Articles by Tony Marinelli
'The Wasp" is not for the faint of heart. It confronts the audience with themes of mental illness, domestic violence, and sexual trauma, yet resists the easy descent into nihilism. For all its darkness, there is a fragile thread of mercy woven through the play’s venomous fabric—a suggestion that even amidst cycles of cruelty, one might still choose compassion. Malcolm leaves us with the uneasy sense that the line between victim and aggressor, between wasp and spider, may be far thinner than we care to admit.
And so, like the sting of its namesake, "The Wasp" lingers long after the curtain falls—sharp, unsettling, and impossible to forget. [more]
Hannah Senesh
At the center of it all stands Apple, whose performance is nothing short of revelatory. As Catherine, she is brittle yet unbowed; as Hannah, she radiates vitality and purpose. Her voice—both spoken and sung—cuts through the air with the precision of belief. A stirring portrait of resistance, resilience, and unyielding hope, Apple’s one-woman tour de force unfolds with the emotional breadth and intensity of a full ensemble. Apple commands the stage with a virtuosity that transcends mere performance; she channels something elemental and deeply human, crafting an experience that lingers long after the lights fade. It is as inspiring as it is unforgettable—a testament not only to the power of storytelling, but to the indomitable spirit it so eloquently celebrates. Around her, Simon Feil lends quiet gravity as the spectral voices of Hannah’s brother and her Nazi captor. [more]
Did You Eat? (밥 먹었니?)
To have emerged from a childhood like Zoë Kim’s—with enough self-awareness, critical distance, and sheer emotional stamina to craft a piece of theater with even a hint of uplift—is in itself an act of tremendous courage. The piece’s very existence is a quiet triumph: a testament to survival, to the insistence of choosing a path of identity in the face of sheer cruelty, and to the reclamation of one’s own narrative. Yet "Did You Eat?" accomplishes something beyond testimony. Artistically, it is a layered, deeply felt work that reveals Kim’s aesthetic intelligence and her willingness to experiment with form, language, and the body. [more]
Heaux Church
In "Heaux Church," writer-performer Brandon Kyle Goodman does not so much deliver a sermon as they detonate one—turning the pious pulpit upside down and shaking loose its centuries of shame, repression, and whispered taboo. What emerges from the rubble is something gloriously unholy and defiantly sacred: a new gospel of pleasure, pride, and personal liberation. Directed with ecstatic precision by Lisa Owaki Bierman, and buoyed by the ecstatic ministrations of DJ Ari Grooves, enveloping sound design of Christopher Darbassie, and flirty adult puppets of visual provocateur Greg Corbino, Goodman presides over a theatrical communion that is part revival, part stand-up confession, and part drag-tinged spiritual exorcism. [more]
oh, Honey
Under Carsen Joenk’s clean, clever direction, Scotti’s writing finds a delicate equilibrium — biting, funny, and deeply humane. The quartet of women are precisely dressed by designer Iliana Paris — Lu (played with steely authority and a glint of battle-worn wisdom by Dee Pelletier), Bianca (played as a confection — all sugar, charm, and the gentle fizz of conviviality — yet beneath that polished surface something acrid brews, by Jamie Ragusa), Vicki (Karo, radiating a pitch-perfect, Aquarius-inflected, “healing crystal” chaos), and Sarah (Mara Stephens) — are not friends, as Lu icily reminds us. “We can’t talk to real friends about this crap,” she declares. “They already talk enough shit about us behind our backs.” This crap, we soon learn, is the devastating, unshareable truth they orbit: each has a son accused of sexual assault. [more]
Oratorio for Living Things
To describe "Oratorio" is to flirt with the inadequacy of language. It is a musical work—a sung-through piece in the formal lineage of the oratorio, that 17th-century form that eschews staging and dialogue in favor of spiritual rumination through voice. Think Handel’s "Messiah," and then think again—"Oratorio for Living Things" shares the same bones, but not the flesh. Christian, ever the aural alchemist, reclaims and “rewilds” the form, unbinding it from its ecclesiastical constraints and infusing it with a heady blend of the sacred, the scientific, and the speculative. [more]
Nothing Can Take You from the Hand of God
Jen Tullock in the one-woman play “Nothing Can Take You from the Hand of God” at Playwrights [more]
Italian American Reconciliation
