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Articles by Tony Marinelli

About Tony Marinelli (163 Articles)
Tony Marinelli is an actor, playwright, director, arts administrator, and now critic. He received his B.A. and almost finished an MFA from Brooklyn College in the golden era when Benito Ortolani, Howard Becknell, Rebecca Cunningham, Gordon Rogoff, Marge Linney, Bill Prosser, Sam Leiter, Elinor Renfield, and Glenn Loney numbered amongst his esteemed professors. His plays I find myself here, Be That Guy (A Cat and Two Men), and …and then I meowed have been produced by Ryan Repertory Company, one of Brooklyn’s few resident theatre companies.
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The Door Slams, A Glass Trembles

May 4, 2026

Inspired in part by "he Magic Mountain," Thomas Mann’s 1924 meditation on illness and temporality, Zimet’s play borrows not its plot but its sensibility: the peculiar dilation and contraction of time as it is lived, remembered, and imagined. Like Mann’s sanatorium-bound protagonist, Zimet’s characters find themselves suspended in a liminal zone where past, present, and future bleed into one another with disorienting grace. The result is not mere homage but a vivid reanimation of Mann’s central insight—that time, far from being fixed, is a profoundly subjective medium. [more]

Beauty Freak

May 2, 2026

What lingers, long after the final moments—which are, indeed, superb—is not a tidy judgment but a series of disquieting questions. Clements refuses the comfort of easy condemnation, even as he lays bare the cost of moral evasion. Riefenstahl emerges neither exonerated nor simplified, but as a figure whose brilliance and blindness are inseparable. The play does not ask us to forgive her; it asks us to understand how such a figure could exist, and, more provocatively, what it means that she did. [more]

The Bad Daters

May 2, 2026

Derek Murphy’s "The Bad Daters" arrives Off Broadway from Ireland and the United Kingdom with the unassuming air of a chamber piece and the stealthy force of something far more piercing: a romantic comedy that has the good sense to distrust romance, and the better sense to proceed anyway. Murphy, an Ireland-born New Yorker with an ear for the bruised lyricism of everyday speech, has fashioned from the well-trod terrain of app-based courtship a work of surprising delicacy and cumulative emotional power. Under Colm Summers’ exquisitely modulated direction, and animated by two performances of uncommon acuity from Kate Arrington and Shane McNaughton, the production unfolds with a patience that feels almost radical, allowing its jagged edges to soften—though never quite smooth—into something like grace. [more]

Love Story

May 1, 2026

Where past and present commingle—as they so insistently do in a play like "Love Story"—the burden falls squarely on the director to furnish the audience with a legible temporal grammar. Without such guidance, fragmentation risks reading not as intentional lyricism but as simple confusion. Here, despite the production’s many sensitivities, that grammar is not always clearly articulated. Judging by the palpable hesitations in audience response—the delayed laughter, the uncertain silences—it takes an inordinate number of transitions before one fully apprehends a crucial fact: that Maria is already dead at the top of the play. This is not, in itself, a flaw; dramatic revelation can be a powerful tool. But the production does not so much reveal this reality as obscure it, leaving spectators to assemble the timeline retroactively, often at the expense of emotional continuity. [more]

Kenrex

April 30, 2026

There are evenings in the theatre when the air seems to tighten, as though the room itself has drawn a breath it cannot quite release. Such is the case with "Kenrex," a work of unnerving command and cumulative force, written by Jack Holden and Ed Stambollouian, and directed by the latter with a vigilance that borders on the prosecutorial. What begins as a seemingly familiar excursion into the annals of American true crime—its outlines recognizable, its destination foreknown—steadily transforms into something far more disquieting: a communal autopsy, conducted in real time, of a place where the mechanisms of justice have not merely failed but quietly abdicated. [more]

