If unfamiliar, the plot revolves around Mama Rose (Audra McDonald), who is determined to get her daughters June (Jordan Tyson), and Louise (Joy Woods), to perform on the Orpheum Circuit and become Vaudeville stars. Many would describe her as the ultimate stage Mother, trying to live out her own unfulfilled show business dreams. After little success, constantly changing routines and replacing chorus members, she meets Herbie (Danny Burstein), who is a retired theater agent, now a candy salesman supplying Vaudeville house concession stands. As can be expected, they become a team much due to Rose’s determination conquering Herbie’s reluctance. As the children become older, the talented June, tired of her mother still treating her like a child, decides to marry and run off with chorus boy Tulsa (Kevin Csolak), who has put together an act for the two of them. Immediately Rose tries to make the untalented Louise the star of the show. Still failing to achieve her goals Rose agrees to marry Herbie, after ending up as the legal show in a burlesque house. One of the strippers cannot perform, so Rose volunteers Louise, who takes on the name Gypsy Rose Lee, to step into the star spot. Louise shoots to stardom and Rose fades into the background. The dramatic climax comes as Rose reveals her own lost dreams of becoming a star as Louise looks on from the shadows, witnessing her mother’s breakdown. All is well that ends well in musical comedy.

The glue that holds this ill-constructed production together is the outstanding performance by Ms. McDonald, who forges through scene after scene with endless energy and powerful determination. Those avid theatre aficionados that were a bit concerned about Ms. McDonald’s voice not being suited for this dynamic mezzo role, can leave those worries behind. Yes, there are a couple of uncomfortable moments transitioning from chest to head voice, but for the most part the vocals are strong, clear and dramatic. Perhaps this adds to the possibility that imperfection is a reason why her dreams were shattered. Ms. Woods turns in a wonderful performance as the young Louise, but stumbles once elevated to Gypsy Rose Lee, once again due to the direction and staging of her transition numbers.

By no means is this production terrible or unsatisfying, but it is not perfect. Mr. Wolfe has delivered some interesting spins on the storyline, but they are not enough to achieve a cohesive, groundbreaking revival. Ms. McDonald and the full orchestra deliver an incredible score may be reason enough to purchase a ticket. Regardless of the slow pace and awkward staging, the eleven o’clock number is what you will remember for a long time after leaving the theatre.  When Ms. McDonald takes center stage on the passerelle in lonely light, with only her thoughts beside her, she gives a performance of a lifetime as she immerses herself in the pain and sadness of “Rose’s Turn.” During these last riveting five minutes you forget everything that has come before. It is only here and now that matters. It becomes clear Ms. McDonald has superbly met the challenge, and that this musical certainly deserves the place in theatre history that it has already achieved.

The Dahl children went to church faithfully with their parents, always “vacationed” in the Big Medows Lodge at the Shenandoah National Park and never slept over at friends’ houses (Ginny was afraid they’d be molested). They learned to play a variety of musical instruments with proficiency and were coached rigorously to sing “Oh Shenandoah” in tight four-part harmony by their father Bill.

The play takes place in the present on the first floor of the Dahl farmhouse in Connecticut on Christmas Eve when Mark is in his early forties, and his three sisters are in their mid-thirties, and Bill and Ginny are both sixty-five. The script describes the farmhouse as a place literally stuffed to the brim with goodies, evergreens and cheer. It’s an oppressive display of festivities and middle-class wealth that pushes the limits of taste.” The ideal place for a cult.

At Ginny’s dogged insistence, they have spent every Christmas Eve at the farmhouse since childhood. On this night, Mark arrives with his wife Rachel (Molly Bernard), Diana Dahl Bennett arrives with her Episcopal priest husband James Bennett (Christopher Lowell) and their new baby, Evie arrives with her pregnant wife Pippa (Roberta Colindrez), and Johnny arrives late, as he always does, with his friend Loren (Barbie Ferrara) who has been off drugs for “a hundred and twenty-six days.” Johnny is her sponsor.

It becomes clear immediately that this is not the Dahl “quintet” of the past. Although the play begins with a rousing rendition of “When Joseph The family sings in unison, in duets, and in solos. They play a variety of instruments grabbed from various locations in the room which Bill pounds away at the piano. There is another round of merriment when Johnny arrives with Loren. The full extended family spontaneously breaks out in a call and response “Children go where I send Thee.” Between singing and playing and dancing, the fissures in the fabric of the Dahl family begin to appear.