"Italian American Reconciliation" may not be peak Shanley, but in the capable hands of this cast and creative team, it becomes something rare: a flawed but full-hearted theatrical reverie, equal parts barroom confessional and back-alley sonnet. It may be second-tier Shanley, but even Shanley’s second tier can outshine the top shelf of lesser playwrights. [more]
The Least Problematic Woman in the World
Under the weight of the show's ambition, Dylan Mulvaney is a star. Not in the manufactured influencer sense, but in the time-honored theatrical tradition of the charismatic truth-teller who can command a stage with little more than timing, talent, and tenacity. She invites us to laugh with her, cry with her, rage with her—and then, perhaps, go out into the world a little more willing to see the humanity in people who are simply just trying to “be.” "The Least Problematic Woman in the World" is not without flaws—but like its creator, it dares to be seen in all its contradictions. And that is the most radical act of all. [more]
Slaughter City
It has taken nearly three decades, but Naomi Wallace’s feverish proletarian dreamscape "Slaughter City" has finally carved its way onto a New York stage—and in doing so, has made a queasily persuasive case for its own urgency. First mounted by the Royal Shakespeare Company (January 1996) and the American Repertory Theatre (March 1996), this bruising, bloodstained fable—set in a slaughterhouse where class war, labor unrest, and the surreal intermingle like steam off a fresh carcass—feels, depressingly, like prophecy fulfilled. In the years since its debut, the power of organized labor has withered in many corners of American life. But Wallace’s dramaturgy doesn’t so much wither as wound: the play’s beating heart remains the same—pulsing with the traumas of exploitation, the rot of institutional racism, and the inextinguishable ache of the working class for dignity, love, and survival. That "Slaughter City" now arrives in New York under the direction of Reuven Glezer, via Alex Winter and Small Boat Productions, feels not belated but inevitable. And its resonance today, in our era of “essential” workers and renewed labor militancy, is uncanny. [more]
The Glitch
Though it ends on a note of ambiguity—as any good speculative work should—'The Glitch" is resoundingly clear in its testament to the power of theater to interrogate our technological anxieties with grace, wit, and emotional intelligence. In this age of rapid AI proliferation, Koenig’s play reminds us that while machines may evolve by version number, human hearts upgrade by reckoning—and not always successfully. [more]
From Trinity to Trinity
Among her most haunting and meditative works is the slim yet searing "From Trinity to Trinity," an autobiographical pilgrimage undertaken in 1999 to the Trinity Site in New Mexico where the world’s first atomic bomb was tested. It is, in essence, a journey back to the beginning of the end. Published in 2000 and rendered into English by Eiko Otake—half of the hauntingly expressive performance duo Eiko & Koma—the work was later published in 2010, bringing Hayashi’s voice to new ears, and new hearts. But it was in 2009 that Eiko, recognizing the performative potential and piercing immediacy of Hayashi’s words, reached out to the accomplished New York-based actress Ako—known for her roles in "Shogun," "God Said This," and "Snow Falling on Cedars," and the visionary founder of the Amaterasu Za theater company. Eiko posed a proposition: Could this text—so personal, so painful, so charged with historical weight—be embodied on stage as a one-person play? The answer, though tentative and reverent, was yes. It is Ako’s own adaptation for the stage that she performs today. [more]
Last Call, A Play with Cocktails
The conceit is clever: each performance takes place in a real home, the precise address dispatched only the day before, like a speakeasy or secret society. A password grants entry. There’s a frisson to ringing an unfamiliar doorbell in a neighborhood you’ve selected but don’t know, expecting to be welcomed inside. And welcomed you are—by a host (a literal homeowner, not an actor), who hands you a letter (“Congratulations on leaving the comfort and safety of your homes during this crisis…”) and offers wine and chatter before ushering you toward a makeshift audience configuration: a scatter of couches, dining chairs, bar stools, forty-some options in all, arranged with deliberate casualness. Just as you begin to wonder how, exactly, this will become a play, your (bar)Tender arrives. He’s late. He’s distraught. He’s encased—hilariously, ominously—in the hard shell of a full-sized USPS mailbox, which he declares is “protective gear.” (A detail as absurd as it is revealing—after all, in a crumbling state, even the mail must wear armor.) [more]