Lost in Del Valle

April 21, 2026

Van Zandt is a cyclone that tears through the intimate confines of SoHo Playhouse’s Huron Club, detonating with the force of lived experience refined into art. What might, in lesser hands, resemble a familiar confessional is here transformed into something far more volatile and exacting: a darkly comic, genre-defying work that refuses containment even as it unfolds within a single body onstage. Van Zandt’s performance achieves the rare feat of appearing both recklessly spontaneous and meticulously controlled. He moves through the evening with a muscular precision, shifting registers and emotional temperatures with such fluency that the boundaries between character, narrator, and witness begin to dissolve. It is acting of a high order—technically exacting, yet fueled by something that feels perilously close to exposure. [more]

The Pushover

April 12, 2026

Di Zou as Pearl and Rebecca De Mornay as Evelyn in a scene from John Patrick Shanley’s “The [more]

Scorched Earth

April 12, 2026

In Luke Murphy’s astonishing "Scorched Earth," a vitality is rendered with a ferocity that feels at once ancient and bracingly new. Murphy, working under the banner of his multidisciplinary company Attic Projects, has fashioned a work that does not so much adapt John B. Keane’s play "The Field" (which went on to great acclaim in the landmark film starring Richard Harris) as detonate it—scattering its themes across a landscape of dance, film, sound, and theatrical invention, and then reassembling them into something hypnotic and wholly its own. [more]

Desi SNL

April 8, 2026

For all its incremental gestures toward inclusivity, "Saturday Night Live"—now improbably in its 51st season—has remained curiously bereft of a regular South Asian cast member, a lacuna that feels less like oversight than inertia. Desi SNL, an ensemble-driven sketch revue, cheekily appropriating the familiar architecture of "Saturday Night Live"—the opening monologue, the mock-news desk, the parade of quick-change characters—and refitting it with a distinctly South Asian sensibility, performed by an entirely South Asian ensemble, arrives not so much to fill that absence as to gleefully upend it, at once affectionate and insurgent. What emerges is not mere pastiche but a lively act of cultural translation: a show that gleefully inhabits the grammar of American late-night comedy while infusing it with the textures, tensions, and tonalities of diaspora life. [more]

Uncle Vanya, scenes from country life

April 7, 2026

The narrative architecture of "Vanya"—its languors, its longings—is assumed, even beside the point. In its essence, this distilled adaptation unfolds less as a conventional staging than as a kind of theatrical mixtape, an assemblage both deliberate and mischievous, in which the familiar architecture of this oft-performed play is artfully dismantled and recomposed. Scenes arrive out of their expected sequence, as though guided by emotional rather than narrative logic, while character motivations are subjected to a searching reconsideration—some gently refracted, others boldly reconfigured—yielding a work that feels at once recognizably rooted and thrillingly unmoored. What Dmitry Krymov has fashioned instead is a kind of theatrical palimpsest, a dream-logic fantasia in which the gravitational center is unmistakably Yelena, that luminous and unwitting axis of desire (much to the dismay of Vanya). One might, without doing violence to the enterprise, retitle Krymov’s audacious, dreamlike reimagining of Chekhov’s inexhaustible classic evening: "All Roads Lead to Yelena." [more]

The Last Audition

April 7, 2026

There is, in "The Last Audition," something almost defiantly modest—a chamber piece of sorrow that refuses the grandiloquence of tragedy even as it circles one. The play, a solo vehicle of hushed ambitions, written by and starring Paul Shearman, sensitively directed by David St John, unfolds like a fading echo in an empty theater, its emotional register pitched not to catharsis but to the quieter, more unsettling key of recognition. It is, at heart, a drama about diminishment—of memory, of stature, of self—and yet it proceeds with a delicacy that feels, in its way, like a form of grace. [more]

The Unknown

March 30, 2026

Hayes proves wholly persuasive, gliding among a gallery of supporting figures (Hayes delineates 11 distinct characters with astonishing lucidity, his transitions so fluid they seem almost instinctive, even as the narrative around them grows increasingly clouded and labyrinthine.) with a lightness that never calls attention to its own virtuosity. As Elliott, he is coolly, almost disquietingly composed, revealing only the briefest fissures beneath a meticulously maintained façade—a man who seems able to exist only in the telling of stories, never quite as himself. [more]

