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 Pulitizer 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 orginal 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 parter 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.

Marcel on the Train review

Ethan Slater in Marcel on the Train (Emilio Madrid) 

Before Marcel Marceau captivated the world with his silent art, the famous mime was a young Jewish man in Nazi-occupied France. And an unsung hero who helped to smuggle Jewish children across the Swiss border and out of harm's way.

It's unfortunate that such an amazing story fails to come alive dramatically in Marcel on the Train, an intimate 100-minute play by Marshall Pailet and Ethan Slater (from the Wicked movies). Pailet directs and Slater tackles the title role in Classic Stage Company's Off Broadway production, which unsuccessfully casts adults as the four orphan children Marcel, posing as a scoutmaster, shepherds across France in a train car. 

Part of Marcel on the Train's problem is that the four kids — played by Alex Wyse, Maddie Corman, Max Gordon Moore and Tedra Millan, all accomplished actors — aren't given the depth of characterization that, for example, the child characters (also played by adults) receive in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. 

The boys bicker; Corman's character, Etiennette, doesn't speak a word, while Millan's weak-bladdered Berthe is convinced she won't live to see adulthood. Marcel playfully tries to ease their fears, engaging them in games and showing them how to make shadow puppets with their hands, but the sequence drags on until real danger threatens, in the form of a Nazi officer (a chilling Aaron Serotsky) who inspects their car.

But despite the danger they face, the characters in Marcel on the Train are too thinly sketched to fully captivate audiences. I'd love to read more about their exploits, but this well-intended drama doesn't do them justice. 

The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee review

Justin Cooley in Spelling Bee. (Joan Marcus)

Think life isn't fair? What if you're a middle school student competing in a spelling bee and the word you have is "strabismus," while one of your opponents gets "pineapple"?

In The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, a nostalgic charmer of a musical currently being revived Off Broadway at New World Stages, you lament your plight in a song called "Pandemonium": "Life is random and unfair/Life is pandemonium."

It may be for the six smarty students vying for victory, but audiences who long for more character-rich tuners will find their innocence and genuineness a welcome reprieve from the bleakness of grown-up life in this 20-year-old original musical by William Finn (music and lyrics) and Rachel Sheinkin (book).

Played by adults, this mixed-up group of misfits endure the pressure of competition and the stress of adolescence, and the ensemble cast in director-choreographer Danny Mefford's beautifully affecting production imbue them with heart and humor.

With an absentee mother and a busy father, lonely Olive Ostrovsky (understudy Emily N. Rudolph at the performance I caught) had to transport herself to the event. William Barfee (Glee's Kevin McHale), likely on the spectrum, uses his "magic foot" to spell words on the floor. Logainne Schwartzandgrubenierre (Cecilia Snow, also an understudy) feels pressure from her two dads to win. 

Marcy Park (Leana Rose Concepcion) also faces familial pressure, but has a creative solution to it. Leaf Coneybear (Justin Cooley) appears to be a goofball, but when he starts to spell there's no stopping him. And poor Chip Tolentino (Philippe Arroyo), last year's winner. His out-of-control hormones could be his Achilles' heel this year.

Corralling the kids are three adults: former spelling bee champ Rona Lisa Peretti (Lili Cooper); "comfort counselor" Mitch Mahoney, ready to hand out juice boxes and hugs; and vice principal Douglas Panch (Jason Kravits), tasked with giving the kids their words — and using them in hilarious sentences.

That the kids' struggles are relatable to those of us who are long passed puberty shows how strong the material is. What's especially endearing about Spelling Bee is how unique and original the characters and songs are. At a time when so many new musicals are based on movies and filled with forgettable songs, this show's eccentricities seem all the more welcoming.

Bug review

Carrie Coon and Namir Smallwood in Bug (Matthew Murphy)

Conspiracy theories didn't begin with social media, as Tracy Letts' dark psychological thriller from 1996, proves. Now making its Broadway debut at the Friedman Theatre courtesy of Manhattan Theatre Club, Bug presents a chilling portrait of two lost souls who forge a connection that ultimately leads to their undoing in the most horrific way.