we come to collect: a flirtation, with capitalism
Jennifer Kidwell’s "we come to collect: a flirtation, with capitalism" is not so much a theatrical production as it is a revelation—an offering, a conjuring, a glittering séance of self-examination draped in velvet and lit by the shimmer of a slightly crooked chandelier. Co-conspirators Kidwell and Brandon Kazen-Maddox are not here to collect, as the title slyly suggests. No, far from it. They have arrived bearing gifts: extravagant, irreverent, and comforting…gifts of laughter, of vulnerability, of truth. Gifts that ask nothing in return but your full, unguarded presence. Premiering at The Flea Theater in TriBeCa, this audacious production gleefully dismantles the social and economic scaffolding that props up our daily lives, only to replace it with something far more anarchic, more tender, and ultimately more human. [more]
Color Theories
And by the time we arrive at "Fantasmas"—his 2024 HBO series that feels less like television and more like a guided tour through the psyche of a queer mystic armed with a glitter pen and a penchant for unresolved metaphor—it becomes abundantly clear that Torres is not dabbling in a style so much as building a universe. "Color Theories," then, is not an outlier but an extension—another window into that universe, pastel-hued and ever-so-slightly haunted. But don’t call it a play—at least not in the Off Broadway sense. Call it a chromatic séance, a theatrical mood board, or perhaps a dispatch from the dreamworld of a lonely child with a glitter pen and a grudge against Helvetica. [more]
House of McQueen
Crafted with sensitivity and spectacle by playwright Darrah Cloud and brought to life with unflinching precision by director Sam Helfrich, "House of McQueen" dares to unravel the mythos of the late, great Alexander McQueen (1969–2010), the enfant terrible of British fashion. Here, the theater becomes both confessional and catwalk, memory palace and mausoleum, as the production careens through the designer's short but incandescent life. McQueen's nephew, Gary James McQueen, serving as Creative Director, lends the production an air of intimacy and authenticity rarely achieved in biographical theater. This is no sanitized tribute, no saccharine memorial. It is raw. It is fractured. It is McQueen. [more]
Sober Songs
Still, for a piece that purports to tackle the complexity of addiction, "Sober Songs" often fails to excavate its deepest layers. Relapses, romantic entanglements, suicidal ideation, and earnest confessions flit across the stage, but many are handled with a frustrating brevity, giving the sense that we are skimming the surface of lives meant to be far more turbulent than the book or score allows them to be. [more]
Alan Turing & The Queen of the Night
There’s a lot going on in this new musical about Alan Turing—and perhaps too much. In attempting to encompass the breadth of Turing’s extraordinary life, the production ends up overwhelmed by its own ambition. It is too long to sustain its narrative with somewhat underdeveloped characters, and too short to provide the necessary depth to the relationships that are meant to drive its emotional core. [more]
well, i’ll let you go
"well, i’ll let you go," Bubba Weiler’s exquisitely devastating new work, staged with unpretentious yet profound grace by director Jack Serio leading a magnificent cast at the Space at Irondale in Brooklyn is, in a word, haunting. The play unfolds as a poignant, slow-burning elegy to ordinary lives and the extraordinary grief that can shatter them. It is a tender meditation on loss, memory, and the fragile architecture of community—one that both embraces and exposes the complex, often contradictory, human heart. [more]
Wesley
Austin Phillips’s puppet design deserves special mention. His owlet creation is imbued with uncanny charm—Wesley is clearly an owl, yes, but one whose subtle articulation suggests personality rather than anthropomorphism. The puppet becomes a living character, thanks in large part to the finely tuned performance of Daniel Sanchez, making an impressive Off-Broadway debut. As Wesley, Sanchez navigates a delicate balance: he gives the owl presence, agency, even affection, without sacrificing the essential strangeness of the animal. His portrayal renders the owl’s devotion to Casey moving and believable, even as we are always aware that this is a bird, not a human in disguise. As he dances with Casey during the “Winter is Coming” sequence we are painfully aware of how little time they can expect to share together. [more]
