Floyd Collins (Lincoln Center Theater)

By Harry Forbes

This is an intensely moving revival of composer/lyricist Adam Guettel’s 1996 musical about the highly publicized incident of a young explorer trapped in a Kentucky cave when his foot gets stuck under falling rocks, and the futile two week efforts to extricate him. Above ground, hucksters, gawkers, and even family join the media circus in the increasingly carnival-like atmosphere. 

The episode had the nation transfixed, and also inspired Billy Wilder’s 1951 film “Ace in the Hole.”

Of course, Guettel’s musicals, including “Light in the Piazza” (whose premiere was another triumph for Lincoln Center Theater) and “Days of Wine and Roses” are less traditional Broadway sounding, and more in the vein of modern opera. But there’s genuine melody in Guettel’s bluegrass-infused score, and under the baton of original conductor Ted Sperling, the sounds on stage and in the pit are ravishingly beautiful.

Jeremy Jordan as the hapless titular character is quite magnificent, surpassing even his finest past work. He's completely believable in the role, singing (and yodeling) superbly. (Hats off to Bruce Coughlin’s exquisite orchestrations, too.)

But the whole production is impeccably cast, with wonderful work by Jason Gotay as Floyd’s loving brother, who falls prey to the lure of showbiz, singer Lizzy McAlpine in her stage debut as his mentally fragile sister, Taylor Trensch as the rookie Louisville reporter assigned to cover the story and who bonds with Floyd most touchingly, Marc Kudisch and Jessica Molaskey as his conflicted father and tremulous stepmother, and Sean Allen Krill as engineer H.T. Carmichael who declares his company is the only way to Floyd’s rescue. 

There’s good work, too, from Dwayne Cooper, Jeremy Davis, and Charlie Franklin as the opportunistic reporters whose razzmatazz numbers sporadically offset the somber main story, and Wade McCollum, Cole Vaughan, and Clyde Voce as Floyd’s cronies. All are authentically outfitted in Anita Yavich’s period costumes. 

Tina Landau, book writer and co-lyricist, has beautifully staged the whole, with striking groupings of the family, fellow coal workers, and such above ground, and the cave scenes below. And though Floyd is trapped, there’s nothing static about the staging which is full of diverting visuals. The opening sequence with Floyd feeling his way through the dark is wondrously handled with lighting (Scott Zielinski) and (I presume) platforms on various levels. (The design collective, dots, created the eye-filling settings.)

Apparently, the original production showed Floyd more visually stuck in the cave whereas this one is done impressionistically. But the staging and lighting, in tandem with Dan Moses Schreier’s atmospheric sound design, makes it still highly atmospheric, claustrophobic, and nail-bitingly suspenseful.

(Lincoln Center Theater at the Vivian Beaumont, 150 West 65th Street; floydcollinsbroadway.com)

Photo by Joan Marcus: Jeremy Jordan

Stephen Sondheim's Old Friends (Manhattan Theatre Club)

By Harry Forbes

That ubiquitous genre, the  Stephen Sondheim revue -- one which had its genesis in Ned Sherrin and David Kernan’s “Side by Side by Sondheim” back in 1976 -- has provided us with numberless such tributes over the years, each one worthy in its own way. And this latest, derived from the one night only all-star gala at London’s Drury Lane in 2022, is no exception. (Fittingly, original “Side by Side” star Julia McKenzie serves as Artistic Director here.)

The evening was planned in its early stages by Sondhem himself in tandem with his British producer/colleague Cameron MacIntosh who, after Sondheim’s death, followed through with shaping the project. 

After the gala, the show was reworked for a regular West End run with different cast members. Now, on Broadway, only Bernadette Peters and Bonnie Langford remain from the festive one night occasion, but Peters is joined above-the-title with Lea Salonga, along with a classy roster of West End and Broadway talent, including Kate Jennings Grant, Gavin Lee, Joanna Riding, Beth Leavel, and Kevin Earley.

