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

Redwood (Nederlander Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

Idina Menzel fans certainly get their money’s worth in this tailor made musical conceived by the lady herself in tandem with director Tina Landau. The star vehicle, which started out at the La Jolla Playhouse last year, tells the tale of Jesse, an unhappy art gallery owner who, grieving the death of her adult son (Zachary Noah Piser),  leaves her photographer wife Mel (De’Adre Aziza), and drives out to California where she ultimately finds redemption and peace of mind among the majestic Redwood trees. 

When she gets there, botanists Finn (Michael Park) and Becca (Khaila Wilcoxon) come upon Jesse sleeping al fresco in the woods and, though they insist she leave by morning, Jesse stubbornly keeps returning, inexorably drawn to the place. In short order, she begs them for a chance to join them as they make their daily climb. And, of course, eventually she’ll do just that, thanks to the empathetic and paternal Finn who overrules his more pragmatic colleague Becca’s objections. 

After she proves herself, Jesse is even allowed to sleep overnight on the tree’s towering platform. Jesse’s nighttime panic attack and an encroaching forest fire while she’s aloft provide a couple of the show’s few truly compelling moments. 

Thanks to the spectacular scenic and video designs by Jason Ardizzone-West and Hana S. Kim, respectively, there is a wonderful sense of exhilaration during the climbing episodes, but generally, on the human level, the book by Landau is distinctly on the mild side. Even though the other characters have their respective issues too, dramatic interest is thin. And it doesn't help that Jesse, as written, is fairly irritating throughout, and it’s not tempered by much in the way of charm. 

The power ballad-heavy score by Kate Diaz (lyrics by Diaz and Landau) is not particularly memorable on first hearing either and registers as loud and not a little repetitious. But it clearly plays to the strengths of Menzel’s trademark vocal talents. Her big numbers sound like close cousins of her“Wicked” and “Frozen” hits, “Defying Gravity” and “Let It Go.” Some of these are pitched so high that I had trouble deciphering the lyrics. But it must be said her uniquely belting pipes sound as powerful as ever.

Easier on the ear, all in all, were the numbers for Mel, Finn, and Becca. Finn has a rousing number called “Big Time Religion.” Mel’s “Looking Through This Lens” is particularly lovely. And it’s followed by Becca’s big solo moment “Becca’s Song.” (“The Stars” gives Menzel one of her less bombastic numbers.)

Still, Menzel -- a savvy actress as much as a powerhouse singer -- does a commendable job throughout, at one point executing some impressive aerial flying, even singing upside down as she’s strapped to a harness during her song “In the Leaves.” (Vertical movement and choreography are the work of Melecio Estrella, BANDALOOP.)

Piser, who has appeared in other roles throughout the show, returns as Jesse’s son Spencer, and he, too, has an affecting musical moment. 

The show is 110 minutes, sans intermission, but even so, I'm afraid feels protracted.  

(Nederlander Theatre, 208 West 41st Street; RedwoodMusical.com)

Photo by Matthew Murphy: Idina Menzel

Garside’s Career (Mint Theater Company)

By Harry Forbes

British playwright Harold Brighouse (1882-1958) is best remembered for his 1915 “Hobson’s Choice,” frequently revived and famously filmed by David Lean in 1954 as a vehicle for Charles Laughton. But kudos to the Mint for resurrecting this rarity of his from the same era, and according it a belated New York premiere. (Though produced in Boston in 1919, a proposed New York staging never materialized.) 

The play turns out to be a highly absorbing story of a Northern England engineer (mechanic) the titular Peter Garside (Daniel Marconi), who after obtaining a prestigious degree unique for working class background, is persuaded to run as a Labor candidate for a seat in Parliament.

His doting mother (Amelia White) has absolute faith in his chance of success. But his pragmatic schoolteacher fiance Margaret (Madeline Seidman) is skeptical of Peter’s temperamental suitability, given his facile gift of gab (“The itch to speak is like the itch to drink,” she warns), so much so that their engagement is broken. As it happens, Peter wins the seat, but his subsequent overblown sense of self importance and braggadocio about his demagogue-like ability to control the masses with his smooth rhetoric will surely lead to a downfall. And indeed it does.

Contrasted with the working class folks of his hometown of Midlanton, which also includes Peter’s cronies and local party organizers Karl Marx Jones (Michael Schantz), Ned Applegarth (Paul Niebanck), and Dennis O’Callaghan (Erik Gratton), all finely characterized, are the upper crust characters we meet in the second act.

There's the imperious Lady Mottram (Melissa Maxwell), the mayor’s wife and head of the school board where Margaret teaches, who disdains Garside’s socialist views, and her frivolous son Freddie (Avery Whitted) and independent-minded daughter Gladys (Sara Haider) who falls under Peter’s charismatic spell, and who Peter claims is his inspiration after spotting her adoring look during one of his speeches.

Performances are uniformly strong anchored by Marconi who believably captures the charm and hubris of the increasingly cocky Garside, Seidman’s sensible and wise Margaret, and White’s plain speaking mother. 

 

Under Matt Dickson’s assured direction, “Garside’s Career” proves a solid, exceedingly well constructed play with crackling dialogue, both muscular and witty, all of which makes its neglect all the more puzzling. Throughout, Brighouse has skillfully devised many dramatic scenes which unfailingly hold our interest.. 

Christopher Swader and Justin Swader’s sets neatly encompass the Garside’s humble Midlantan cottage, the Mottram drawing room, and later, Peter’s posh London digs. Yiyuan Li’s lighting likewise captures the respective ambience of each locale. Kindall Almond’s costumes are period perfect. And Carson Joenk’s expert sound design includes convincing effects to suggest an unruly mob. 

(Mint Theater Company, 401 West 42nd Street; through March 15)

Photo by Maria Baranova: (l.-r.) Michael Schantz, Erik Gratton,  Paul Niebanck, Daniel Marconi, Madeline Seidman and Amelia White