Mozart’s Don Giovanni: A Rock Opera
Ambition, that perilous double-edged sword, can elevate a work of art to soaring heights—or leave it flailing in the rafters, reaching desperately for resonance it cannot quite grasp. Such is the case with "Mozart’s Don Giovanni: A Rock Opera," Adam B. Levowitz’s audacious and heartfelt, if uneven, adaptation of Mozart’s canonical masterpiece. This leaner, louder take on "Don Giovanni," recognizing the latent synergy between operatic grandeur and rock bravado, now playing at The Cutting Room through August 26, replaces the classical orchestra with a ten-piece rock band and pares down the original three-hour-plus opera to a taut two hours and ten minutes. If only its dramatic momentum had received the same rigorous attention as its runtime. [more]
Prince Faggot
In a sharply observed and emotionally layered turn, "Prince Faggot" brings a fresh perspective to the classic "meet the parents" trope—with a royal twist. John McCrea’s George, the openly gay Prince of England, brings his boyfriend Dev (an excellent Mihir Kumar) home to meet his parents: the seemingly progressive Prince William (K. Todd Freeman, masterfully restrained) and Princess Kate (a poised and quietly complex Rachel Crowl). At first glance, the royal welcome is warm, even congenial. But beneath the polished surface lies a prickly nest of social expectation, national identity, and unacknowledged privilege. [more]
At the Barricades
In great theater, history is not merely recounted but resurrected with breath and pulse, defiance and hope. In 'At the Barricades," the indomitable company What Will The Neighbors Say? breathes new life into one of the 20th century’s most harrowing yet heroic chapters — the Spanish Civil War of 1937. We find ourselves in Madrid not as tourists, but as comrades in struggle, embedded within a city and a country fraying at the seams, on the verge of succumbing to the iron fist of fascism. And yet, in the shadow of tyranny, a radiant flicker of international solidarity takes flame. [more]
Medea of the Laundromat
This is not merely a delightful evening of theatre—it is a defiant, sequined middle finger to theatrical complacency. The cast, many of whom trained under the maverick George Ferencz at La MaMa, bring authentic chops to the chaos. Morrison is transcendent, as raw as he is precise. Vath is a hurricane in scrubs (and let it be known she is the hardest working actress south of the TKTS line as she races from her curtain call at Theater Row Theater’s production of Cracked Open to aid and abet the sorceress on the cover of Child Abuse Monthly). Howard’s Jason is laughable, pitiable, and oddly endearing—a fallen hero undone by hubris and soap suds. [more]
The Moby Dick Blues
"The Moby Dick Blues" is nothing short of a working-class opera for the Anthropocene—equal parts "Trainspotting" and "The Perfect Storm," churning with fury, addiction, and mythic ambition. In Michael Gorman’s daring reimagining, Melville’s epic is filtered through the hard truths of the contemporary opioid crisis, reframing Captain Ahab as a tragic addict and the White Whale as a haunting symbol of narcotic oblivion. The reframing lands with seismic force, compelling us to reconsider not only Melville’s obsession-driven narrative, but our own self-destructive relationships with nature, legacy, and escape. [more]
Chiaroscuro: A Light and Dark Skin Comedy
If "Chiaroscuro" occasionally falters under the weight of its ambition, it ultimately dazzles with its daring. Rahman has crafted a bold, theatrical puzzle box — part satire, part sermon, part séance — that speaks to the depths and contradictions of Black desire in all its shadowed hues. The play doesn’t just shine a light; it refracts it—casting humor and heartache in tandem. With "Chiaroscuro," Rahman leaves us with a final, luminous testament to her unique voice—both searing and sublime. [more]
Eurydice
Orpheus’ song—aching, persistent—guides him deep into the Underworld in search of his lost Eurydice. Whether or not you’ve encountered this myth before, Sarah Ruhl’s "Eurydice" invites a new question: not just will they reunite, but should they? The tension isn’t only mythic—it’s emotional, intimate. As Eurydice teeters between the memory of her father and the love of her husband, the audience is left to wonder: can love pull them both from the brink, or will they vanish into the River of Forgetfulness, together yet apart?
