Antigone: This Play I Read in High School (The Public Theater)

By Harry Forbes

Playwright Anna Ziegler reframes Sophocles’ Antigone through a feminist lens, yielding an absorbing drama with unmistakably contemporary urgency. In place of the original conflict—whether the heroine may bury her brother Polynices —Ziegler centers the story on bodily autonomy: Antigone (Susannah Perkins), daughter of Oedipus and Jocasta, defies her uncle Creon (Tony Shalhoub) over her decision to terminate a pregnancy resulting from her relationship with his son Haemon (Calvin Leon Smith).

Here, Creon is less tyrant than hesitant bureaucrat, insisting that Antigone must publicly repent or face a law that mandates death for the forbidden procedure—even if it means condemning his own niece. Haemon, along with Antigone’s dutiful sister Ismene (Haley Wong), argues passionately against such severity.

Ziegler establishes Antigone’s fierce independence early on, in a provocative flirty encounter with a bartender, Achilles (Ethan Dubin). From the outset, she is unwavering in her resolve. By the second act, having carried out her decision, she confronts Creon head-on, articulating her claim to bodily autonomy in stark, unflinching terms—after a backstreet clinic proprietor (Katie Kreisler) reveals the truth.

Framing the action is a contemporary figure known as “Chorus” (Celia Keenan-Bolger), a pregnant woman in her forties who becomes fascinated by a fellow airline passenger (also Perkins) reading Antigone. Long captivated by the mythic heroine, she searches for clarity about her own dilemma, linking the ancient narrative to present-day anxieties.

The second act is particularly charged, driven by a series of taut and lively confrontations—between Antigone and Creon, Antigone and Haemon, and Antigone and a comically unhinged palace guard (Dave Quay). These encounters give the play some of its strongest dramatic momentum.

The performances are uniformly solid. Perkins is compellingly resolute; Keenan-Bolger brings nuance to the conflicted observer; and Shalhoub captures Creon’s wavering authority with palpable unease. Kreisler, Quay, and Dubin double effectively in lighter roles as palace guards, providing moments of comic relief.

While this Antigone may not achieve the same imaginative heights as the current reworking of Oedipus uptown, it remains a thought-provoking and often persuasive reimagining. Ziegler’s fusion of ancient and modern worlds does not always cohere seamlessly, but it underscores the enduring relevance of Sophocles’ themes.

Director Tyne Rafaeli makes effective use of the former Anspacher’s intimate playing space, framed by three-sided stadium seating. The spare design by David Zinn keeps the focus on the actors, while Jen Schriever’s lighting adds texture and variety.

(Barbaralee Theater at The Public Theater, 425 Lafayette Street; publictheater.org; through April 12)

Photo by Joan Marcus: (l.-r.) Keenan-Bolger, Perkins

About Time (Marjorie S. Deane Little Theater)

By Harry Forbes

Veteran songwriters David Shire (music) and Richard Maltby Jr. (lyrics)—collaborators for an astonishing 71 years—return to their most congenial form, the musical revue, with About Time. The show follows Starting Here, Starting Now (1977) and Closer Than Ever (1989), completing what now stands as a distinguished trilogy.

The earlier revues traced the arc of adult life: the first reveling in youthful romance, the second probing the complications of maturity. As its title suggests, About Time turns its gaze toward later chapters—memory, retrospection, and, inevitably, aging. Yet for all its poignancy, the duo’s wry, clear-eyed humor about human frailty remains firmly intact. As ever, Maltby and Shire prove themselves deft miniaturists, crafting songs that play like fully realized playlets.

In keeping with their earlier ensembles, an exemplary cast—keenly attuned to the Maltby-Shire sensibility—delivers these gems with polish and precision: Allyson Kaye Daniel, Darius de Haas, Daniel Jenkins, Eddie Korbich, Sally Wilfert, and, returning from Closer Than Ever, Lynne Wintersteller. Though the revue has no overarching narrative, each performer fluidly inhabits a range of characters, shifting tone and persona with impressive ease.