No longer a loving “Christian” family but a cult of love that has slowly fallen down a rabbit hole of delusional dysfunction and homophobia, driven partly by the mental illness that has been disregarded for far too many years. The love in the Dahl household has not been both unconditional and non-judgmental.  Ginny’s love comes with conditions, while Bill’s love has no conditions. One of those “loves” without the other does not result in true love. And no one can break free from the dysfunctional family matrix.

There is bickering about who sleeps where and who gets replaced by another sibling. Johnny does not arrive until half the evening is over. And nothing can start until Johnny arrives. There are at least two meltdowns. The “prophet” Diana completely loses her ego strength in a prolonged nervous breakdown while beating her baby bump. The siblings are concerned about Bill but have a difficult time finding the opportunity for a family meeting. Diana hurls homophobic slurs at Eva and Pippa and confronts Laura about her lack of faith and claims Laura’s addiction is a direct result of that denial of the existence of God. And Ginny blurts out “Bill can’t remember anything. He has Alzheimer’s.” One wonders why this family continues to gather yearly in such a toxic and harmful environment. Cults are difficult to escape from, especially ones that professes to nothing but love. What does hold the family together is the “harmony” achieved when singing and playing instruments.

On this night, however, even that is not enough. Eva and Pippa leave for the hotel where they are staying and promise not to come back the next morning for the family photo. Rachel leaves with Loren – both heading back home. Eva and Pippa do return for the photo, but it is clear (or is it?) that a tipping point might have been reached, and this will be the last Dahl Christmas Eve reunion. As the lights fade, that is the only hope that remains for this damaged and damaging extended family.

Trip Cullum directs with the prevenient grace that allows the superb cast to surgically peel back the layers and layers of dysfunction that playwright Leslye Headland has constructed in this not to be missed play.

Jonathan Spector’s “Eureka Day,” currently running at Manhattan Theatre Club’s Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, is a complex and thoughtful trope for the upside and downside of such moral ambiguity and challenges the audience to come to terms with issues of “fact-based” decision making, inclusion, feeling seen and not othered, gender neutral pronouns and how these important concepts factor into dealing with a crisis in the community. What happens, indeed, when a mumps outbreak at the school forces the board to examine the facts about vaccinating infants and herd immunity? And what happens when two children of board members contract the mumps, the memory of one child of a board member who dies after inoculation years ago surfaces, and the Alameda County Health Officer suggests quarantine for the affected students and highly recommends vaccination for the student population?

After grappling with the issue as a board – and not being able to reach consensus – Eli suggests it is time for a “Community Activated Conversation.” Don (a calm and gate-keeping Bill Irwin) and Suzanne (a warm and gracious Jessica Hecht) concur. New board member Carina (a thoughtful and dedicated Amber Gray) – a Black lesbian who just moved back west with her wife from the east coast – rightly questions what the Community Activated Conversation might be and Meiko (a wry and reserved Chelsea Yakura-Kurtz) – late to the discussion because her daughter Olivia has a fever and a swollen face – demurs to scheduling the event for the following day. The Conversation transpires on the Facebook Live platform so all parents can “be part of” the conversation.

Any semblance of unanimity about vaccinations and herd immunity that was present in the board discussion, quickly evaporates during the Community Activated Conversation when the “community” begins to flood the Live Stream (projection design by David Bengali Play) conversation with everything but the assigned topic. The comments run the gamut from the typical, “But I heard” intrusions to completely meanspirited and offensive posts. It is a risky business to write an entire scene in which the actors are upstaged by the silence of the hilarious stream of comments from a Live Screen session projected on the school library’s back wall. However, playwright Jonathan Spector succeeds, and the Live Stream scene successfully serves as the crisis of the play.

The heightened action in the final scenes would require multiple spoiler alerts. It is enough to know that the provenance of facts, the veracity of facts, and all the honorable goals of the Eureka Day community are challenged, some upended – all of this with considerable casualties, racism, othering, and a host of other” unthinkable” atrocities. Under Anna D. Shapiro’s astute direction, the cast brings authenticity and honesty to their complex characters. As they crisscross Todd Rosenthal’s realistic school library set, the characters challenge all preconceptions of truth, justice, and the American Way.

