Girl, Interrupted: Not the Feel-Good Musical of the Year

Juliana Canfield in Girl, Interrupted (Joan Marcus)

In the 1990s it was a groundbreaking memoir, then an acclaimed film that won Angelina Jolie an Academy Award. Now the Public Theater has turned Girl, Interrupted into an Off Broadway musical with an array of dark, introspective songs by indie rocker Aimee Mann and a book by Pulitzer Prize winner Martyna Majok. The results are mixed. 

With a story centering on an 18-year-old confined to a Massachusetts psychiatric institution in the late 1960s, the musical lays bare, over nearly two intermissionless hours, how mental health issues affect young women.

An impassioned Juliana Canfield leads the ensemble as Susanna Kaysen, who, after attempting suicide, is persuaded by a doctor to enter the private facility. There, she meets an assortment of fellow females who have two things in common: emotional disturbances and families who can afford to pay for their treatments, although one, Grace (Mia Pak), admits her parents had to mortgage the house to do so. 

The show, directed with force and sensitivity by Jo Bonney, becomes a series of character studies, with each girl describing her plight in song. King Princess tackles the role of sociopath Lisa, played by Jolie in the film, but somehow the character fades into the background.

Most striking are Sally Shaw as Polly, whose haunting ballad "Burn It Out" delves into why she set herself on fire, and Gabi Campo as Tori, a Mexican girl beset by addiction. (If only someone were suffering from bipolar disorder and going through a manic phase, we might have gotten a couple of bouncy numbers to counteract the angst-filled songs.)

Not surprisingly, the creators explore the effect of patriarchal society on these women's psyches. Manoel Felciano, the sole male cast member, has the often thankless task of playing the various men, from father and doctor to a professor who bedded the young Susanna before she took an overdose of pills. 

It isn't until the second half that the plot kicks into gear, as Susanna faces up to what happened and fights for her release. Wouldn't you know that it takes a man to facilitate that? 

Fortunately, our understanding of mental illness has expanded greatly in the nearly 60 years since Kaysen was institutionalized, and even in the more than 30 years since her book was published. As a result, Girl Interrupted doesn't have the same shock value as it once did. Mann's mournful, brooding songs would make a haunting album, but even combined with Majok's script, they're not enough for a great stage musical. 

Death of a Salesman review

Laurie Metcalf and Nathan Lane in Death of a Salesman (Emilio Madrid)

Broadway hasn't suffered from a Salesman shortage. Since 1999, there have been four revivals of Arthur Miller's 1949 masterpiece on the Great White Way, none more stirring or explosive than the current production. This one has an unexpected headliner in the role of Willy Loman: Nathan Lane, best known for ratcheting up the laughs in comedies and musicals, delivers a stunning, heartbreaking portrayal. Attention must indeed by paid to his performance.

And to those with whom he shares the stage, especially the fabulous Laurie Metcalf as Willy's loyal, long-suffering wife Linda, and Christopher Abbott as wayward elder son Biff. I've been moved by past productions of the play, but never to the point where I shed tears as Linda admonished her sons about the worth of their misguided father as she implored that "attention must be paid" to him.

That was also the case in the climactic scene between Willy and Biff, where the former vehemently proclaims his — and by extension his son's — worth with the one of theater's most famous lines: "I am not a dime a dozen! I am Willy Loman, and you are Biff Loman!" Typically regarded as another example of Willy's delusion, here it also resonated as a parent reminding his defeated son of his worth.

That's what makes director Joe Mantello's production such a blockbuster. It delivers more than we've come to expect from this classic American drama, and the risks Mantello, his cast and creative team take pay off. Instead of a naturalistic set of the Loman home, scenic designer Chloe Lamford puts Willy's car center stage. Lane drives the traveling salesman's motor — that symbol of American success — onstage at the start, where it remains until he backs it out near the end.

And Mantello has cast different actors to play the younger versions of Loman children Biff and Happy, and their neighbor Bernard. What could come off as a director tampering with a playwright's intent instead gives the production a fluidity and richness. 

But what makes this Salesman such a smash is the attention it pays to its characters and their struggles to achieve the American dream, which haven't changed that much more than 75 after this masterpiece premiered. 

Schmigadoon! review

Alex Brightman in Schmigadoon! (Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman)

I'd already visited Schmigadoon! once, but I was more than delighted with my return trip. The stage version of Cinco Paul's musical sitcom is as charming as the original Apple TV series, and a hilarious highlight of a Broadway season marked by a dearth of new tuners. 