This revival, directed once again by Les Waters more than two decades after he first helped bring Ruhl’s script to life, is a poignant reminder that some stories don’t age—they resonate. The production hums with urgency and heart, made vivid by a cohesive, impassioned ensemble that grounds the myth in emotional truth. [more]
Cracked Open
At an hour and 40 minutes, "Cracked Open" is an earnest but often exhausting theatrical experience. Its heart is unquestionably in the right place—tackling the vital and still-stigmatized subject of mental illness with sincerity—but the journey can feel more dutiful than illuminating. Despite these shortcomings, the cast’s unwavering commitment and playwright Kriegel’s courage in confronting such difficult terrain deserve commendation. [more]
Seagull: True Story
Now premiering at La MaMa’s Ellen Stewart Theatre in a co-production with the MART Foundation and En Garde Arts, "Seagull: True Story" is a barbed, meta-theatrical cri de coeur from creator-director Alexander Molochnikov, with a script by Eli Rarey. Drawing heavily on Molochnikov’s own experiences, the piece is not a retelling of Chekhov but a searing dispatch from the frontlines of artistic exile. It charts not only the cultural deep freeze imposed by Putin’s regime but also turns its gaze, with mordant wit, on the subtler constraints of the American arts ecosystem. The production skewers both overt authoritarianism and the velvet-gloved mechanisms of Western cultural gatekeeping with equal parts satire and sorrow. Bitterly funny and disarmingly candid, the play asks whether escape from tyranny guarantees liberation—or whether a different kind of captivity awaits on this side of the ocean. [more]
Faust (Heartbeat Opera)
We get evocative shadow screens, puppetry and a silent-film fantasia. Heartbeat Opera’s two-hour whirlwind adaptation has everything—except an intermission. True to the company’s bold, iconoclastic style, this fiercely distilled staging trades grand opera’s lush orchestra for a lean, expressive band led by artistic director and violinist Ashworth. Brass and reeds give the score grit and immediacy, while the unexpected addition of a harmonium injects a raw, streetwise character—part cabaret, part back-alley prayer. The result? A "Faust" not of gilded prosceniums, but of shadows, sweat, and sharply focused vision. [more]
Fat Cat Killers
Timing, as they say, is everything in comedy—and in revolution. In "Fat Cat Killers," playwright Adam Szymkowicz delivers more than just a sharp-edged satire of corporate greed—he peels back the glossy veneer of big business to expose the raw, unsettling truths beneath. The play skewers the systemic exploitation of workers, the yawning chasm between executive privilege and employee precarity, and the emotional toll of soulless labor with biting wit and unflinching clarity. But while it aims its critique squarely at the power structures of late capitalism, it doesn’t let its would-be revolutionaries off the hook. [more]
Wonderful Town (New York City Center Encores!)
Fast-forward to 2025, and City Center has once again turned to this dependable crowd-pleaser, reportedly as a last-minute substitute for Michael John LaChiusa’s "The Wild Party." The choice makes logistical sense: "Wonderful Town" offers hummable tunes and a quirky, heartfelt book by Joseph Fields and Jerome Chodorov. But under the direction of Zhailon Levingston—whose past work includes "Table 17" and the vogue-infused "Cats: The Jellicle Ball"—this new iteration stumbles. Lacking Marshall’s instinct for the show’s fine balance between earnestness and irony, Levingston’s staging never quite finds its rhythm, veering too far into knowing kitsch and losing the tender charm that once made Wonderful Town feel, well, wonderful. [more]
Hold Me in the Water
That balance—between emotional vulnerability and razor-sharp humor—is what elevates "Hold Me in the Water" beyond the sea of solo shows that mine personal experience for applause. Haddad’s artistry lies in his fierce honesty and unsparing introspection. He examines his own longing, joy, and heartache with something approaching clinical precision, yet never loses the pulse of the deeply human. He never asks for pity, and when disappointment inevitably arrives, he extends surprising compassion—even to the one who’s let him down. [more]
Class Dismissed
The performers inhabit a shared space that hums with latent connectivity, even in the absence of direct dialogue. Their presence to and for one another—unspoken yet palpable—forms the quiet backbone of the piece. What unfolds is a relentless swirl of Marxist theory and grand philosophical overtures, repeated like mantras against a backdrop of absurdist physicality. Narrative cohesion is eschewed in favor of thematic resonance: a professor marks chalk outlines around a silent woman while students volley fervent monologues; later, those same students offer murmured asides as the professor ascends to a pulpit-like presence. Though no linear thread binds them, their trajectories intersect often and with theatrical charge, forming a constellation of meaning just out of reach. [more]