Agnes (Carrie Coon) and Peter (Namir Smallwood) use drugs to cope with their pain. She's the mother of a boy who went missing on her watch; he suffers from a mental illness that landed him in a military hospital. Their meeting in an Oklahoma motel room leads to a sexual encounter and growing paranoia over the "bugs" that seem to have infiltrated their bodies. Is the military trying to capture Peter so it can continue experimenting on him? Is Agnes' ex-husband Jerry (Steve Key), now out of prison, trying to take revenge? Or is this just the only way their troubled minds can cope?    

The influence of Sam Shepard pervades the drama, from its increasingly bleak setting to its downtrodden characters. Coon bares soul and body to reveal a woman cracking from within. Smallwood's performances can't quite match hers (or that of Michael Shannon, who played Peter Off Broadway in the play's premiere in 2004).  

In fact, those who've seen Bug in its more intimate confines likely won't be as impressed with David Cromer's new production, or its excruciating ending. But those experiencing the play for the first time — likely the majority of the audience — likely will be mesmerized by Bug's bleak portrait of darkness and despair.

Rob Lake Magic With Special Guests The Muppets review

Lake and The Muppets (Evan Zimmerman)

The most amazing feat in magician Rob Lake's Broadway show is the excitement that a bunch of moving pieces of fabric can generate in an audience. I'm talking, of course, about The Muppets, who are underused in this 80-minute entertainment but are greeted with rapturous applause every time they make an appearance. 

When it comes to name recognition, the fame of Kermit the Frog, Miss Piggy and their friends far outweighs that of Lake, a charming, low-key illusionist who was a quarterfinalist on TV's America's Got Talent. It's hard to fathom why anyone imagined audiences would pay Broadway prices for this amusing but slight show, which might have been able to make a go of it at one of New World Stages' smaller Off Broadway spaces.

The Muppets aren't very well integrated into the magic. Instead, they're the comic relief in between Lake's tricks. He saws a woman in half, levitates another and engages in a couple of mind-reading games with audience members. They're tricks most of the adults in the audience have seen before, but still fresh enough for the many children in attendance.  

And it's Lake's interaction with the audience that gives his show a bit of life, as he wanders into the house with a handheld camera, getting individuals involved in his tricks. The downside is it displays how many empty seats there are in the audience. Lake needs more than  Muppets to elevate the magic of his show. 

Waiting for Godot review

Alex Winter and Keanu Reeves in Waiting for Godot (Andy Henderson)

Bill and Ted are having an existential crisis, and people are paying more than $200 to witness it. I'm talking about the current Broadway production of Waiting for Godot, now running at the Hudson Theatre, with Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter headlining Samuel Beckett's iconic absurdist drama. Fans of the three films, beginning with 1989's Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, in which the duo team up as slacker friends, may enjoy seeing the actors collaborate on what is certainly their most bizarre adventure yet, but this production, from en vogue auteur Jamie Lloyd, would have benefited from a lighter touch.

Reeves and Winter are certainly risk takers. Playing, respectively, Estragon and Vladimir (aka Gogo an Didi), they're onstage for two hours in a work where not much happens as their characters wait for the mysterious Godot to show up (spoiler alert: he doesn't). The ease with Reeves and Winter play off of each other as their characters wait and wonder elevates much of the first act, until the arrival of Pozzo (Brandon J. Dirden) and Lucky (Michael Patrick Thornton). The interlude featuring this master-slave pair (Lucky usually has a rope around his neck, but here, like the actor, is in a wheelchair) is generally a dynamic part of the play, culminating with the mostly silent Lucky delivering a lengthy, fast-paced monologue of mostly gibberish. Having Thornton deliver it at a slower pace lessens its impact, and his performance seems at odds with Dirden's boisterous, showy one.

Likewise, in Act II, Reeves' and Winter's performances turn overly heavy and dour. There's little range, and the playfulness that was so effective in the first act disappears entirely. Even when Didi and Gogo are in their darkest moments, the absurdity of their situation (aka life) should always be present.

Instead, there's plenty of absurdity in Soutra Gilmour's set, which places the actors in a tunnel (or maybe the gun barrel in the opening shots of a James Bond film). It suggests they're trapped, perhaps in their own minds. The most moving performance may come from the young boy (played alternately by Eric Williams and Zaynn Arora) who shows up twice to inform them that Godot's arrival isn't imminent. A tiny figure dressed from head to toe in white, he could be one of God angels, and he's the warmest, most welcoming thing Didi and Gogo are likely to find in their barren world.