Little has been changed, except for the cast. Sara Chase and Alex Brightman now star as Melissa and Josh, a couple who find their relationship stymied and, Brigadoon style, stumble upon a land that time forgot (and where everyone hits the high notes and knows the dance steps). 

A fan of musicals, Melissa takes to the townsfolk as they burst into song. Josh, on the other hand, fills with dread every time he senses another number coming up. And that's just the beginning of their problems. When they find themselves unable to leave until they find true love, each ends up searching for it among the local community, which is populated with people who bear a striking resemblance to characters from such classic musicals as Oklahoma!, Carousel, The Music Man and The Sound of Music.

Paul has great affection for the genre's golden age, but also a wicked sense of humor about its eccentricities. So we meet minister's wife Mildred Layton (Ana Gasteyer), steadfastly determined to uphold the town morals. Her showstopping number, "Tribulation," is a terrific riff on Harold Hill's "Trouble" from The Music Man. Melissa is tempted by the sexy Danny Bailey (Max Clayton), a stand-in for Carousel's antihero Billy Bigelow, who sings a perfect pastiche of his "Soliloquy." Josh, meanwhile, deals with the flirtatious Betsy (the hilarious McKenzie Kurtz), a stand-in for Oklahoma!'s Ado Annie.

The show includes some new songs, but the best ones are from the TV series: the silly Emmy-winning ditty "Corn Puddin' "; the matrimonial earworm "Cross That Bridge"; and the retitled "Baby Talk," in which Melissa explains, in graphic detail, human reproduction to a pair of naive Schmigadoonians.

It's great fun, and the entire cast is terrific, although Brightman's detached demeanor until Josh's denouement had me longing for Keegan-Michael Key's more playful approach to the character onscreen. One caveat: As someone who loved the TV show, I got what I was expecting and thoroughly enjoyed it. If Schmigadoon! could have surprised me in some way, I would have loved it even more. 

The Fear of 13 review

Adrien Brody and Tessa Thompson in The Fear of 13 (Emilio Madrid)

A better showcase for Adrien Brody's acting chops than for the telling the real-life story of Nick Yarris, The Fear of 13 is an uneven mixture of docudrama, true crime and even rom-com. There's a solid play in there waiting to come out, but the storytelling gets lost amid the slow pace of Lindsey Ferrentino's script and director David Cromer's production.

The play, based on a 2015 documentary film, follows Yarris during the 22 years he spent on death row in Pennsylvania for a brutal 1981 crime he didn't commit. Not told in chronological order, the story begins with an incarcerated Yarris (Brody) meeting Jacki Miles (Tessa Thompson), a volunteer researching conditions on death row. As the two bond over their shared love of books, she takes a special interest in Yarris, and soon she's working to help him get his conviction overturned, and marrying him. 

DNA is still in its infancy, so testing for it, and getting it admitted as evidence, was an even longer and more complicated process than it is now. Sadly, the story of a wrongly convicted prisoner seeking exoneration isn't novel, and Ferrentino tries to beef up her plot with a lighthearted take on the romance between Yarris and Jacki that's tonally at odds with the rest of the play. 

It's only in the last half-hour that The Fear of 13 really hits its stride, as what sent Nick down a path toward drugs and petty crime is revealed, along with the circumstances that lead to his arrest and conviction. 

The wonderfully emotive Brody pours heart and soul into his character, and he's likely to be remembered at Tony time for his performance. Despite the pain and injustice he suffered, this Yarris doesn't emerge as a rich and real enough character to make you want to spend nearly two hours in his company.

Cats: The Jellicle Ball review

"Tempress" Chastity Moore in Cats (Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman)

I expected splendor and spectacle at Cats: The Jellicle Ball, a boisterous reimagining of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, now set in the world of 1980s ballroom culture. What surprised me was how moving this show was in its quieter moments. Whichever you prefer, this is a welcome Broadway revival that may have you rethinking your opinion about the often maligned British composer's place in the Broadway pantheon. 

Seeking to create as immersive an experience as possible, directors Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch and choreographers Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons stretch a runway out into the first few rows of the orchestra and place seats on the stage as an array of lavishly decked-out dancers vogue, competing for prizes in a competition that originated in the Black and Latino LGBTQ communities of the 1970s and '80s.

It's a surprisingly good fit for the material, which was adapted from T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, and usually features fur-clad performers purring and prancing around the stage. In this version, we're treated to Qween Jean's gorgeous costumes, a mixture of couture and street fashion, which make such great eye candy that they disguise the show's weaker songs. 