All the Beauty in the World
Bringley, making his theatrical debut as himself, delivers a performance marked by restraint and quiet intensity. His words, drawn largely from the memoir, reveal a man of thoughtfulness and delicacy—someone who seeks refuge not in action, but in observation, retreating to the hushed galleries of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, where he once worked as a guard. “You lose someone,” he tells us, simply, “and it puts a hole in your life—and for a time you huddle down in that hole.” It’s in that stillness, that huddling, that the piece finds its quiet power. [more]
The Swamp Dwellers
Before he was a Nobel laureate, before his name was canonized in the firmament of world literature, Wole Soyinka was a young playwright—barely in his mid-twenties—when he penned "The Swamp Dwellers" in 1958. And yet, this early work bears the unmistakable gravitas of myth: a compact, hour-long domestic drama that pulses with elemental force. In director Awoye Timpo’s hauntingly grounded revival, the piece reverberates with contemporary resonance. It is at once a family portrait and a parable, steeped in the muddy waters of postcolonial Nigeria and rippling outward into modern-day concerns—climate change, disillusionment with institutions, and the aching silence left by absent gods. [more]
The Cherry Orchard (St. Ann’s Warehouse)
The results of this updating are bold, and Andrews’ intellectual ambition is undeniable. At times, his revisions might seem questionable but when the production clicks, it strikes with a thrilling originality. The production pulses with an urgency often missing from more traditional revivals of "The Cherry Orchard," a play about people running out of time. The central conflict remains: Liubov, the bankrupt widow haunted by the ghosts of her past, returns to her family estate for the inevitable sale of the land that defines her family’s history. Practical solutions are needed, but neither she nor her hapless relatives can take decisive action. [more]
Amm(i)gone
In "Amm(i)gone," Mansoor masterfully delves into the delicate nuances of cultural and personal differences, exploring the connections that bind us even in our diversity. Co-directed with Lyam B. Gabel, this meta-theatrical production—spanning a compact yet potent 80 minutes—recounts the journey of Mansoor and his mother as they embark on the project of translating "Antigone" into Urdu. Surrounded by designer Xotchil Musser’s evocative set of wooden cutouts and intricate mosaics, and serene candles for effect, Mansoor guides the audience through their creative process, blending dialogue, video and audio recordings, and projected imagery to weave a story that is both intimate and expansive. The production’s clever use of multimedia enhances the emotional weight of their shared task, inviting the audience to reflect on the complexities of language, family, and legacy. [more]
The Trojans
"The Trojans" effortlessly blends sharp, often hilarious high-school dialogue with an inventive and evocative score, creating a musical experience that feels both contemporary and nostalgic. The characters’ voices ring true to their age and environment, and their dialogue flows seamlessly into the show’s musical numbers. The soundtrack, crafted from cassette tape loops and vintage analog synths, infuses the production with an infectious energy, while also echoing the show's 1980s-inspired aesthetics. There are exceptional songs throughout the score but "Boys are Bad," a standout solo for Lucas (Daphne Always), not only delivers a memorable melody but also weaves in pointed commentary on masculinity—a theme that reverberates throughout the production. [more]
Last Call
Peter Danish’s "Last Call" is a 90-minute confection of speculative daydreaming, inspired by a brief meeting between two of the most legendary conductors of the last century, Herbert von Karajan and Leonard Bernstein. Set in Vienna in 1988, in the sumptuous Blaue Bar of the Hotel Sacher, just before both men passed away, the play imagines a moment when the two giants of classical music, though not close friends, exchanged words. [more]
As Time Goes By
While the conversation may not always captivate, its premise—one that hinges on the unpredictability of human connection—remains intriguing. However, it’s hard to ignore the tension between the initial promise of a quick fling and the long, drawn-out conversation that ultimately defines their encounter. The result is a work that wrestles with the idea of how we fill the spaces between moments of intimacy—and whether we even have the language to fully express what it means to truly connect. [more]
The Great Privation (How to flip ten cents into a dollar)
While there are plenty of laughs in "The Great Privation," we never lose sight of the fact the subject matter has roots in the history of medical exploitation. Previous mainstream pieces have appeared in recent years: Rebecca Skloot’s #1 New York Times bestseller, "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks," about a black woman whose cells were taken without her consent and unbeknownst to her contributed to numerous medical breakthroughs, and "Behind The Sheet," Charly Evon Simpson’s 2019 play presented by Ensemble Studio Theatre, loosely based on the story of J. Marion Simms, a gynecology pioneer whose progress (and success) was built on the suffering of enslaved women. [more]
