dinner gathering, and complicated houseguests and their histories add layers of uncertainty and complications to the already tense arena. The writing of this Pulitzer Prize-winning dark comedy is beyond engaging, as the final ultimatum gets laid out bedside and the outcome continues to remain unclear. As directed with skill by Austin Pendleton (Broadway’s The Little Foxes starring Elizabeth Taylor; CSC’s Three Sisters), the familial territory of playwright Guirgis is spun out, delicately and with a force that crackles with humor and engagement inside this stellar production of Between Riverside and Crazy, which premiered off-Broadway at the Atlantic Theater Company in 2014. Now that it has finally made its way to Broadway, it digs in, to the fraught social complications and the subtle racial tensions of the Upper West Side of New York City, as well as in and outside of the Police fraternity, whether they want to see it or not.
It feels right and just in time, as the rhythm and the rhyme ring true and honest for the captivatingly clever collection of characters, costumed by Alexis Forte (ATC’s Halfway Bitches…) that move through the space to the determined beat of the original music and sound design by Ryan Rumery (CIFF’s “The Way Life Is“). Gentrification hangs above this apartment’s head like a guillotine, waiting to drop down if Pops doesn’t play his cards exactly right. The system is by no means playing fair, but neither, it seems, is Pops. Demons from the past hit hard in this home, from all angles, but it is the way Guirgis builds out his formulations and engagements where we find authenticity and connection throughout. The cast as a whole finds the edge in the words, feeding our collective souls as we watch the way Pops eats his pie and spikes his morning coffee. The tensions exist in strong crosscurrents, leaving us engaged completely as the gruffness raises itself up, and unpacks the tension most brilliantly. Somewhere Between Riverside and Crazy, the play unearths the specifics, finding richness, determination, vulnerability, and violence spread out evenly and underneath all, without giving away the subverted complexities of any of these complicated souls.

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Broadway
Broadway’s A Doll’s House Meticulously Stunning Revival Soars Like a Birdie Above That Clumsy Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

For a revival to find its footing, it has to have a point of view or a sense of purpose far beyond an actor’s desire to perform a part, whether it suits them or not. It needs to radiate an idea that will make us want to sit up and pay attention. To feel its need to exist. And on one particular day in March, I was blessed with the opportunity to see not just one grande revival, but two. One was a detailed pulled-apart revolutionary revival of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House that astounded. The other, unfortunately, was a clumsy revival of Tennessee Williams’ Cat on a Hot Tin Roof that fell lazily from that high-wired peak – not for a lack of trying, but from a formulation that never found its purpose.

But over at Broadway’s Hudson Theatre, a reformulation chirps most wisely and wonderfully, bringing depth and focus to a classic Henrik Ibsen (Hedda Gabler) play that I didn’t realize was in such need of an adaptation. With no extravagance at its core, Amy Herzog (Mary Jane) dynamically takes the detailed structure and beautifully adapted it with due purpose. It hypnotizes, dragging in a number of light wooden chairs, Scandinavian in style, I believe, onto the stage, one by one, by their black-clad counterparts in a determined effort to unpack what will unfold. There is no artifice to hide behind in this rendering, as designed most impeccably by scenic and co-costume designer Soutra Gilmour (NT’s My Brilliant Friend; Broadway’s & Juliet) and co-costume designer Enver Chakartash (Broadway’s Is This A Room), only A Doll’s House’s celebrated star, Jessica Chastain (Broadway’s The Heiress; “The Eyes of Tammy Faye“) rotating the expanse of the bare stage before the others join her slowly and deliberately. She sits, arms crossed, staring, daring us to look away, while knowing full well we won’t. Or can’t. And without a word, it feels like she has us exactly where she wants us. Needs us to be. And all that transpires before the play even begins.
They sit on that bare and stark stage, waiting, in a way, to be played with, like dolls patiently wanting some children to come and give them a voice through their imagination. As Nora, Chastain delivers forward a performance that is unparalleled. To witness what transpires across her face during the course of this extra fine adaptation is to engage in a dance so delicately embroidered that we can’t help but be moved and transported. She barely moves from her chair, as others, like the equally wonderful Arian Moayed (Broadway’s The Humans) as Torvald, are rotated in to sit beside her, conversing and delivering magnified lines, thanks to the brilliant work of sound designers Ben & Max Ringham (West End’s Prima Facie), that dig deep into the underbelly of the complicated interactions. This pair of actors find a pathway through the darkness, never letting us come to any conclusions until they are ready to unleash a moment that will leave you breathless. This is particularly true for Moayed’s Torvald, who seems decent enough at the beginning, but once the shift occurs, when the beautiful thing doesn’t happen as it should, his unveiling is as gut-wrenching to us as it is to Nora. Even though we knew it was coming long before the play even began to spin forward.