Unlike Broadway’s last Sondheim anthology -- “Sondheim by Sondheim” in 2000 -- there’s little narrative here, just number after number. Nearly all the songs will be more than familiar to fans, and if the show has a fault, that may be it. But one can’t argue with the quality of the material. And the audience at the performance I attended was highly enthusiastic throughout.

Though Salonga has not particularly associated with Sondheim, that instantly changes with “Old Friends.” Not only does Salonga offer gorgeous renditions of such lyrical ballads as “Loving You” and “Somewhere,” singing with the same crystalline clarity that brought her to fame in “Miss Saigon” in 1989, but most surprisingly, she takes on the raucous Mrs. Lovett in “Sweeney Todd” and force-of-nature dynamo Rose in “Gypsy.” And she’s quite fabulous in those atypical roles. 

As for Peters, the lady remains something of a marvel. She’s retained her classic look to a remarkable degree, and the voice, some occaional strain notwithstanding, is still capable of the purity of old. Given her long and distinguished career with Sondheim, it’s goose-bump time to hear her reprise bits of her original stage roles including “Sunday in the Park with George” and “Into the Woods.” as well as roles she played in revival during the composer’s lifetime, such as “A Little Night Music” and “Follies.” Both “Send in the Clowns” from the former and “Losing My Mind” from the latter are highlights. 

The first act gives us clusters of songs from “Company,” “Into the Woods,” and “Sweeney Todd,” along with other items, including a snippet of “Bounce” done by Peters, the rarest selection of the evening. Jeremy Secomb is particularly outstanding as Sweeney Todd, a role he’s played to acclaim. And in the “Into the Woods” sequence, there’s also standout work from Jacob Dickey as the Wolf, Early and Kyle Selig as the lovelorn princes, and Jasmine Forsberg as Cinderella. 

The second act includes an amusing riff on Peters’ distinctive version of “Broadway Baby,” and a funny version of “You Gotta Have a Gimmick,” with Peters, Leavel, and Riding as decidedly over-the-hill strippers. 

There are many highlights. For starters, Langford delivers one of the very best versions of “I’m Still Here,” propulsively sung with wonderfully firm tone, though one verse has undergone a lyric change to excise dated references. Riding, still fondly remembered for her Julie in Nicholas Hytner’s production of “Carousel” at the National Theatre, delivers the tongue-twisting “Getting Married Today” with aplomb. Lee sings a venomous gender-altered “Could I Leave You?” as Kernan did years ago in “Side by Side”; Leavel makes “The Ladies Who Lunch” her own. The “Tonight Quintet” from “West Side Story” gets a particularly exciting rendition from Dickey, Daniel Yearwood, Selig, Maria Wirries, and Jasmine Forsberg. Grant’s “The Boy from…” is a hoot. And Lee, Jason Pennycooke, and Selig cavort merrily through a riotous “Everybody Ought to Have a Maid.” 

The whole is beautifully paced by director Matthew Bourne (with choreography by Stephen Mear). Stephen Brooker’s musical arrangements are excellent, under the musical supervision of Alfonso Casado Trigo. (Annbritt duChateau conducts.) 

(The Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, 261 West 47th Street; OldFriendsBroadway.com; through June 15) 

Photos by Matthew Murphy:

(Top) - Jacob Dickey and Bernadette Peters perform “Hello, Little Girl” 

(Below) - Jeremy Secomb and Lea Salonga perform “The Worst Pies in London”

BOOP! The Musical (Broadhurst Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

“BOOP! The Musical” may not be one for the ages, but for now, I’d say this candy-colored concoction based on the adorable cartoon creation of the 1930’s Max Fleischer shorts is mightily entertaining. And it serves beautifully as a star-making vehicle for leading lady Jasmine Amy Rogers who wins all hearts with her delightful, perfectly judged portrayal.