Antigone in Analysis

March 30, 2026

Yet the production proves curiously reluctant to pursue the implications of its own provocations. The philosophers, rather than evolving into distinct and dynamically opposed sensibilities, settle into the dramatic equivalent of bullet points. Kierkegaard cleaves to divine absolutism; Hegel dismisses women with a glib reductionism; Lacan invokes madness as a universal solvent; Irigaray insists upon feminine multiplicity; Butler reiterates the performativity of gender. These positions are announced, then reiterated, but seldom interrogated or transformed. What might have been a dialectic becomes a recitation. [more]

Ivanov

March 26, 2026

New American Ensemble may be young, but this production announces a company of rare precision and ambition. Every element—the mulch underfoot, the bar at your shoulder, the dead tree overhead—feels deliberate, considered, necessary. In a theatrical landscape often defined by haste, such care is not merely admirable. This true theatre company in every sense of the word is most welcome and we look forward to productions in their future. [more]

Touch

March 24, 2026

In "Touch," a work of disarming modesty and unnerving emotional precision, a life that has been carefully tamped down begins, almost imperceptibly, to leak. The play, written by Kenny Finkle, sensitively directed by Jonathan Silverstein, and performed with aching lucidity by Anthony Rapp, takes as its subject a man whose disappointments have calcified into habit, and whose sense of self—once animated by artistic ambition—has settled into something quieter, if no less fraught. There is, at first glance, something almost perversely austere about Touch:  Rapp, seated for 90 uninterrupted minutes, inhabiting the brittle interiority of a middle-aged gay man whose emotional register oscillates between panic, irritation, and quiet devastation. And yet the experience proves not merely engaging, but quietly transfixing. Its modesty is its method, its intimacy, its force. [more]

The Wild Party (New York City Center Encores!)

March 23, 2026

In the hands of Michael John LaChiusa (music, lyrics and book) and George C. Wolfe (book), the feral, syncopated verse of Joseph Moncure March’s Prohibition-era poem is not so much adapted as reforged—heated, hammered, and hurled forward as a kind of theatrical locomotive. Their "Wild Party" arrives like a runaway train of jazz, gin, and envy, its momentum at once intoxicating and annihilating. It careens down the rails with a velocity that promises, even as it seduces, an inevitable and exquisitely catastrophic derailment. [more]

Entangled: 12 Scenes in a Circle K off the I-40 in New Mexico

March 20, 2026

In "Entangled:12 Scenes in a Circle K off the I-40 in New Mexico," the beguiling and philosophically mischievous collaboration between Mona Mansour and Emily Zemba, the American desert becomes less a landscape than a condition of thought—a place where the ordinary laws governing time, consequence, and human attachment appear to have loosened their grip. Set in the fluorescent limbo of a Circle K somewhere in the New Mexico expanse—30 miles from the nearest outpost of civilization, and perilously close to both an atomic testing site and a nuclear laboratory—the play hums with a low-grade metaphysical dread that it wears, with admirable restraint, as comedy. [more]

Spare Parts

March 14, 2026

What begins as a satirical clash between corporate swagger and academic idealism gradually deepens into a more unsettling inquiry. The play’s true subject, it turns out, is not merely the arrogance of billionaires but the universal temptation to trespass upon the limits of the body. Humanity, after all, has always been drawn toward transgression—whether through cosmetic surgery, pharmaceutical enhancement, or the relentless drive to improve the species one experiment at a time. [more]

Body Count

March 10, 2026

If the show’s point of view occasionally feels one-sided, that imbalance ultimately serves its chief purpose: entertainment. 'Body Count' may not function as a comprehensive treatise on contemporary sexual politics, but it is undeniably electric as a performance vehicle. Knowles’ Pollie is charismatic to the point of hypnosis—funny, sharp, wounded, and persuasive enough to feel utterly real. Her barbs may sometimes be a shade too neat, a shade too gleefully cruel, but they land with a sting that lingers. Long after the laughter subsides, one finds oneself turning the lines over again, wondering what uncomfortable truths might be hidden inside the joke. [more]