Grangeville
"Grangeville" ultimately revolves around the fragile, strained bond of brotherhood—or, more accurately, half-brotherhood—and both actors excel in capturing the tender nuances of this dynamic. Their performances resonate with a delicate authenticity, portraying two damaged individuals tentatively reaching toward one another, aware that reconciliation may or may not be in their future. The emotional pull of their evolving connection is subtle, yet profoundly moving. [more]
Henry IV (Theatre for a New Audience)
Dakin Matthews’ "Henry IV" is a consistently engaging gift to the theater season. Shakespeare scholars may quibble about the extent of the cuts from "Henry IV, Part II," but the reality is the original in its entirety can be a bit of a slog. Eric Tucker’s company treats us to the sheer thrill of witnessing a rarity executed to perfection, its invigorating energy palpable in every precise detail. [more]
Symphony of Rats
Foreman's dramatic structure feels like an audacious attempt to stage the tumultuous workings of the mind itself. Neurons ignite, voices both internal and external whisper, scream, and echo through the chaos. Like a pinball careening through an ever-shifting machine, the sensory overload flashes, buzzes, and swirls, pulling you in with distractions that both enthrall and devastate. Yet, amidst it all, you may find yourself trying to self-convince that it somehow all makes sense…not perfect sense, but even nonsense has a layer of sense. [more]
Building My Casa
Playwright/actor Braulio Basilio may appear prophetic when we sit in horror today watching the news as a returning president maps out how he plans to deprive immigrants of any and all freedoms in this new administration. Created and conceived by actors Basilio, Ursula Tinoco, Gilberto Gabriel, and their fellow Teatro 220 colleague Andrés López-Alicea, "Building My Casa" is a timely piece of theater that desperately needs a wider audience. In "Building My Casa," they do not give us any surprises nor are we ever expecting any; they give us a tale of three endearing individuals who each in their own way are strangers in a strange land. [more]
Grandliloquent
Gary Gulman in his one-man show “Grandiloquent” at the Lucille Lortel Theatre (Photo credit: [more]
Dead as a Dodo
While they credit the eight puppeteers textually, “with help from the ensemble,” Warnock and Waage are also credited as executive producers along with set and costume design. Mr. Waage is given solo credit for the sublime puppet design and construction. All in all, the parts make for a rather resplendent whole. Starting with the puppeteers dressed in sparkly black fabric that bring a deserved attention to the constant manipulation of the puppets and a set that constantly morphs between scenes. The initial “lights-up” has a large chunk of sparkly “glitter basalt” that dissolves into the individual puppeteers. The look is reminiscent of Adrian’s classic sequined pantsuits for Judy Garland in concert. Kudos to lighting designer Daphne Agosin for capturing every sparkle in those costumes as well as to the projection designer Erato Tzavara for creating surreal space within the confines of the Baruch’s venue. Thor Gunnar Thorvaldsson’s original music and sound design underscore the fantastical display on stage. [more]
True Love Forever
Girelli’s lyrics provide wonderful support to Willett’s choreography. A motif for the song “Valentine” has the dancers in tango movements covering their hearts with their palms. The playfulness of musical chairs takes over another song where chairs are left empty so prospective partners can sit in each other’s laps. The song “Tonight You’re Mine” provides for a very athletic, relentlessly physical duet danced by Marissa Nielsen-Pincus and the bare-chested Ryan Wuestewald. A passionate duet for Devika Chandnani and Noah LaPook is performed to “King of Tears,” a song that confronts the deep emotional pain from heartbreak, emotional vulnerability, and personal struggle to recover from a relationship that has ended. [more]
This Is My Favorite Song
Walking into the Peter Sharp Theater we have no hint of what is behind what look like opaque vinyl shower curtains from one end of the stage to the other. Within moments of her appearance, decked out in a black suit and tie like the kid who hates to dress up to go to Grandma’s for Sunday dinner, we know Francesca D’Uva just doesn’t want to be here. At the end of 80 minutes, we are so glad she came. She breaks the ice by letting us know how sensitive she is to mouth sounds telling us about a high school teacher who smiled so hard you could hear it. On the count of three, we all try to copy the smile noise. “I love bringing people together like that. That will be the only piece of crowd work I do tonight. So hope you enjoyed it. You’re done.” [more]
Give Me Carmelita Tropicana!