The art of the unfolding is steeped within the whole, refocused inside the brilliant shading, shadowing, and starkness of the cast. As Krogstad, the powerful Okieriete Onaodowan (Broadway’s Hamilton), alongside the deliciously tight Jesmille Darbouze (Broadway’s Kiss Me, Kate) as Kristine, find an engagement that sits perfectly in the structuring. They push the reforming to the edge, approaching and receding away from Chastain’s brilliant centering helping move the piece towards the required conclusion.
The same can be said of the wonderful Tasha Lawrence (LCT’s Pipeline) as Anne-Marie, and the exquisitely emotional turning of Michael Patrick Thornton (Broadway’s Macbeth) as Dr. Rank. Thornton, in particular, finds a telling and emotional space to connect, unearthing an engagement that breaks the circle apart, leaving Chastain’s Nora and all of us observers shattered and broken in its black X’d finality.
As directed with the same magnificently detailed energy and flat-walled framework as the previously seen Betrayal on Broadway and the West End, Jamie Lloyd gives us A Doll’s House that will never be forgotten. The focus is so deliberate, and the formulations are just so strong, pushed forward in black and white by the exacting lighting design of Jon Clark (West End/Broadway’s The Lehman Trilogy). Forced while remaining ever so intimate, the cascading of the statement delivered registers in a precise way, more exacting than I ever remembered, and I’ve seen numerous renditions of this epic play. And even though, from what I hear, many on the left couldn’t see the epic exit of Nora, a moment that typically registers throughout theatre history, the symbol of a woman, steadfast and true, leaving the safe and simple artifice of A Doll’s House for engagement in the hard cruel reality of the world outside is as clear as can be. The delicacies of this birdie trapped inside a cage, poisoned with lies and excuses, and beautifully brought forth by Chastain, registers the reasonings for this revival to exist. It has found a new and deliberate place to sing, and for that, I am truly grateful.
I wish I could say the same about Ruth Stage‘s modern take on the Tennessee Williams (A Streetcar Named Desire) classic, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, currently being re-delivered at the Theatre at St. Clements. As directed by Joe Rosario (Hemingway and Me; Ruth Stages’ The Exhibition), the play doesn’t find its rationale for existing in the modern day beyond the simplistic sexualization of its boxing-ring corners. Matt de Rogatis (Austin Pendleton’s Wars of the Roses) as the tense athletic Brick stays broken and damaged in his corner, riding out the moment, waiting for the click, while in the other corner is the tense Maggie, played without hesitation by Courtney Henggeler (Netflix’s “Cobra Kai“) poised and ready for the bell to ring.
The battle is only heightened by the presence of two other fighters in the opposing corners, Big Daddy, played with determination by Frederick Weller (Broadway’s To Kill a Mockingbird) in the third, and Big Mama, played with a strong intent by Alison Fraser (Gingold Theatrical’s Heartbreak House), in the fourth. And watching and cheering for their own personal perspective wins are the obnoxious Mae, typically portrayed by Christine Copley (although I believe I saw an understudy), the weasely Gooper, played by Adam Dodway (Theatre Row’s Small Craft Warnings), Rev. Tooker portrayed by Milton Elliott (Ruth Stage’s Hamlet), and Doc Baugh, typically played by Jim Kempner (“The Girlfriend Experience“) (although, once again, I believe I saw an understudy).
Generally, this is a battle that rages deceptively strong and subtle for the length of the play, swimming cruelly in the hazy heat of its Southern charm. But somewhere in this modernization, the reasonings never get fully realized, leaving the cast to wander in their stereotypical delivery without a sharp focal point in the horizon to zero in on. Hidden behind the bar and the drink, de Rogatis finds a Brick to be engaged with. He’s definitely handsome and desirable, especially in the eyes of the far-too-straightforward Henggeler’s Maggie the Cat, and his occupation of drinking rings more true than most. I’m not sure if the modernization has been created to fit his chest-baring delivery of a broken Brick, but I will say that his artful approach to the part is one of the stronger components of this otherwise clunky reimagining.
Given so much to unpack, Henggeler runs a little too fast and furious, not weaving a pause into her thoughts and actions. It’s all forward flowing, ignoring the laws of silence and deliberation. Big Mama and Big Daddy, ignoring the fact that they don’t seem to fit in with their surroundings or the set-up, find their way into the same cage as the two central figure fighters, giving us something else to contemplate in their constructs, beyond their tight fitting jeans and dress. There’s not much of a father/son connection, nor does their familial energy register, even as it moves and twitches within the pauses well. The details of attachment are lost, as they talk around things, with everyone else playing at high volume, courtesy of a sound design by Tomás Correa (Hudson Street’s Adam & Eve), delivering the Southern drawl with the intensity of an SNL skit. That’s a problem to the whole and one that doesn’t work for this rendering.
Most of the cast is all hock and no spit, moving around the room with a strange case of physicalized mendacity while never really finding a reason for their existence. The artifice gets in the way of the movement, especially in Matthew Imhoff’s (off-Broadway’s soot and spit) busy and overly clumsy set, with some distracting fading in and out by lighting designer Christian Specht’s (SSTI’s Cabaret). The storm approaching is as false as the formula and the reasoning for this retelling. It showcases some basically good actors embracing the chance to play iconic Big roles that I’m sure they have always wanted to dig their Southern-accented chomps into, possibly because one or two of them might never otherwise get the chance as they don’t exactly fit the literal sashaying of the “fat old” bodies out and around the staging of this play. The idea breeds curiosity, but one that doesn’t save this Cat on a Hot Tin Roof from falling quick and hard from its perch, I’m sad to say. While the birdie in A Doll’s House flies strong out into the cool Broadway air, with solid reasoning on its stark wings, reminding us all what makes for a worthy reimagining of a classic.
Broadway
Relevantly Tuneless Fairytale Bad Cinderella Isn’t Bad, It’s Forgettable