Marcel on the Train

March 1, 2026

Slater’s performance is a revelation of synthesis. Known for his buoyant athleticism in Broadway’s "SpongeBob SquarePants" and his chilling portrayal of the Balladeer and Lee Harvey Oswald in Classic Stage’s brilliant "Assassins," he here channels that dexterity into something at once lighter yet more harrowing. His Marceau moves with balletic precision: fingers unfurl like petals; wrists trace invisible architecture; the torso leans into unseen walls. Butterflies tremble from his cupped hands, a flower blossoms and droops along the line of his arm. Guided by movement consultant Lorenzo Pisoni, Slater achieves an embodiment so exacting it appears to suspend the laws of bone and gravity. [more]

Hold on to Your Butts

February 28, 2026

Actors Kerry Ipema and Natalie Rich, joined by the live Foley artist Kelly Robinson, proceed to conjure Spielberg’s dinosaur epic. They marshal an arsenal of materials so defiantly homespun it borders on subversive: cardboard cutouts standing in for apex predators, skeletal wooden frames sketching out jeeps and laboratories, pocket flashlights pressed into service as cinematic chiaroscuro, and a scattering of objects manipulated with priestly concentration, shot for shot—all deployed with an almost ascetic economy of means that make the absence of machinery feel not like deprivation but like principle. [more]

Mother Russia

February 26, 2026

In Lauren Yee’s exuberant and stealthily devastating new comedy, "Mother Russia," history arrives not with a bang but with an order of fast food. Two young men, perched at the lip of a new world order, cradle their first-ever Filet-O-Fish sandwich from McDonald's as though it were a sacred relic. They tear into it with the devotional hunger of converts, pausing only to roll their eyes heavenward and lick tartar sauce from their fingers with an abandon that feels both comic and liturgical. Capitalism, Yee suggests, is best introduced as a condiment. [more]

Hate Radio

February 22, 2026

The premise—a radio broadcast—might seem theatrically inert, yet Rau ingeniously implicates the audience by issuing each spectator a set of headphones. We are not merely watching propaganda; we are tuning in. If we need to gauge our own humanity while we watch the hideous display, all we need to do is look straight ahead - on the other side of where the actors play sits the other half of the St. Ann’s Warehouse audience. The isolation produced by the earphones intensifies the intimacy of the rhetoric. One hears the laughter, the rhythm, the coded exhortations as if they were meant for one’s own ear. The imaginative leap—who would listen to this? who would believe it?—collapses. The seduction of format, the familiarity of tone, do much of the ideological work. [more]

MANO A MANO

February 20, 2026

To enter the performance space of Paul Pinto’s "MANO A MANO" is to find oneself seated not before a proscenium, but around a giant Arthurian round table, a scenic choice that immediately dismantles the distance between the observer and the observed. One is not merely an audience member; one is a guest at a grim, historical banquet where the main course is the fractured psyche of the British Isles. Pinto, a playwright-composer-performer of singular, manic energy, has crafted a libretto that functions as a rhythmic autopsy of masculinity, tracing a lineage of "headless alpha males" from the Trojan War to the contemporary boxing ring. [more]

Ai Yah Goy Vey! – Adventures of a Dim Sun in Search of His Wanton Father

February 15, 2026

Chang is an agile performer, and his quick shifts among characters recall the early solo work of urban shapeshifters who built entire neighborhoods out of voice and posture. Yet here the gallery of types is unevenly realized. Too often, figures arrive as the sketch of a stereotype rather than the surprise of a person. When Chang draws on the stylization of Chinese opera—particularly in the rendering of Jackie’s diva-like mother—the show briefly discovers a richer theatrical language, one in which Eastern and Western performance traditions spar and flirt on equal terms. Such moments hint at a more adventurous piece than the one that predominates. [more]

The First Line of Dante’s Inferno

February 14, 2026

The opening gesture of Dante Alighieri’s "Inferno"—that immortal confession of midlife disorientation in which a wanderer finds himself astray from the “straight road” and deposited in a “dark wood”—has rarely felt as theatrically apt as it does in "The First Line of Dante’s Inferno," Kirk Lynn’s sly, searching, and disarmingly funny new experiment in staged storytelling. Lynn, a polymath of the American theater—playwright, novelist, screenwriter, educator, and guiding spirit of the Austin collective Rude Mechs—treats Dante’s premise less as a theological map than as a psychological condition. His forest is not an allegorical afterlife but a contemporary wilderness in which several souls, one quite literally at midlife, appear to have misplaced the coordinates of their former selves. [more]

High Spirits (New York City Center Encores!)