She’s a fine human embodiment of the animated Boop -- eschewing the trademark voice of the cartoon’s Mae Questel (and others who voiced the characger in a Helen Kane little girl voice) -- but offering her distinct vocal charm. She excels in all departments, a genuine triple threat. Sabana Majeed’s hair and wig design (spit curls and all) help with the impersonation. Rogers maintains Betty’s innocence throughout, never breaking character. 

Very like the 2023 “Barbie” film, Bob Martin’s generally amusing book aims to make a case for the heroine’s relevance for today: her spunkiness, resourceful, versatile, and kind, and with a bit of a contemporary feminist perspective. But never in the heavy handed tiresome way of so many like-minded projects these days.

Martin gives us a Betty who’s weary of her black and white existence in the 1930s cartoon world, so she uses her inventor Grampy’s time travel device to be transported to the here and now, a world full of wondrous color. (The contrast between the black and white world of the past and the colorful present runs throughout the show, creatively embodied by Gregg Barnes' costumes and David Rockwell’s scenic design.)The Act 2 opener “Where is Betty?” is a witty visualization of that contrast, as the cast dances in costumes, color on one side, black and white on the other. (Nods to Fleischer's original renderings show up periodically in Finn Ross' projection design.)

Where Betty finds herself is smack dab in the middle of Comic Con in present-day New York, where she is befriended by teenaged Trisha (Angelica Hale) who, as it happens, has always idolized Betty Boop, and she takes the transplanted Betty under wing. Almost immediately, Betty falls for Trisha’s sometime babysitter Dwayne (outstanding Ainsley Melham), an aspiring trumpet player, who naturally falls for her himself.  

Rounding out the present day principals are Anastacia McCleskey as Tricia’s supportive aunt Carol who’s campaign manager for Erich Bergen’s oily politician Raymond Demarest running for mayor.

Veterans Stephen DeRosa and Faith Prince have some bright moments as Grampy (from the cartoon world of ToonTown), and his old flame Valentina with whom he reunites these many years later. Providing periodic diversion in the black and white world are Aubie Merrylees and Ricky Schroeder as Betty’s frantic director and his rather overly devoted assistant. And I mustn’t forget Betty’s little dog Pudgy, delightfully and unobtrusively manipulated by puppeteer Phillip Huber.

Music producer David Foster has fashioned a mostly traditional sounding score (with Susan Birkenhead’s expert lyrics), which is not 1930s pastiche as you might expect, but stylistically appropriate. The Betty-Dwayne duet, “Why Look Around the Corner” is a charmer, but there are lots of catchy tunes including Valentina’s “A Cure for Love” and her duet with Grampy, “Whatever It Takes.” Even the Demarest gets a good number, “Take It to the Next Level,” as he tries to make his lecherous moves on Betty. 

Betty’s eleven o’clock number, “Something to Shout About,” wins sustained applause. 

Director/choreographer Jerry Mitchell keeps things moving at a brisk, masterful pace, with plenty of invigorating dance numbers throughout. 

(Broadhurst Theatre, 235 W 44th St;  BoopTheMusical.com)

Photo by Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman © And tag @MurphyMade and @EvZMM:

(l-r) Jasmine Amy Rogers (Betty Boop) and Ainsley Melham (Dwayne)

The Picture of Dorian Gray (The Music Box)

By Harry Forbes

To cut to the chase, Sarah Snook --  known best globally for her role as Shiv Roy in HBO’s “Succession” -- is absolutely stupendous in this riveting adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s 1891 work, his only novel. 

Though technically a one-person show, the Australian actress brings to life 26 diverse characters by dint of her virtuosic acting skills and an astonishing video component that allows her to interact seamlessly with the myriad versions of herself on the LED video screens which float over the stage. The precision of it all is quite astounding. If you were blown away by the use of projections and roving cameras in Jamie Lloyd’s current revival of “Sunset Boulevard,” writer/director Kip Williams' work here goes several steps further.