This is the power “triangle” that drives the narrative of Jessica Goldberg’s “Babe” which is currently running at The Pershing Square Signature Center’s Alice Griffin Jewel Box Theater and is the first offering in the New Group’s thirtieth season.

Despite efforts by director Scott Elliott and noteworthy performances by the cast, Jessica Goldberg’s weak and fissured script often buckles under its own weight. Its important theme of empowerment competes with sub-themes and narratives that fail to move the action forward. The audience is left to “fill in the blanks” regarding Katherine’s due diligence before asking to be an A&R and why Abigale’s chemotherapy has prevented her from exposing Gus’s shortcomings and failures as the “boss.”

The playwright focuses too much on the interactions between Abby and Gus and fails to flesh out the significant relationship between Abby and Katherine. The audience needs to know more about the motivation of each character and how their conflicts drive the plot.

Derek McLane’s set design serves the play’s changing scenes, and the various playing areas are well lighted by Cha See. Jessica Paz’s sound design along with the original music by BETTY clearly define the parameters of the music industry.

All three actors deliver authentic and believable performances. Gracie McGraw handles both of her characters (Katherine and Kat) well and allows her to showcase her formidable vocal skills. Marisa Tomei’s Abby is as feisty as she is fragile, and she shines in the final scenes exhibiting her character’s somewhat late but significant growth. Arliss Howard could not be more unlikable in his character Gus’s fall from grace and career-ending outing by Katherine.

Al though “Babe” is worth the look before it closes on Sunday, December 22, one wishes the play was more well-structured and truly exposed the dysfunction in the workplace that fails to recognize the accomplishments of women and the need for restructuring the work environment.

The sisters gather once a year at the Jernigan home on Kwemera Island (settings by Adam Rigg) off the coast of Georgia for “the Jernigan Gal quilting corner.” This is the first quilting since their “mama” died. The engine that drives the narrative here is the sisters’ overwhelming vortex of mama memories.

Each of the four sisters – Clementine (Crystal Dickinson), Gio (Adrienne C. Moore), Cassan (Susan Kelechi Watson), and Amber (Laure E. Banks) have a different father, so their memories of their childhoods and their relationships to Mama and their specific father are vastly different, with Mama being the matriarch and the common denominator between the siblings. There is much the four have not shared about their childhood and adolescent experiences. This first quilting after her death triggers those memories: these memories range from good memories to memories laden with unspeakable events.

It is difficult to reveal the unspeakable and inappropriate and unacceptable life stories that are shared finally and belatedly shared between the sisters. To do so would require spoiler alerts that would undermine Katori Hall’s narrative that carefully and surgically peels back the layers of jealousy, mistrust, and numbing trauma.

It would not be accurate to describe the “The Blood Quilt” narrative as “universal.” Some of the skeletons revealed here are in every family’s closet. But what transpires in the Jernigan home is unique. It is the story of five Southern Black women who have experienced the vicissitudes of life through a specific and sacred lens.

It might be easy to say, as some have, that Katori Hall has taken on too many issues to give any sufficient development: that is the way life is sometimes. Family life is messy. It might also be tempting to say that “The Blood Quilt” is overlong or overwrought. But that would be considering life itself to be overlong or overwrought. We choose to deal with life: it is worth taking the time to parse Katori Hall’s narrative.

How do sisters connected by blood through their mother exorcise the demons that have haunted them since childhood? Group therapy? Family therapy? An Esalen Institute retreat? Hallucinogens? Those platforms might solve fissures in the family matrix: the playwright chooses the more challenging to stage paranormal and magical realism.

After much vitriol and disclosure, Clementine describes the ritual that will bring the family dysfunction to an end: “You see, we all prick our forefinger with this needle. Passed on down from Ada. On every corner we sign our names in blood with it. Clementine. Gio. Cassan. Amber. But somebody gotta sign that centerpiece. It’s usually the oldest or the youngest” (who in this case is Cassan’s fifteen-year-old daughter Zambia (Mirirai).