The success of this play and our ability to navigate the ride relies heavily on the flawless cast led by Troyano herself. She shepherds us through every turn of the script and we willingly follow her everywhere she takes us. One of the standout moments is when Branden is whisked away to the Havana nightclub El Pescadito in Phantasmagoria. Alina as Carmelita entertains at the piano dressed as Bola de Nieve, a legendary Afro-Cuban cabaret artist. “Bola” performs a song “Messie Julian” containing lyrics “Yo soy negro social, soy intellectual, y chic” with modified references to Branden. When he asks what the song is about, Carmelita reveals herself to be half-bear ready to attack him. [more]
We Are Your Robots
While the musicians are exemplary, it is Lipton who does the heavy lifting in the show. With what amounts to a very witty hosting duty, his singing voice is one that is rich and quite comfortable in various genres. Director Leigh Silverman keeps him moving and talking at all times, always engaging the audience even when he is being upstaged by his “Grandpa Morrie,” a Roomba that speaks (and sings) in Roomba-ese. Morrie has the audience wrapped around his finger, rather circuitry, when Lipton asks him to wait backstage and Morrie can’t make it back up the ramp without help. Morrie later duets with Lipton and at one moment stops cold. Lipton’s attempts at restarting Morrie fail (is this what Roomba death looks like?) until bass player Riggs offers a battery from his own mouth to recharge Morrie. The whole audience goes “Awww” and applauds. [more]
Mercutio Loves Romeo Loves Juliet Loves
Director Scott Ebersold works wonders with the double-edged sword of the audience knowing full well these performances are colored by the play taking place close to 20 years ago when girls this age didn’t have the benefit of understanding their gender identity as girls do in 2024. Social media and sexual education have made great strides in these decades yet we don’t for even a moment feel that Mr. Ebersold’s concept gives us a museum piece. Ebersold gets vibrant heartfelt performances from each of the three actresses. [more]
Triptych
As long as you come to John Yearley’s "Triptych" with the understanding that grief is a deeply personal and complex emotion and that just because two people are married doesn’t mean they will experience a traumatic event exactly the same way, then you will understand the plight of Joe and Blanche. It goes without saying, although it’s always said, nothing is sadder than the loss of a child; the parent is “supposed to go first” and the children are expected to grow older and have children of their own but life and unexpected tragedies have a way of getting in the way. [more]
Another Shot
As both playwright Harry Teinowitz and his co-author Spike Manton spent time in rehab, they carry us through the epiphanies as well as the relapses by injecting humor in every “shot glass” of this play. This is most evident when George returns from a drinking binge with the front wheel of his bicycle mangled into a pretzel. The roommates focus on the “falling off the wagon” rather than the falling off the bicycle. The highlight of their days (and nights) is getting together to watch reruns of "Cheers," with the episode where Sam Malone relapses being one they can probably chant verbatim the way other people can act out all the parts of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." [more]
Bad Kreyòl
"Bad Kreyòl" is gifted with a pre-show voiceover from the playwright herself: “To love a people is to learn their language.” This speaks volumes for two women who know what they know, aren’t keen on changing it up any, and are inherently both generous givers and caretakers in every aspect of their lives. And yes, sometimes you need to butt heads. [more]
The Beastiary
This stunning theatrical work is a creation of the two-member On The Rocks Theatre Co. (Christopher Ford and Dakota Rose), two ingenious artists who have been at work on "The Beastiary" since they were selected as Ars Nova’s fifth Company in Residence in 2019. Commissioned to create a new show from scratch, a first Ars Nova-produced reading came to fruition in 2021. Adding composer Dorit Chrysler to the team, later 2022 workshops added the theremin score and the puppets to the play. More behind the scenes development, a puppet build residency, and a two-week production workshop built the show that is now at Greenwich House. Ford and Rose have co-written and co-designed the scenic elements. Ford designed the glorious costumes and hand-made puppets and Rose directed the entire production. [more]
The Wind and the Rain: A story about Sunny’s Bar
Director Jared Mezzocchi uses the proximity of the actors to the audience to its best advantage. We don’t even question when one of our ranks is pulled out to play Young Sunny. It adds to the sense of community that is the cornerstone of this production. Kudos to Mezzocchi and the four actors in intuitively divining who in the audience is most right for participation. As the play dashes back and forth in time, the actors are kept moving, narrating as they go along. Again physical life clearly dictates whether they are in character or in narration mode. Mezzocchi incorporates projection design to complement the telling of the history of the ever-changing neighborhood. It provides a welcome steady stream of point-of-reference when one considers the land was once dry tundra in the shadow of a glacier twice the height of the Empire State Building. [more]
Magnificent Bird/Book of Travelers
Gabriel Kahane’s pair of song cycles are a welcome throwback to when lyrics were poetry and told great stories. Think of the 70's when the airwaves were blessed with the voices and songwriting of Harry Chapin, Joni Mitchell and Cat Stevens and you will have a basic understanding of what Kahane has successfully put together here. [more]