Even Snooks’ mobile phone comes into play in a most creative, dextrous way, though the device was the cause of the one (brief) technical snafu of the evening at my performance.

Williams’ production was first mounted to acclaim by Sydney Theatre Company in 2010, and Snooks assumed the role in London where she won the Best Actress Olivier Award.

Marg Horwell’s scenic and costume designs were also so honored, and  -- coupled with David Bergman’s video design -- are simply dazzling. Williams’s direction keeps things going at a feverish, suspenseful pace that is nothing short of thrilling. Clemence Williams’ propulsive music adds to that excitement, and her sound design is superbly balanced. 

But for all the bravura technical effects -- and one does really focus on the screens more than the live actress underneath -- what really hooks you is Snooks’  mesmerizing storytelling technique, for this is narrative theater at its most accomplished. Even without the costume and wig changes, her facility at changing her voice and her persona from character to character is astonishing. Besides the foppish Gray (bedecked with a wispy blond wig (one that reminded me of the child actor Steven Warner in “The Little Prince” movie of eons ago), she conjures the decadent Lord Henry Wotton and the effete artist Basil Hallward, and a host of others, male and female. 

And, of course, Wilde’s tale of the beautiful young man whose increasingly dissipated and immoral behavior is reflected in the painting he keeps hidden in a locked room, while he himself retains his youthful beauty, is so beautifully adapted by Willaims and compulsively gripping that the dramatization registers with a rare intensity.

Williams directs with a humorously sardonic approach (reflected in Snooks’ often playful asides), and there are some occasional meta interjections, including concerning the video technique, and there’s one rather startling use of a Broadway musical song which I won’t spoil here which buffs will pick up on, but the themes of the story are related with appropriate gravitas right up to its devastating conclusion.

Snook is not alone on stage but aided by an unobtrusive crew of camera operators in black who manipulate the props and the cameras. They deservedly share the bows with her at the end.

(The Music Box, 239 West 45th Street; doriangrayplay.com; through June 29)

Photo by Marc Brenner: Sarah Snook

Vanya (Lucille Lortel Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

Andrew Scott is certainly riding a career high: the Irish actor’s much praised turn as Garry Essendine in an updating of Noel Coward’s “Present Laughter” at the National Theatre (also streamed); his starring role in the gripping Netflix “Ripley” series; his extraordinary performance in “All of Us Strangers” on the big screen; and this, his one-man performance of Chekhov’s “Uncle Vanya,” in which he takes on all nine parts.

The last played London’s West End, and also streamed in cinemas, courtesy of NT Live, and has now come to town where we get to see Scott’s amazing tour de force in person. Scott actually trod the boards in New York in 2006 with a supporting role in David Hare’s “The Vertical Hour” with Julianne Moore and Bill Nighy in their respective Broadway debuts but now he’s very much center stage. 

Adapter Simon Stephen, director Sam Yates, and designer Rosanna Vize all share co-creator credit with Scott himself, and in all, they’ve done a masterful job of distilling the action to the concept at hand. Though it’s clear things have been updated from the 19th century, the names have been Anglicized --Mikhail Astrov, the doctor, is called Michael, Marina the nanny is Maureen, Waffles is called Liam, Yelena is Helena and so on -- and all the accents are Irish, “Vanya”is in essence scrupulously faithful to its source. The most blatant alteration is Helena’s elderly pompous husband Alexander is now a filmmaker rather than a retired professor. 

So, too, there are some 20th century music cues.There is a sprinkling of f-words, a revision that even David Mamet, never one to shy away from an expletive, eschewed in his excellent adaptation of decades ago.

Otherwise, Chekhov is treated with due reverence, and the adaptation seems far more authentic than many other “Vanyas” we’ve had of late, including last season’s starry revival at Lincoln Center. 

Scott morphs effortlessly from character to character, sometimes leaving the stage through an upstage door to emerge two seconds later as with a different persona. And sometimes just changing position, or throwing his voice like a deft ventriloquist.