February 11, 2026

The afterlife has always enjoyed a sturdy tenancy on the musical stage, but "High Spirits"—Hugh Martin and Timothy Gray’s tuneful graft onto Noël Coward’s "Blithe Spirit"—has, until now, seemed a ghost itself: spoken of fondly by aficionados, seldom seen, and rarely summoned with conviction. That New York City Center Encores! has revived it, in its first professional New York outing since 1964, makes its long absence feel less like neglect than a curious collective lapse in memory. For this effervescent score and Coward’s indestructible farce reveal themselves, in performance, to be not merely viable but positively tonic. Under Jessica Stone’s direction, "High Spirits" is presented with a spareness that registers as notable even within the intentionally stripped-down aesthetic long associated with Encores! The concert format, here, feels less like a stylistic choice than a visible process: once again scripts remain firmly in hand, and the performers give the impression of artists still negotiating their relationship to the material in real time. At moments we are treated to some hilarious spontaneous reactions, tongue-in-cheek banter when one actor has turned too many pages in his or her binder. [more]

Manon! (Heartbeat Opera)

February 10, 2026

For Heartbeat Opera’s presentation of Massenet’s exquisite "Manon," the co-adaptors Rory Pelsue, who also directs, and Jacob Ashworth, the company’s artistic director, take a scalpel to Massenet’s expansive five-act opéra comique, paring it down to a fleet, intermissionless ninety minutes. In the process, they excise subsidiary characters and the bustling choral tableaux that French opera has traditionally treated as both ornament and social panorama. What remains is not a diminished work but a distilled one: the narrative’s spine emerges with unusual clarity, its emotional stakes thrown into sharper relief by the absence of decorative detours, oh, and it’s performed in English and retitled "Manon!" [more]

King Lear (Compagnia de’ Colombari)

February 2, 2026

By loosening the moorings that usually tether one actor to one role, director and adaptor Karin Coonrod peers, with unusual intimacy, into Lear’s psychic weather. The choice to distribute him among ten bodies does not dilute the character; it refracts him. We are invited to watch a consciousness under siege, a man stripped so thoroughly of title, certainty, and familial illusion that what remains is not a king discovering wisdom so much as a human being stumbling toward self-recognition. Lears circulate through the auditorium, each member of the company outfitted by Oana Botez in a palette of muted greige, topped by gilded paper crowns, courtesy of Tine Kindermann, that rise a good foot and a half into the air, their fragile grandeur at once comic and faintly forlorn—a visual joke that curdles into a metaphor. The multiplicity supplies a chorus of selves: monarch and parent, tyrant and child, sovereign and supplicant. At times they seem to echo one another; at others they compete for the same thought, as if Lear’s mind were a crowded room he can no longer govern. The image captures something essential about the play’s cruelty: identity, once propped up by power and praise, proves alarmingly divisible. [more]

Watch Me Walk

January 30, 2026

Anne Gridley begins "Watch Me Walk" by taking its title at punishingly literal face value. She introduces herself, grips her walking stick—never a cane, a semantic correction that quickly reveals its philosophical weight—and proceeds to walk the length of the stage again and again, in near silence, for so long that the initial charge of provocation slowly discharges. What remains is not suspense but facticity. In another theatrical ecosystem, this might register as endurance art or a sly conceptual prank; here, in a Soho Rep production presented in association with the recently concluded 2026 Under the Radar Festival, it operates as a recalibration of spectatorship itself. We arrive alert, waiting for the performance to “start,” only to discover that it already has—and that the only thing lagging behind is our attention. [more]

