Maybe Happy Ending review

Helen J. Shen and Darren Criss in Maybe Happy Ending

As the world ponders the impact that artificial intelligence will have on humans, Maybe Happy Ending, a charming, whimsical new Broadway musical inverts that premise, exploring the harm that well-meaning yet inconsistent mortals could cause their devoted robotic pals. Now playing at the Belasco, it's easily the most enchanting new musical to arrive on Broadway this year.

It's set in South Korea, where Will Aronson and Hue Park's musical already had a successful run. This English-language version stars Emmy winner Darren Criss as Oliver, a humanoid model 3 Helperbot merrily passing the days in his room. He listens to jazz, talks to his plant and waits for his owner to send for him.

Oliver's orderly world is thrown into chaos when model 5 Claire (sensitively played by Helen J. Shen) shows up at his door in need of a charger. Because she's a newer model, Claire is a bit more advanced when it comes to understanding humans — and she realizes they've both been "retired," aka sent to live out their days in a community for old tech until their batteries run out because replacement parts have been discontinued.

Claire doesn't have the heart (or any heart for that matter) to shatter Oliver's sunny illusions, but she does join him on a journey to visit his former owner, James (Marcus Choi), which proves life-changing for both. And yes, it's clear that Oliver and Claire have the capacity to love.

Aronson's music and Park's lyrics are at their best when they're penning jazz numbers for Oliver's favorite musician, Gil Brentley (Dez Duron). Under the direction of Michael Arden, both Criss and Shen deliver touching, evocative performances. Criss, in particular excels at maintaining Oliver's stilted movements throughout the show'a hour and 45 minutes. 

And the show looks beautiful thanks to set, video and projection design by Dane Laffrey and George Reeve. Oliver's and Claire's worlds begin small, with both confined to their small studio apartments. But as they venture out into the open, and experience the beauty of nature, the set expands to fill the stage as their emotions are released.

How ironic that such humanity should occur in a show with a pair of robots as its main characters!

Yellow Face review

Daniel Dae Kim and Ryan Eggold in Yellow Face

As debates about identity and representation abound in the entertainment industry, Yellow Face, David Henry Hwang's 17-year-old play centered on those subjects, is getting its Broadway premiere courtesy of the Roundabout Theatre Company, with a pair of TV stars leading the cast. Semi-autobiographical and broadly funny, it touches on topics that seem even more timely today, although some of its explorations are only skin deep.

Hwang even writes himself into the play. Daniel Dae Kim (of Lost fame) stars as a semi-fictious version of the playwright — who got himself embroiled in one of Broadway biggest brouhahas of the 1990s: the casting of white actor Jonathan Pryce as a Eurasian character in the Broadway musical Miss Saigon. Hwang, who had recently made his own Broadway breakthrough, winning the Best Play Tony Award for M. Butterfly in 1988, was one of the artists who publicly spoke out against producer Cameron Mackintosh's decision to have Pryce play the role he'd originated in London, and what unfolds over Yellow Face's one-hour-45-minute run time is an exploration of racial identity and the American dream in a country that's anything but color-blind.

Kim narrates a tale that begins as farce but develops into something deeper. In the wake of the Miss Saigon saga, "David" writes a play and accidentally casts a white actor, Marcus, played by former New Amsterdam lead Ryan Eggold, to play an Asian character.   

As David tries to cover up, and then extricate himself from, this dicey situation, we're introduced to his father, Henry (Francis Jue, reprising the role he originated in the 2007 production), a banker who emigrated from China and appears to be the embodiment of the American dream, until a congressional investigation tries to cast doubt on his loyalty to the U.S. 

Director Leigh Silverman, who also helmed the Off Broadway production, adeptly blends the play's humorous moments with its more serious intent, using a diverse ensemble that crosses races and genders to play their parts. Hwang's exploration of how racial identity can still play a role in who is considered an American today remains a potent topic for discussion, and drama.

The Roommate review

Patti LuPone and Mia Farrow in The Roommate

So many questions linger after catching the star-studded Broadway production of The Roommate at the Booth Theatre. The chief one being: Why in the world would Mia Farrow and Patti LuPone, two septuagenarian acting giants, want to waste their talents on a play as mediocre as Jen Silverman's pseudo-dark comedic two-hander.  

It certainly gives both ladies ample opportunity to be bad gals, which may have been part of the attraction. What begins as a monetary arrangement when Bronx gal Robyn (LuPone) moves into the Iowa home of Sharon (Farrow) becomes an off-kilter relationship. Sharon, a mousy divorcee soon becomes entranced by the colorful Robyn. (She's a lesbian! She smokes —and grows her own — pot.)

At this point it sounds like it's going to be one of those female friendship stories. But this dramedy, directed efficiently by Jack O'Brien, soon takes an incomprehensibly dark turn: When Sharon learns about Robyn's criminal criminal past, instead of being repelled, she's mesmerized — and wants to get in on the action?!

And we're not talking naughty acts of vandalism or petty thievery — but concocting phone scams to defraud people. Soon Sharon is buying a rifle from Walmart, and any semblance of character development is shot. It's a shame because Farrow, at age 79, imbues a character that, on the surface, could be as dull as Midwestern dirt with heartfelt emotion and the soul of someone yearning for connection. 

LuPone, at 75, is fine as Robyn, a woman who longs to right her old mistakes instead of making more of them, but both are hampered by writing that makes these characters increasing two-dimensional as the play's hour and 40 minutes drag on.  

Sharon starts off as a sad, pathetic creature and for all that she goes through in the month she lives with Robyn, remains the same as the end. That's an interesting premise, but instead of getting there with real character development, The Roommate takes the easy way out with crime drama cliches. Both Farrow and LuPone deserve better. 

Table 17 review

Eisen-Martin and Young in Douglas Lyons' new play.

A talented cast trods over tired territory in the world premiere of Table 17, Douglas Lyons’ darker twist on Black romantic comedies. This 85-minute play with a cast of three, which kicks off MCC Theater’s new season, boasts an excellent cast, notably recent Tony winner Kara Young (Purlie Victorious), but ultimately, only the close friends and family of these characters will really be concerned about what happens to them.

In a program note the playwright encourages audience involvement. Characters like Young’s bouncy Jada not only talk to the audience, they ask for our feedback about matters ranging from what they’re wearing on a date to whether they said or did the right thing. The actor-audience connection is enhanced by placing some theatergoers at tables that surround the main playing area, on which the titular one sits.

It’s at a restaurant where Jada and the more pragmatic Dallas (Biko Eisen-Martin) meet long after their breakup. The present gives way to the past as they talk about old times, and the actors replay their characters’ history, from chance meeting to cheating. How did they get engaged only to end up apart? The answers aren’t terribly scintillating. He worked too much trying to jump-start his music career; she had an affair with a flight-attendant coworker, played by Michael Rishawn, who also garners a load of laughs playing the beleaguered restaurant host.

Eisen-Martin may have the least colorful character to play, but his grounded performance gives Dallas’s struggles resonance. Director Zhalion Levingston spearheads a lively production that at times appears to be trying too hard to make up for a slim script. To Lyons’ credit, his story isn’t neatly wrapped up at the end like in the rom-coms of the Hallmark Channel, but it plays like the theatrical equivalent of a grazing plate rather than a full-course meal.