Much of Scott’s delivery is in a naturalistically quiet, conversational tone, requiring us to listen intently,  though he rises to dramatic heights in the scene of Vanya’s violent outburst. 

Which is not to say that there isn't an occasional confusion as to who is speaking even with a minimal use of props that sometimes help with character identification. Vanya initially wears shades. Michael compulsively bounces a ball. Sonia, Alexander’s daughter, plays with a cloth. Helena fiddles with her necklace. But more often everything is accomplished purely with body language and vocal delivery.

Still and all, a familiarity with "Uncle Vanya" makes a richer experience, and if you plan to see it, I would bone up on the play. (Helpfully, there are several superb productions on YouTube.)

Fabulous as Scott is, I won’t pretend that there weren’t moments I longed for a full cast but Scott’s dexterity and skill are more than compensation. So, too, his assumption of all the roles makes clear the commonality of their loneliness and sense of unfulfillment. 

Vize’s set gives Scott ample playing space, but one not rooted in a specific time or place: a table, some chairs, a swing (favored by Helena), a player piano (poignantly used to invoke the memory of Vanya’s late sister who had been married to Alexander before Helena). 

(Lucille Lortel Theatre, 121 Christopher Street, vanyaonstage.com, through May 11)

Photo by Julieta Cervantes: Andrew Scott

Ghosts (LIncoln Center Theater)

By Harry Forbes

The first few minutes of director Jack O’Brien’s production of Henrik Ibsen’s once controversial and still provocative 1881 classic had me bracing for my second high concept deconstruction ot the week; the other being Rebecca Frecknall’s defiantly untraditional “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

For at the start of “Ghosts,” the actors shuffle out on stage in street clothes, and casually begin to mumble the first lines of the play. Then again but in a more outgoing manner. And then again until, presto, the lighting changes, and we’re suddenly “in” the play proper with the rest proving itself nicely conventional after all. Why the play needed that prologue, I still haven’t the foggiest notion, but no matter. 

As it happens, I had recently rewatched the 1987 BBC version directed by Elijah Moshinksy with a knockout cast including Judi Dench, Michael Gambon, Freddie Jones, Kenneth Branagh, and Natasha Richardson, and feared this couldn’t measure up by half. But happy to report that O’Brien’s sturdy staging holds its own. And Irish playwright Mark O’Rowe’s adaptation -- first done at the Abbey Theatre a couple of years ago -- is an exemplary one.

The cast here is excellent across the board. Lily Rabe is predictably compelling as the wealthy widow Mrs. Alving who lives on an island off the coast of Norway, and who is about to have an orphanage dedicated to the memory of her late husband. This coincides with the return of her long-absent and now mysteriously enervated son Oswald (Levon Hawke), and a visit from an old family friend Pastor Manders (Billy Crudup) who will officiate at the impending ceremony. Mrs. Alving has lived alone in the house with her housekeeper Regina (Ella Beatty) whose ne’er-do-well father Engstrand (Hamish Linklater) is the orphanage carpenter who wants Regina to return to him and help start some sort of hostel for visiting sailors. 

Into this basic setup, revelations soon abound, in the standard Ibsen way, and without giving any spoilers, as the play is arguably not so well known as some of his other works, suffice to say that incest, venereal disease, infidelity, substance abuse, debauchery, euthanasia,  and blackmail are all part of the whole, as well as all around disparaging of conventional morality. The Manders character  is the self proclaimed moral compass of all that unfolds. 

Rabe’s dry and acerbic delivery makes all her lines land sharply, and Crudup proves an expert sparring partner in Mrs. Alving’s scenes with the sanctimonious Manders. Linklater skillfully walks the line between earnest sincerity and fawning calculation, particularly in his dealings with Manders.  Relative newcomers Hawke and Beatty are excellent, and though I wouldn’t normally mention it, they are perhaps both early enough along in their careers to point out that Hawke is the son of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman; and Beatty, the daughter of Warren Beatty and Annette Bening. They’ve each learned -- or inherited -- their crafts impressively.