Following Korbich’s jaunty title number, which neatly frames the evening’s themes, the highlights unfold as a series of sharply etched vignettes: Jenkins on creeping forgetfulness; Wilfert recalling a childhood first love; Wintersteller revisiting a long-ago illicit affair; and Daniel and de Haas capturing the giddy romance of falling in love at the movies.

Jenkins’s “Smart People” offers a sly catalog of Jewish identity markers without ever naming them outright, while the women gleefully embrace double entendre in the bawdy “Over Ripe Fruit.” Korbich’s “Kensington Kenny,” an English music hall pastiche with a gender-bending twist, feels somewhat imported from another show, even with some added contemporary resonance—but it’s executed with such flair that objections quickly fade.

Among the more reflective numbers, Daniel brings touching restraint to a song about leaving her lifelong home for assisted living, and Jenkins’s “I Like Jazz,” a valentine to analog record collecting, is buoyed by a supple onstage riff from musical director and arranger Deniz Cordell, who, along with Annie Pasqua, provides lively two-piano accompaniment throughout. Scott Chaurette offers further support on bass. Not all the material lands as cleanly: de Haas’s “What Do I Tell the Children?”—addressing today’s political malaise—tips into didacticism despite a committed performance. Both it and “Kensington Kenny” appear in a somewhat less cohesive but still enjoyable second act.

Maltby’s direction is, as expected, definitive, complemented by seamless musical staging and choreography from Marcia Milgrom Dodge. The production design is understated but effective: a simple set by scenic consultant James Morgan, anchored by a couch and a door; unobtrusive, well-judged costumes by Tracy Christensen; and sensitive lighting by Mitchell Fenton.

Originally developed and produced by Goodspeed Musicals, About Time stands as a graceful, often moving capstone to a remarkable collaborative legacy—one that continues to find fresh meaning in life’s later passages.

(Marjorie S. Deane Little Theater, 10 West 64 Street; www.abouttimemusical.com; through April 5)

Photo by Julieta Cervantes: (l.-r.) Daniel Jenkins, Allyson Kaye Daniel, Eddie Korbich, Sally Wilfert, Darius de Haas, Lynne Wintersteller.

Every Brilliant Thing (Hudson Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

Daniel Radcliffe returns to Broadway in Every Brilliant Thing, his first stage appearance since his Tony-winning turn in Stephen Sondheim’s Merrily We Roll Along. As he has in each of his New York outings, Radcliffe proves himself a formidable stage presence.

Here, however, his skills are tested to the limit: Every Brilliant Thing is a one-man show. Even with generous audience participation, it is Radcliffe who must guide—and control—every moment.

Written by Duncan Macmillan with Jonny Donahoe and directed here by Jeremy Herrin and Macmillan, the play first premiered to great success a decade ago at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe before transferring to New York, where Donahoe also starred. Since then it has been performed in some 80 countries and filmed for HBO with Donahoe. The current production stems from a recent West End run that featured stars including Minnie Driver and Lenny Henry.

The premise is simple but affecting. Radcliffe plays an unnamed narrator reflecting on how his mother’s suicide attempt when he was a child shaped the course of his life. When she returns home from the hospital, he begins compiling a list of everything—small or large, trivial or profound—that makes life worth living. Over the years, as he grows up, falls in love, and marries, the list grows as well, helping him cope not only with his mother’s recurring crises but with his own bouts of melancholy, until he finally arrives at a kind of reckoning.

Before the performance begins, Radcliffe and several stage managers circulate through the theater, distributing numbered cards—each bearing an item from the list, ranging from “ice cream” to “a really good sneeze.” Audience members call these out when Radcliffe cues the numbers. A handful of volunteers seated onstage take on slightly larger roles, portraying figures such as the narrator’s father, his teacher, and eventually his spouse.

While the device creates an atmosphere of inclusivity that many in the audience clearly relish, it can also grow a bit wearisome, particularly when some participants deliver their lines flatly or inaudibly. Still, at a brisk 70 minutes, the show hardly overstays its welcome.