Try/Step/Trip

January 15, 2026

The choreography by Toran X. Moore is exquisitely attuned to both context and cast. Moore’s steps and motifs create a full canvas of movement that breathes with the beat and bends to the demands of the narrative. "Try/Step/Trip" announces itself through a distinct physical vocabulary, one that is not merely stylistic but historical and communal: step, the percussive dance form forged and refined within historically Black colleges and universities. Here, the body becomes both instrument and archive—feet striking, hands clapping, chests resonating in rhythms that carry lineage as much as sound. The choice of step is not ornamental; it is foundational, lending the work a muscular, collective language that insists on presence, discipline, and shared breath, and that roots the piece in a tradition where movement functions simultaneously as music, memory, and social bond. Rooted firmly in Black dance, the choreography adapts itself to the tonal shifts of each song and scene, turning the evening into a literal and figurative adventure. At 90 minutes, the piece demands stamina and precision from its performers, and the ensemble meets that challenge with discipline and collective resolve. [more]

Hildegard

January 13, 2026

Sarah Kirkland Snider’s first opera arrives with a confidence that feels almost paradoxical: it is at once tightly focused and lavishly expansive, a work that fixes its gaze on a single hinge in medieval history while allowing the implications of that moment to ripple outward in all directions. "Hildegard" does not so much resurrect Hildegard von Bingen as acknowledge what she has always seemed to be—a figure who belongs as much to myth as to chronology, a woman whose historical footprint feels improbably modern, even futuristic. [more]

If We Kiss

December 19, 2025

What "If We Kiss" captures, with rare delicacy, is the way young people experience such convergences as both comic and catastrophic. The play treats adolescent feeling with respect, refusing to condescend to its intensity while still allowing space for humor and grace. In doing so, it reminds us that first love is never merely personal: it is social, moral, and—when the generations begin to rhyme—quietly political. [more]

The Baker’s Wife

December 17, 2025

Greenberg’s greatest achievement is his refusal to inflate or apologize for the material. He treats "The Baker’s Wife" as what it is: a musical of sensibility rather than momentum, concerned with romance, regret, and the cost of impulsive desire. There is a deliciously vaudevillian, music-hall bustle to “Bread,” the ensemble number that marks the village’s first ecstatic encounter with Aimable’s handiwork. The song clatters and skips with comic precision, its rhythms suggesting both hunger and sudden abundance, and Stephanie Klemons’ dances here leans into that sense of organized chaos, shaping the townspeople’s delight into a playful choreography of anticipation, consumption, and communal relief. Paul’s dynamic rendition of “Proud Lady,” with its Brel-inflected toughness, certainly gets its desired effect. In revealing the show’s emotional coherence, Greenberg demonstrates that The Baker’s Wife was never broken beyond repair—only misunderstood. Here, at last, it feels whole. [more]

BUM BUM (or, this farce has Autism)

December 13, 2025

In "BUM BUM (or, this farce has Autism)," EPIC Players—New York’s indefatigable standard-bearer for neuroinclusive performance—unfurls a world premiere that feels less like a conventional new play and more like a controlled theatrical detonation. Written by autistic playwright Dave Osmundsen, the play arrives disguised as farce, yet beneath its slapstick velocity lies an exacting critique of how neurodivergent lives are shaped, softened, and rendered consumable for mainstream audiences. It is a work that understands comedy not as an escape from politics but as one of its most effective instruments. Under the brisk, clear-sighted direction of Meggan Dodd, EPIC Players has assembled a company of actors on the spectrum to bring to life the buoyantly subversive text of award-winning Osmundsen—a writer whose instinct for farce is matched only by his ear for the humiliations, large and small, that so often attend the rhetoric of “inclusivity.” [more]

The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions

December 12, 2025

In the cavernous expanse of the Park Avenue Armory, where spectacle often arrives inflated to mythic proportions, "The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions" materializes as a frequently mad, occasionally mystical, and resolutely LGBTQIA+ fantasia. Adapted from Larry Mitchell and Ned Asta’s 1977 queer fable-book—part manifesto, part utopian parable—this incarnation, shaped by composer Philip Venables and director Ted Huffman (who first unveiled it to British audiences in 2023), announces itself with a great deal of theatrical flourish. For all its conjurations and incantatory ambition, it is ultimately a work whose whimsy gleefully shines on the backs of this diamond’s many facets. [more]