Hawke plays his enigmatic part well, and convincingly rises to the high drama of his final scene with Rabe. Beatty is likable and unsentimental when she has to show her mettle.

John Lee Beatty’s simple set establishes the locale beautifully, aided by Japhy Weidenman’s atmospheric lighting, and Scott Lehrer and Mark Bennett’s rain-dominated sound design. A mid-play catastrophic event is particularly well handled by all. Jess Goldstein’s period costumes likewise add to the verisimilitude of the action.

The play runs one hour and 50 minutes without an interval, and rivets your attention throughout.

(Lincoln Center Theater at the Mitzi E. Newhouse; lct.org; through April 26)

Photo by Jeremy Daniel: (l.-r.) Lily Rabe, Billy Crudup

A Streetcar Named Desire (Brooklyn Academy of Music)

By Harry Forbes

Director Rebecca Frecknall’s highly stylized rethinking of Tennessee Williams 1947 classic may not be to all tastes, but there’s much to admire. Of primary interest, of course, is Irish actor Paul Mescal’s assumption of Stanley Kowalski, much praised in London when the production was first mounted in late 2022 and, as we can see now, rightly so. 

He absolutely lives up to advance reports, creating a thoroughly original and menacing Stanley not at all in the Marlon Brando mold, but equally compelling. Mescal’s cries for “Stella!” are uniquely his own, and indeed all the familiar lines register as freshly minted.

He’s perhaps the most satisfying Stanley of my experience, though I’d give a strong nod to Joel Edgerton who played opposite Cate Blachett’s Blanche in 2009 also, as it happens, at BAM. 

The casting on this occasion is diverse in the current fashion, and there’s also superior work from Anjana Vasan as Blanche’s sympathetic sister Stella, and Dwayne Walcott, very touching and real, as Blanche’s gentlemanly suitor Mitch. 

Opinion may be more divided on Patsy Ferran’s individual take on Blanche. Ferran stepped in for injured actress Lydia Wilson prior to the London opening, and was generally warmly embraced by press there.  Far from the genteel fading blonde Southern belle of tradition, the dark-haired, wide-eyed Ferran plays her as an all-out hysteric right from the start, though settles down to a more nuanced portrayal as the play progresses. 

But throughout, her generally flat American cadences can sometimes seem at odds with Williams’ poetic passages. (There are vestiges of a Southern accent but it comes and goes.) And yet, it must be said, the notable scenes still register strongly, and Ferran always gets to the emotional truth of the role: her cat and mouse confrontation with Stanley before he assaults her, the tender and then accusatory scenes with Mitch (“I want magic”), the encounter with the newspaper boy, and the rest.  

There’s no traditional scenery and only minimal props. Rather, designer Madeleine Girling has created a raised platform around which the characters sometimes circle, in Stanley’s case, menacingly. Other cast members occasionally hand props to the players on the platform. Merle Hensel’s costumes are, more or less, suggewtive of the period.

Spurts of high decibel drumming (Tom Penn) dramatically punctuate the action, suggesting not only the sounds of the New Orleans quarter, but Blanche’s agitated state of mind. Much of the ambient sound is intentionally abrasive, as designed by Peter Rice. Lee Curran’s lighting is likewise harsh, as per Frecknall’s concept. There’s also some stylized dancing as in Blanche’s recollections of her late young husband. 

For all this production’s contemporary touches, including a couple of scenes where the cast is drenched in rain, as we’ve seen in so many plays of late, the play still packs a wallop, and earns its ovation at the end.

(Harvey Theater at the BAM Strong, 651 Fulton Street, Brooklyn; bam.org; through April 6)

Photo by Julieta Cervantes: (l.-r.) Paul Mescal, Patsy Ferran