Radcliffe remains the evening’s undeniable engine, shifting nimbly from breezy good humor to moments of genuine emotional reflection. Yet the production’s buoyant, participatory tone sometimes sits uneasily alongside its darker themes of suicide and depression.

Along the way, the script offers some pointed observations about how we speak—or fail to speak—about suicide. In keeping with that focus, the production has partnered with the mental-health nonprofit Project Healthy Minds, which provides resources for those who may need them.

Vicki Mortimer designed both the thrust stage (effectively lit by Jack Knowles) and Radcliffe’s increasingly sweat-soaked costume, while Tom Gibbons supplies the sound design.

For all its structural quirks, Every Brilliant Thing ultimately rests on Radcliffe’s shoulders—and he proves more than capable of carrying it.

(The Hudson Theatre, 141 W 44th Street; everybrilliantthing.com; through May 24)

Photo by Matthew Murphy: Daniel Radcliffe.

The Monsters (Manhattan Theatre Club)

By Harry Forbes

Don’t be put off by the possibly alarming title or the martial-arts milieu. At heart, The Monsters is a tender and highly absorbing story about the reunion of a brother and his much younger half-sister, separated for 16 years, and it serves as a showpiece for two extraordinary performances.

In the Off-Broadway premiere, beautifully written and sensitively directed by Ngozi Anyanwu, Aigner Mizzelle plays Lil and Okieriete “Oak” Onaodowan plays Big. During their long separation, Lil has developed a fascination for fighting and has followed her older brother’s exploits on the local mixed-martial-arts circuit. She has done so from afar—until the moment the play begins, when she unexpectedly appears in Big’s locker room.

Big is wary at first, assuming she must want something from him. But Lil insists she has come only to reconnect. Though the taciturn Big is hardly the most demonstrative of men, he gradually begins to trust her and to reclaim the role of protective older brother. Later, when Lil reveals her own interest in fighting, he offers to train her.

What unfolds is a sibling love story, one which builds to a redemptive and satisfying ending.

Dialogue scenes are interspersed with flashbacks to the pair’s childhood, deftly performed by the actors as they seamlessly shift from adults to ages six and sixteen in an instant. The play also incorporates workout and boxing sequences superbly choreographed by Rickey Tripp and executed with convincing intensity.

Andrew Boyce’s scenic design, effectively lit by Cha See, captures the sweaty ambience of the boxing world, while Mika Eubanks’ costumes are perfectly suited to the characters. Sound designer Mikaal Sulaiman provides atmospheric original music. Equally crucial to the production’s authenticity are the contributions of fight director Gerry Rodriguez and MMA consultant Sijara Eubanks.

The Monsters is a world-premiere co-production with Two River Theater.

(NY City Center Stage II, 131 West 55th Street; www.nycitycenter.org; through March 22)

Photo by T. Charles Erickson:  (l.-r.) Aigner Mizzelle as Lil, with Okieriete Onaodowan as Big

Zack (Mint Theater Company)

By Harry Forbes

The Mint has followed up last season’s superlative revival of Lancashire playwright Harold Brighouse’s “Garside’s Career” with a lesser Brighouse work, but in its way, still a charmer, his 1916 comedy “Zack.”  The play has been revived three times by the Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester, the first time with an impressive cast including Patricia Routledge, Trevor Peacock, and Lindsay Duncan. 

The titular character, played here by Jordan Matthew Brown, is a sweet natured loafer treated with dismissive disdain by his widowed mother Mrs. Munning (solid Melissa Maxwell) and arrogant brother Paul (David T. Patterson nailing his character’s villainy) who runs the family’s faltering catering business. 

Mrs. Munning sets her sights on her well-heeled niece Virginia (aka Jenny) (Cassia Thompson) for Paul, and invites the young woman to stay with them as she convalesces after a recent illness. But it’s clear from the start that it’s the uncalculating Zack who charms her with his guileless ways.

Complications ensue when Paul coldly sacks worker Joe Quigley (superbly gruff Sean Runnette), when the latter suffers a broken arm. Before long, Joe bursts in, hellbent on revenge, one that will involve forcing Zack to marry Joe’s lovelorn daughter Martha (Grace Guichard). 