Amber responds: “I just feel it’s—I don’t know—I mean— a bit back in the day. “Fusing the cloth with the life force.” Next, you’ll have us dancing around the quilt with chickens above our heads. Hoping the ancestors will rain down blessings. (then going Southern Preacher) “Whomsoever will be wrapped up will get the power!!!”

And Amber’s prediction continues the paranormal activity that begins in the bedroom when the sisters agree to begin the ritual Clementine suggests and comes to a climax just before the end of the play when the car is waiting to take them on the ferry back to the mainland.

Lileana Blain-Cruz directs with a keen sensitivity to the subject matter, particularly to the difficult paranormal and magical realism scenes. The ensemble cast members deliver authentic and believable performances portraying a dysfunctional family searching for closure, connectivity, and a future unburdened with the ghosts of the past. “The Blood Quilt” is a unique and powerful exploration of the richness of an extended family caught is a matrix of oppressive memories.

The plot revolves around two humanoids that have been sent to a senior HelperBot retirement facility outside of Seoul, Korea. They are there to live out the rest of their existence until their batteries no longer are capable of recharging, or replacement parts have become extinct, forcing them to stop operating. We meet HelperBot 3 Oliver (an incredible Darren Criss), who was sent there by his owner James (a convincing Marcus Choi), who has become ill and can no longer afford to keep him but promises to return and retrieve him sometime soon. Oliver lives a systematic life waiting for the mail, especially his jazz magazine about the music he learned to love from James, and caring for Hwaboon his orchid plant. Oliver has become enthralled with the jazz singer Gil Brentley (crooner Dez Duron), who appears sporadically on stage, delivering sentimental love ballads. Oliver anxiously awaits the day James will return to bring him home. Everything is fine until there is a knock on the door by his neighbor Claire (a delightful Helen J. Shun), who needs to borrow his charger since hers is not working. Claire is a later model HelperBot, being less enduring than the sturdy older model that is Oliver. The two form a new routine as their relationship starts to develop and they reveal their secrets, hopes and desires. Soon reality seems to intrude, and their journey comes to an end, only to inspire the start of a new journey with hopefully a different outcome.

The cast is remarkable, and the chemistry between Oliver and Claire is penetrating and not at all mechanical. Mr. Criss and Ms. Shen are astonishingly believable as humanoids, but as endearing as any mortal found in a romance novel. They are a perfect balance of emotion and intellect. Mr. Choi creates a stable James and is fully competent, appearing as James’ son Junseo. Mr. Duron entertains with expressive, soft, solid ballads reminiscent of the Rat Pack era. Along with the shining cast, the scenic design by Dane Laffrey is sparkling, eye catching and fluid, enhanced by the clean moody and atmospheric lighting design of Ben Stanton. Costume design by Clint Ramos Is appropriate, using a sleek, tailored style for the humanoids accenting their robotic nature, and warm, homey, comfortable clothing for the humans. The music by Mr. Aronson will not have you leaving the theatre humming a tune, but it is pleasant, reliable, clever and intelligent, complimenting the characters.

This musical is set in the near future but is certainly relevant in addressing the moral issues and emotional angst facing society today. Sometimes good things come in small packages and this gift being given to Broadway this season is a perfect example. Perhaps the real magic of this production is not “happily ever after”, but merely the simple fact that the choices made in “Maybe Happy Ending” are just as satisfying and certainly more realistic.

This movie-inspired stage revival/reimagining of the iconic “Sunset Boulevard” is the darkest and by far the most engaging of any productions that have come before or any that might come after. Jamie Lloyd’s staging is inventive and unique. He creates a bare movie set where the four principals and the Hollywood wannabes slowly fade into the sunset (or the end) of their lives – some sooner than expected, the rest much later than anticipated.

Norma Desmond is a forty-something former silent film star who wants “to go back where she belongs” on the silver screen. She is writing a screenplay about Salome which would star her as the protagonist who has all the lines in the movie. Delusional? Norma thinks not, nor does her former director and first husband Max Von Mayerling who is now her servant/butler. Norma rereads thousands of fan letters (check the postmarks) written by Max and is convinced that once her screenplay is finished, Cecil B. DeMille will have no choice but to direct it. Meanwhile, she mourns the death of her monkey, watches her old silent movies with Max, often falls into deep depressions accompanied by wrist-cutting, and stars in a two-person fantasy world which can never be penetrated by reality.