Full Contact

December 1, 2025

In its final form, the piece stands as both elegy and proclamation: a testament to a heritage reclaimed, and to the fierce, necessary act of making contact—full, unguarded, and profoundly human—with oneself. Estrada exists here in a purgatorial tension, suspended between the gravitational pull of guilt and the stark instinct toward survival. The play chronicles not simply his attempt to move forward but the Herculean labor of taking even the first tremulous step toward healing—an act rendered as perilous as any physical combat he has ever undertaken. At times it seems his own mind, a treacherous and labyrinthine opponent, threatens to drag him beneath its tide. And yet, in the fragile space between collapse and catharsis, the work finds its most haunting register: a portrait of a man grappling to reclaim his narrative before the darkness that shaped him claims him once more. [more]

HardLove

November 23, 2025

By the time the play reaches its understated yet piercing climax, the question is no longer whether ChiChi and Theodore are “right” for one another—though that question lingers—but rather what it means for any of us to seek connection in a world where desire is both compass and mirage. "HardLove" distills the fragile thrill of two strangers attempting to divine each other’s contours—emotional, physical, moral—and uses that single night’s encounter as a prism through which larger anxieties of belonging, expectation, and becoming refract. In the end, this bold, darkly funny, and unexpectedly tender work stands as a testament to the theater’s capacity to anatomize intimacy without anesthetizing it: a funny, poignant hour that leaves its audience pondering not only these two characters but the mysterious machinery of desire itself. [more]

Rob Lake Magic With Special Guests The Muppets

November 14, 2025

If the Muppets are deployed as window dressing, the illusions themselves are a museum of inherited gestures. Lake presents the familiar canon of contemporary stage magic: the bifurcated assistant, the levitating woman afloat above a bed of water (which, in its defense, has the best stage accoutrements of the evening), the interlocking wedding rings that actually make it back to their owners, the transmogrified paper rose born of a Kleenex, the sealed-box prediction trick. These are the old reliables, charming chestnuts of the craft. And to be fair, if it is your first encounter with such wonders in the flesh, they retain an undeniable potency. Something impossible happens before your eyes, and for a moment one senses the naïve astonishment that once greeted Houdini or Blackstone. But the long shadow of 20th-century spectacle looms large. When David Copperfield made a woman vanish, he seemed to risk something existential—his illusions were staged with the gravitas of a metaphysical wager. Doug Henning, all fringe and mystical glow, imbued the form with a countercultural buoyancy. Lake’s versions, by comparison, feel perfunctory, the delivery mechanical rather than miraculous. To deploy the same tricks as one’s predecessors is no sin, but to do so without reimagining them—or without doing them better—is a kind of aesthetic resignation. [more]

Bat Boy: The Musical

November 6, 2025

Beneath the camp and chaos, 'Bat Boy" remains what it always was: a parable with a pulse. O’Keefe’s rock-opera score jabs with wit but bleeds sincerity; his lyrics cut deep with irony and compassion. The story still howls against hypocrisy—the intolerance of difference, the fear of the Other, the absurd theatre of morality that masquerades as virtue. "Bat Boy" feels less like a musical and more like a communal exorcism of repression, guilt, and joy. In the capable, chaotic hands of this remarkable company, it doesn’t just sing—it soars, claws, and howls. To want to belong has rarely felt this thrilling. What emerges, through all the shrieks and laughter, is something profoundly moving: a hymn to belonging, a love letter to strangeness, a primal scream for empathy. [more]

The Wasp

November 5, 2025

'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

November 1, 2025

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?)

October 30, 2025

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

October 26, 2025

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

October 23, 2025

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]

Other

October 23, 2025

Ari’el Stachel in his one-man show “Other” at Greenwich House Theatre (Photo credit: Ogata [more]

Oratorio for Living Things

October 20, 2025

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]

Italian American Reconciliation

October 14, 2025

"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

October 11, 2025

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

October 9, 2025

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

October 7, 2025

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

September 30, 2025

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

September 28, 2025

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

September 16, 2025

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

September 16, 2025

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

September 12, 2025

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

September 12, 2025

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

August 15, 2025

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]
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Copyright Jack Quinn, 2001-2026