Brown makes an impossibly clueless (and frequently annoying) character tolerable, and Thompson is a constant delight in her highly sympathetic role. (The dynamic between Zack and Jenny will remind seasoned theater and filmgoers of the central characters of Brighouse’s most famous play, “Hobson’s Choice.”) 

There’s good work too from Caroline Festa as Sally, the pretend-maid hired by Mrs. Munning to impress the wealthy Jenny, and Guichard as Martha who engage in a second act verbal slugfest over Zach. David Lee Huỳnh and Douglas Rees round out the excellent cast as Joe’s cronies. 

If I have a gripe, it’s that British accents, particularly of the Northern variety, so essential in Brighouse’s works, are curiously eschewed here. As a result, the play loses much of its texture, and the dialogue sometimes has a flatness without the Lancashire lilt. The essentials of the play are all intact but could have been that much more characterful. If you’re curious, you can hear a more authentic sounding performance in this vintage BBC Radio version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7yPVKVzptA&t=237s

That said, Britt Berke directs a tight performance -- one hour and 45 minutes without intermission -- with attractive contributions from Brittany Vasta (sets), Kindall Almond (costumes), and Jane Shaw (sound & arrangements).

(Theatre Row, 410 West 42nd Street; bjany.org;  through March 28)

Photo by Todd Cerveris: (l.-r.) Cassia Thompson, Jordan Matthew Brown

Chinese Republicans (Roundabout Theatre Company)

By Harry Forbes

Playwright Alex Lin’s satirical comedy takes aim at misogyny and racism in the corporate workplace—familiar targets, perhaps, but Lin’s characters give the material a distinctive twist. While some of the plot’s turns feel scattershot, the play builds to a conclusion that lands with genuine force.

Set in 2019, the story centers on four Chinese women who meet monthly for an affinity-group lunch at a Chinese restaurant. All work at the investment bank Friedman Wallace, and their gatherings function as a kind of support group where they compare notes on navigating a predominantly white, male corporate culture. Yet solidarity only goes so far: each woman is also keenly aware of her own ambitions and the compromises that advancement may require.

Ellen, played with steely composure by Jennifer Ikeda, is a managing director who has achieved considerable success but still finds herself stalled short of partnership. Her protégé, Katie—portrayed by Anna Zavelson, memorable to many from Light in the Piazza at Encores—is a 24-year-old wealth strategies research associate whose trajectory takes an unexpected turn when she abruptly pivots toward activism. Jodi Long brings authority to Phyllis, now 65, once Ellen’s mentor and the first Asian woman to become a managing director in New York, currently working as a consultant. Completing the quartet is Iris, played by Jully Lee, a lower-level employee in the firm’s software division—an immigrant still awaiting a green card.

All four performers acquit themselves well, capturing both the camaraderie and the underlying tensions within the group. There is also amusing support from Ben Langhorst as a knowingly campy waiter who briefly punctuates the action.

Lin structures the play with occasional flashbacks and dream sequences, devices that sometimes add texture. Despite the title, the “Republican” aspect of the play is not emphasized as heavily as one might expect; the drama’s focus remains more squarely on questions of identity, advancement, and belonging within elite corporate spaces.

Visually, the production is solid if not showy. Wilson Chin’s revolving set proves practical, with the red-hued restaurant environment emerging as the most striking element. Hana Kim supplies projections that help mark shifts in time and perspective. Under Chay Yew’s brisk direction, the evening rarely drags, even when some of Lin’s plot developments stretch credibility.

If “Chinese Republicans” doesn’t always fully cohere, its sharp observations about ambition, loyalty, and the costs of corporate success keep it engaging—and its final moments suggest a more resonant play just beneath the surface.

(Roundabout Theatre Company’s Laura Pels Theatre in the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre, 111 West 46th Street; RoundaboutTheatre.org; through April 5)

Photo by Joan Marcus: (l.-r.) Jodi Long (Phyllis/Young Phyllis), Jennifer Ikeda (Ellen/Ailin), Anna Zavelson (Katie) and Jully Lee (Iris)