You are seriously asking for it, when you make the title for your musical Bad Cinderella, however the show is not bad, it’s just seriously lacking. For an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, which is normally rich in melody, the only song that has any kind of hold is “Only You, Lonely You” sung by Prince Sebastian (Jordan Dobson or in my performance the wonderful Julio Ray). The lyrics by David Zippel and book by Emerald Fennell, adapted by Alexis Scheer are inane. It doesn’t help that the cast for the most part speaks and sings with mouths full of cotton. The orchestrations sound tinny and computerized, The lead Linedy Genao has no charisma or vocals that soar musically, instead she is rather nasal, like Bernadette Peters with a cold. Why this show is two and a half hours long is beyond me.
The show is based in a town called Belleville (beautiful town en Francais), that is based solely on looks and prides itself on its superficiality. The opening number starts with “Beauty Is Our Duty,” the Queen (a fabulous Grace McLean) is into her hunks including her missing son Charming (Cameron Loyal).
And the fairy godmother (Christina Acosta Robinson) is a plastic surgeon who sings “Beauty Has a Price”. In a day and age, where we are suppose to see past all that, this show is politically incorrect.
Cinderella a Gothic, and a graffiti artist, naturally does not fit into the town’s mold of beauty, which is how she earns her nickname. Her rebel move happens when she defaces a memorial statue of Sebastian’s older brother, Prince Charming. Sebastian is more of a geek, and he and Cinderella are in the “friend zone,” since both lack communication skills in admitting their love.
Sebastian is being forced by his mother, the Queen to find a wife at a ball and invites Cinderella. Cinderella’s stepmother (the always remarkable Carolee Carmello) blackmails the Queen to get one of her daughters Adele (Sami Gayle) or Marie (Morgan Higgins) the gig.
McLean and Carmello are the bright spots in the show and if the show had been about these two, maybe we would actually have a show that could work. These two steal the show.
Cinderella has not one, but two what should have been show stopping numbers “I Know I Have A Heart (Because You Broke It)” and “Far Too Late,” but she does not have the vocals, the character development or the star power to carry them off.
The set and the revenge porn costumes by Gabriela Tylesova, are just over the top, with the storybook set faring much better than the over complicated flowered pastels that waltzed across the stage.
The direction by Laurence Connor is just dull and lacks oomph.
If you like buff men and Chippendale type choreography this is the show for you.
Bad Cinderella, Imperial Theatre, 249 West 45th Street.
Broadway
Did You Know There Is A Kander & Ebb Way?

On Friday, March 24th, the 96-year-old John Kander was given a Mayoral Proclamation from Mayor Eric Adams in celebration of the first performance of his new Broadway musical New York, New York. Following the proclamation, Lin-Manuel Miranda unveiled the sign renaming 44th Steet ‘Kander & Ebb Way. On hand was the Manhattan School of Music to performed the iconic Kander & Ebb song “New York, New York.”
New York, New York opens Wednesday, April 26, 2023 at Broadway’s St. James Theatre (246 West 44th Street).
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