Among the standout performers are Sydney James Harcourt, who displays nearly all of his physical assets as the frisky "curious cat" Rum Tum Tugger. Eighty-year-old Broadway legend Andre De Shields commands the stage as Old Deuteronomy, the leader of the felines, and Ken Ard, an original Cats cast member from 1982, returns to Broadway as the evening's DJ.

Veterans of the ballroom scene are also part of the cast. Junior LaBeija delivers a poignant portrayal of the titular character in the touching song "Gus the Theatre Cat," about a trouper looking back on his glory days. And "Tempress" Chastity Moore tackles the iconic role of Grizabella, the "glamour cat" who is no longer a part of the scene. Introduced as a street lady pushing around a shopping cart with her belongings, which include a tarnished trophy, she's a broken soul redeemed when she sings Lloyd Webber's haunting ballad "Memory." 

Even more so than last year's Tony-winning revival of Sunset Boulevard, Cats: The Jellicle Ball casts Lloyd Webber's work in a brilliant new light, and you may never think of the show in the same way again. 

Dog Day Afternoon review

Jon Bernthal and Jessica Hecht in Dog Day Afternoon (Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman)

Perhaps this was intended to be some sort of immersive theater experience. Because after two hours and 15 minutes of this tepid, misguided stage adaptation of Dog Day Afternoon, I felt like I was being held hostage.

The Broadway version of the searing 1975 film about a bungled bank holdup that turns into a hostage situation has been reworked by Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis; now, instead of being headlined by a young Al Pacino, it's a stage vehicle for TV star Jon Bernthal. In the process, the edgy intensity of the original has been sacrificed for comedy and '70s nostalgia, neither of which helps to bolster the story.

Bernthal makes an impressive Broadway debut as the troubled Sonny, smart enough to conceive of a plot to rob a Brooklyn bank, but not wise enough to successfully execute it. He certainly has a more significant role than Ebon Moss-Bachrach, another Broadway newbie, who plays Sonny's more dangerous, gun-toting partner in crime Sal.

The production's best performance comes from John Ortiz, a veteran of Guirgis' plays, which depict the struggles of people on the lower end of the economic spectrum. He's the "good cop," a police detective with the unfortunate name of Fucco, who tries to defuse the situation as amicably as possible. 

In the hands of Bernthal, Guirgis and director Rupert Goold, Sonny comes across as something of a wronged everyman, one whom even his hostages, like Jessica Hecht's head bank teller Colleen, warm to as the crisis wears on one sweltering August day. (Except for an occasional mention, the heat never seems to be an issue.) But I couldn't wait for Spencer Garrett's FBI agent to swoop in and rescue the people whose lives were endangered just because they were doing their jobs.

It's rare for a Broadway show that's not a musical to have a cast of 20 strong. Too bad they're not better utilized.  

Every Brilliant Thing review

Daniel Radcliffe in Every Brilliant Thing (Matthew Murphy)

You can't claim to have a comprehensive list of brilliant things unless Daniel Radcliffe's name is among them. The former child actor who shot to fame as Harry Potter has become a welcome stage presence on Broadway. After winning a well-deserved Tony Award as part of the terrific cast of Merrily We Roll Along two years ago, he's now going solo in Every Brilliant Thing, Duncan MacMillan's play about depression, suicide and the battle to overcome them. 

Radcliffe may be the only actor in the play, but he's not working alone. The audience at the Hudson Theatre is very much a part of this 70-minute venture. His nameless character calls on various individuals — usually those seated on the stage — to help him play a select group of people significant to his life, from his father to a teacher who helped him when he was a child.

The effect is a playful lightening of the subject without minimizing the internal struggles faced by those afflicted. Our narrator relates how he began making a list of all the "brilliant" things in the world after his mother attempted suicide when he was a boy. They range from simple joys like ice cream to the pleasure of "Waking up late with someone you LOVE!"

The list grew to contain many thousands of entries as he matured, went to college, fell in love — and began to experience his own depressive episodes. Spoiler alert: Although the words on his list helped him with his internal battle, he also needed people. 

And that message resonates as Radcliffe runs through the auditorium high-fiving theatergoers. He even mingles among the crowd before the show, setting up audience members to deliver list entries when he calls out a number during the show.

And what a joy it is to watch Radcliffe engage with people who are only too happy to be in the same room as Harry Potter. He takes material that in lesser hands could come off as precious or cloying and give it resonance, depth and joy. That is brilliance.