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.
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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 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]
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" 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]
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]
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]
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" 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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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" 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]
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]
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]
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]
Four hardened male plainclothes police officers are being coached for a “suppression hearing” – that is a court proceeding prior to trial to challenge the legality of the evidence taken from the crime, whether it be drugs, statements, or identification. In "The Witness Room," there are two bags of cocaine that were removed from the crime scene, but the sloppiness of the affidavits filed by the four police officers means some “rehearsal” is necessary for all four men to be in agreement on what actually happened months earlier when a man was arrested. This is not as dense as "Rashomon." In place of the exquisite storytelling that offered subjective, alternative and somewhat contradictory versions of the same incident, "The Witness Room" gives us a very real situation where the slightest discrepancy either frees a criminal or sends an innocent person to jail. [more]
