Mama I’m a Big Girl Now!, the new musical entertainment at New World Stages, seems so eager to race to the exclamation point that it’s even missing a comma. The show wants to spread exuberance, excitement, and joy. It mostly succeeds.
It may be an overgeneralization, but let’s put it out there: In stage comedies, the more the cast laughs at its own purportedly hilarious exploits, the less the audience does. The onstage hollers and whoops are frequent and loud in The Z Team, Jeff and Jacob Foy’s workplace yuk-fest at Theatre Row, and while some of the audience seemed to enjoy it, those seated in E1 and E2 barely cracked a smile.
Loneliness and pandemic: two words that soared in usage in 2020 and 2021, when the COVID lockdowns kept people apart from their friends, family and regular activities. That pandemic is not the one playwright Olivia Haller references in the title Loneliness Was a Pandemic. Her occasionally thoughtful but not fully engaging drama (in which the word pandemic is never said) is concerned with another topic that’s been top of mind over the past few years: artificial intelligence.
Given recent electoral events it doesn’t require a huge imaginative leap to envisage a dystopian United States in the “not-so-distant future.” That future is when Amy Berryman’s philosophical, sci-fi–infused play Walden, which premiered on London’s West End and now comes to Second Stage Theater, takes place, depicting a world wrecked by climate catastrophe, human folly, and rapaciousness.
It’s a fallacy that addiction can be cured by a stint in rehab. Anyone celebrating sobriety can affirm that the process of recovery takes decades—and is often lifelong. Nevertheless, a rehab experience can trigger a life-changing awakening. This unpredictable process is at the center of Spike Manton and Harry Teinowtiz’s Another Shot, a poignant exploration of Teinowitz’s alcoholism and treatment. Director Jackson Gay keeps the play teetering between denial and acceptance, and between comedy and tragedy.
Mama I’m a Big Girl Now!, the new musical entertainment at New World Stages, seems so eager to race to the exclamation point that it’s even missing a comma. The show wants to spread exuberance, excitement, and joy. It mostly succeeds.
It may be an overgeneralization, but let’s put it out there: In stage comedies, the more the cast laughs at its own purportedly hilarious exploits, the less the audience does. The onstage hollers and whoops are frequent and loud in The Z Team, Jeff and Jacob Foy’s workplace yuk-fest at Theatre Row, and while some of the audience seemed to enjoy it, those seated in E1 and E2 barely cracked a smile.
There’s sure been a passel of Medeas lately. An operatic one by Fusion Theatre back in March. Red Bull Theater’s Medea: Re-Versed, the recent hip-hoppy version. And now Medea: A Musical Comedy, written, directed by and starring one John Fisher, currently infesting the Actors Temple Theatre. The very title is a joke, and be assured, Fisher will keep piling the yuks on top of one another. If only the vast majority of them weren’t so juvenile.
When the program comes with a glossary, that can be a trouble sign. The glossary for The Witness Room, Pedro Antonio Garcia’s drama-with-some-laughs, runs to three pages. So much legalese—J-D Redcap, Three and a C, Chomo—how much will an audience member be able to understand? And for the first several minutes, it’s a struggle to figure out what the heck’s going on in set designer Daniel Allen’s cluttered witness room. Stick around, though, and the narrative becomes clearer. And what follows is a compelling peek into the lives and interactions of NYPD cops, their legal maneuverings in pretrial, and how slippery their moral code can get.
If you’re of an age, you can’t forget it: That jingle, insistently catchy, as maddening as the one for the Mister Softee truck. “Cellino & Barnes! Injury attorneys! 800-888-8888!” It first appeared in 1998, haunted generations, and if Roy Cellino Jr. and Steve Barnes had not squabbled their empire into dissolution shortly before Barnes crashed his plane in 2020, we might be listening to it yet.
Among the crop of summer Off-Broadway musicals, and it’s been a flavorless crop, here’s something of an anomaly. The Sabbath Girl (book by Cary Gitter, lyrics by Gitter and Neil Berg, music by Berg) isn’t overproduced like Empire, or bathetic like From Home. Whatever its deficiencies, and it does have them, The Sabbath Girl also has something we haven’t been seeing in a lot of new musicals: it has a heart.
It’s not hard to appreciate what Albert M. Tapper, the AMT in AMT Theater, and his cowriters are trying to accomplish with David, a New Musical (yes, that’s the title): create a brand-new Big Old Musical, with big tunes, big ensemble, big emotions. The project appears to be very close to Tapper’s heart, and, along with collaborators Gary Glickstein (book and lyrics) and Martha Rosenblatt (book), he has played by the rules of traditional musical-theater storytelling. But his team has made several misjudgments.
It’s I’m Not Rappaport meets Waiting for Godot meets The Gin Game! Take two old codgers on a park bench, combine with existential meanderings in a fixed setting, season with the ravages of aging, and you have Just Another Day, Dan Lauria’s uncertain reflection on all three components (but especially the third). Just Another Day suffers from being too much—well, just another day. Nothing terribly dramatic happens, and a great deal of curiously multisyllabic palaver fills out the hour and 45 minutes, including intermission. But it does have two actors very much worth seeing, for Lauria has cast himself, and opposite him, a flawless Patty McCormack.