Enter Joe Gillis from the real world of screenwriting who is “at the bottom of the barrel” and has arrived in Hollywood from Dayton, Ohio hoping to restart his career with an upcoming meeting at Paramount “along with about a thousand other writers.” He parks his car blocks from Paramount, walks to his appointment, and gets ambushed by two finance men who want to repossess his car. He escapes with the help of his sometimes girlfriend Betty and happens to run right into Norma Desmond’s mansion where Max invites him in after admonishing him to “wipe his feet.”

Fast forward. When Norma discovers that Joe is a screenwriter, she and Max convince/coerce him to help her finish her “Salome” script by leaving his apartment (and life) and moving into the room over the garage which Max has already fitted with a bed and toiletries. Norma falls in love with Joe. Joe falls in love with the opportunity to make money. The rest of the narrative is well known both from Billy Wilder’s 1950 epic film and Andrew Lloyd Webber’s (Don Black and Christopher Hampton) long-running musical. But what drives Norman, Max, and Joe down the delusional rabbit hole that leads to Joe’s death and Norma’s arrest? Why is it so important for Norma to “give the world . . . new ways to dream” throughout her acting career? Why does Max collude with Norma? Why does Joe betray Norma? The answer: hubris. Jamie Lloyd’s “Sunset Blvd.” is an extended metaphor for humankind’s arrogance and self-importance, humankind’s wont to emulate divinity, humankind’s excessive pride.

This “Sunset Blvd.” is movie within a musical within a movie. It is a stark reminder of what happens when humankind refuses to accept mortality and reach for divinity. It is a stark reminder of what happens when humankind loses its grip on reality and allows its collective ego strength to evaporate. It is a stark reminder of what can happen when the center no longer holds. It is relevant because it mirrors the hubris that is exhibited in today’s national and international leaders and leaves those of us “out there in the dark” wondering what exactly we are in store for.

Basically, the plot revolves around a parlor game that is a new version of truth and dare for the tech and social media crowd. A group of friends (if you can believe it) is gathered for a night of cocktails and watching the lunar eclipse on the rooftop balcony of the penthouse owned by Roger (Neil Patrick Harris), and Eve (Jane Krakowski). They have a seventeen-year-old daughter Sam (Genevieve Hannelius) who dislikes her mother and would rather confide in her father, who has graciously purchased a box of condoms for her.

The show opens with Sam viciously arguing with her mother Eve. Then Roger has a confrontation with Eve after Sam leaves, which is not very pleasant. Friends begin to arrive, including Claire (Debra Messing), her husband Brett (Garret Dillahunt), Frank (Michael Oberholtzer), his newlywed wife Hannah (Constance Wu), and the always late, Logan (Tramell Tillman) who arrives without his expected date who he says has a fever, and who happens to be Black. Everyone settles in with a few drinks while snide remarks are exchanged, and barbs are tossed like a rattling machine gun, leaving no one unscathed. Then the parlor game begins, where everyone leaves their phone on the coffee table face up. As texts come in, they must be read or aloud, and if calls come through, the players must answer and put them on speaker. Secrets are revealed, tempers rise, guests retreat to the balcony to snort cocaine and relationships are destroyed or put on shaky ground.

There is a surprise ending which would be a spoiler alert, but by that time who really cares what happens. Not only are the sexual situations that are revealed outlandish and close to impossible, but they also become tiring as they occur simultaneously, one after the other. The shock effect becomes numbing as the dislike of the characters grows stronger. The problems are cliché and melodramatic and there is no real dramatic arc. Everything floats on the surface with no real depth and zero character development. The remarkable cast gives it their all, but never succeeds in transcending the material, partly due to the poor direction by the playwright Robert O’Hara. This production would have played much better as a farce, rather than trying to take itself seriously. It falls prey to the trap of writing despicable characters and asking an audience to care about them. After all the lies, abuse, insensitivity and vulgarity, it walks a fine line between comedy and tragedy but never achieves the level of either.

Production values are superb, with costume design by Sarafina Bush being appropriate and unintrusive, defining each character. Lighting design by Alex Jainchill creates an atmospheric mood that enhances the magnificent two-story penthouse set by Clint Ramos. This is an evening of theater that audiences will either love or hate, and either way it is still a treat to see this talented ensemble perform on stage. One only wished the product was a bit more perceptive.