The fun thing about writing a fantasy set in the future or in some alternate universe is, of course, you get to make up your own rules. Garret Jon Groenveld’s The Hummingbirds, a dystopian fantasy set in a future of indeterminate distance, has been kicking around for a decade or so, but it is currently making its New York debut at the Chain Theatre. Groenveld depicts a highly regulated society, yet a violent and anarchic one, and it’s debatable whether we’ve moved closer to such an environment since he wrote it. But no question, the man has imagination, and his vision is efficiently presented in a well-staged, well-acted little production.
A sign in the lobby of Theater 555 says: “Warning: This performance features theatrical haze, flashing lights, and closeted Republicans.” And the set by David Goldstein that greets the audience is a gleefully tacky, Vegas-esque sea of silver tinsel streamers, with a “Make America SLAY Again” banner above. It all primes one for a good time. And then Five: the Parody Musical half-delivers.
Much of the audience at The Christine Jorgensen Show seemed to be, as the phrase goes, of a certain age, and maybe that’s understandable. Who under 60 knows who Christine Jorgensen was? Yet for a time in the 1950s she was, as a character says in Donald Steven Olson’s play with music, “one of the most famous human beings in the world.”
War Words, assembled by Michelle Kholos Brooks from the words of some dozen veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars, is simplicity itself, and all the stronger for it. The show thrusts the audience into combat and its devastating aftereffects. You may quibble here and there with the presentation and the choices of what’s included and what isn’t, but it’s unlikely that you’ll leave A.R.T./New York unmoved.
It’s a noir. It’s a drama. It’s a comedy, maybe. It’s Ode to the Wasp Woman, Rider McDowell’s history of B-level stardom in long-ago Hollywood. Graced by Sean Young (Blade Runner, Wall Street), a Hollywood leading lady whose own career history is pretty colorful, Wasp Woman has its attractions, but coherence and insight aren’t among them.
The Making of a Great Moment is, at least the press release implies, supposed to be about a cross-country bike trip. But it turns out that Peter Sinn Nachtrieb’s play at Urban Stages is mostly about other things. Maybe even calling it a “play” isn’t quite right; it’s closer to performance art, or an actors’ exercise, a chance for Bill Bowers and Esther Williamson to try on a closetful of identities, all the while philosophizing about the meaning of art, the meaning of life, the value of performing. Which they attack with great enthusiasm, at times making you forget the banality of much of the material. Is The Making of a Great Moment interesting? Sometimes. But it lacks discipline.
So why is Rebecca Gilman’s new drama called Swing State? Granted, it takes place in rural Wisconsin, in the recent past, when COVID shots were novelties and the Delta variant was lurking. But there’s not a lot political going on among her four principals, beyond a general head-butting between Peg (Mary Beth Fisher), the liberal, nature-loving recent widow occupying Todd Rosenthal’s hyperrealistic prairie home set, and the more traditionalist, presumably Trump-loving denizens around her. (Gratefully, the man himself rates only one mention.) In fact, when you get down to it, there’s really not a lot of anything going on.
If you just can’t wait for the transatlantic transfer of the hit West End Cabaret that was recently announced, cheer up, there’s another Nazi musical in town. That would be Chanteuse, the bleak and arresting solo tale of the remarkable fate of one gay man in Weimar and post-Weimar Germany. The performer, Alan Palmer, also wrote the book and lyrics, while the curiously soothing music is by David Legg. Chanteuse has a frightening and touching story to tell, but you might not be entirely on board with the way it gets told.
The first thing to know about The Gospel According to Heather: It’s way out of author Paul Gordon’s wheelhouse. Gordon, the rare writer who creates book, music, and lyrics, specializes in adaptations of lofty classics, most prominently Jane Eyre. His 2009 version of Daddy Long Legs gets produced a lot (while convincing some of us that epistolary musicals aren’t a great idea). For The Gospel According to Heather he turns thoroughly contemporary, with an original story so current that there are jokes about drag storybook hour, Dylan Mulvaney’s Budweiser ad, and the congressional tussle over gas ovens. Heather, like its title character, isn’t perfect, but it has more on its mind than the average musical comedy, and it dispenses its outrage with verve and good humor.
“The human race has only one really effective weapon, and that is laughter.” The words are those of Mark Twain, né Samuel Clemens, and the philosophy gets a healthy workout in Samuel Clemens: Tales of Mark Twain, Joe Baer’s one-man retrospective of the life and works—but mostly the life—of America’s great author. Baer loves his subject, and he works up a worthy retelling of Clemens’s life and times. He might have labored harder to carry them into a modern perspective, but it’s still a pleasant, leisurely ride.
Lynn Nottage. Author of a Pulitzer-winning masterpiece (Sweat), another Pulitzer winner (Ruined), a wild phantasmagorical comedy with revealing things to say about the underclass (Clyde’s), a heartrending miniature she also skillfully adapted into an opera (Intimate Apparel), and several others. Who wouldn’t want to see a little-known early work of hers? Not for nothing is Keen Company promoting Crumbs from the Table of Joy as “the Lynn Nottage play you don’t know (yet).”
A sequel to The Importance of Being Earnest? It’s a tall order, given how frequently Oscar Wilde’s 1895 masterpiece returns, and how beloved it is. Alice Scovell’s attempt, The Rewards of Being Frank, gets a few things right and several things wrong, and it’s not the strongest production that New York Classical Theatre has ever done. But if you’re curious about what happened to Ernest and Algernon and Gwendolen and Cecily, and are willing to suspend a fair amount of disbelief, you’ll have a decent time.