The shipwrecked in “Swept Away” are, like many, those fallen from grace, those at the end of their career or perhaps the end of their lives, those looking to escape the past to find a new future, and those who think they are saviors. They are tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, and spies. They are navigating the vicissitudes of human experience. None of them have names. They are the members of the audience.

The shipwrecked could be the mythic Gilgamesh, Noah, and Jonah, or anyone less known seeking shelter from life’s storm or attempting to evade responsibility. In this case the fallen are the Mate (a feisty and unpredictable John Gallagher. Jr.), the savior is a Big Brother (a sincere and faithful Stark Sands), the searcher is a Little Brother (an adventurous and carefree Adrian Blake Enscoe), and the one at the end of his career is the Captain of the whaler (a wizened and thoughtful Wayne Duvall). These four and the twelve swarthy sailors who do not survive the shipwreck are the whaler’s captain and crew. The foursome does survive the shipwreck, if one can call their survival story a victory over death. Think of a savior, I guess, and twelve loyal disciples.

Their story begins in 1910, twenty-two years after the shipwreck in a tubercular ward in New York City when the now deceased Captain, Little Brother, and Big Brother urge the surviving Mate to tell the real story of what happened in the lifeboat after the shipwreck. The shipwreck follows and the final scene returns to the Tubercular Ward in a public hospital where the ghosts continue to urge the Mate, who is near death, to make his confession, seek forgiveness and “join his shipmates.” Mate needs to finish the story to move on from life into death.

Thanks to the solid direction by Tony Michael Mayer, the choreography by David Neumann, the set design by Rachael Huack, the lighting design by Kevin Adams, and the sound design by John Shivers, the onstage shipwreck is as real as one could imagine. Kudos to the entire creative team for creating a shipwreck with an upended whaling boat and wind blowing throughout the audience.

Finally, kudos to the members of the ensemble cast who are all triple threats and who give authentic and believable performances. They challenge the audience to answer rich and enduring questions: What is survival and is there anything one would not do to survive? What is it like to love unconditionally and be loved unconditionally? Is guilt a universal concept and, if so, why is difficult to move from guilt to forgiveness? What does it mean to move from like to death?

The show opens with a song “Braided Prayer” which features prayers from Muslim, Jewish and Christian faiths, which is heard as people from the town assemble on stage. This is certainly a hint that this production will have no boundaries and showcase an all-inclusive theme. The audience is guided through the evening by the Stage Manager (an amiable Jim Parsons) who opens the play with a tour of the small town of Grover’s Corners on a morning in 1901, pointing out familiar places and explaining the demographics. He introduces some of the essential members of the town that the audience will come across during the play. There is the paperboy (an energetic Sky Smith); a milkman ( a friendly John McGinty); Mr. and Mrs. Webb (a classic Richard Thomas and wholesome Katie Holmes); their children Emily and Wally (a vibrant Zoey Deutch and solid Hagan Oliveras); Doc and Mrs. Gibb (a kindhearted Billy Eugene Jones and a strong Michelle Wilson); their children George and Rebecca (a bewildered Ephraim Sykes and a zealous Safiya Kaijya Harris), who live next to each other; and a professor ( an informed Shyla Lefner).

As the day wears on we are introduced to some other townsfolk. There is Simon Stimson, the choir director (a secretive Donald Weber Jr.) who we learn is an alcoholic; Constable Warren (a forgiving Bill Timoney) who “looks the other way”; and Mrs. Soames (a hilarious Julie Halston) the town gossip. The entire cast is a remarkable ensemble and no less than stellar. These are common, moral, authentic and generous people, who appreciate what life has given them.

It is not a “slice of life,” but rather a three-decker sandwich, devoured over the course of three acts without an intermission, which assures that every audience member will leave the theater full of lingering thoughts and deeply emotional reactions. The plot seems unimportant, because it is the message that will linger for a while. Mr. Leon has managed to make this rendition even more timeless than it was always meant to be. Costume design by Dede Ayite spans decades but never seems intrusive and the lighting design by Allen Lee Hughes subtlety enhances the emotional content of each scene. This Broadway revival will be remembered long after it closes and ensures that “Our Town” is positively everyone’s town.