Cats: The Jellicle Ball (Broadhurst Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

Watching the current reworking of Cats, I couldn't help recalling my experience at the original Broadway production shortly after it opened. I sat behind an English woman who grew visibly agitated as the evening progressed. During intermission, she sobbed to her companions, "They've ruined it, they've ruined it."

I suspected she had been one of the post-Elaine Paige Grizabellas from the original London production. Whether her distress stemmed from the textual and musical alterations — of which there were several — or simply from a perceived dilution of the show's essential Englishness, I never learned. But I couldn't help wondering, with no small amusement, what she'd make of this hugely revamped revival, now on Broadway following an acclaimed run last year at the Perelman Performing Arts Center.

The show has been thoroughly — and quite brilliantly — reset in the 1980s ballroom culture, where LGBTQ+ performers strutted elaborate costumes on the runway, competing for coveted trophies. Since Cats — based on T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats — is essentially a series of vaudeville turns held together by the slenderest of storylines, it adapts surprisingly well to the new treatment.

That said, the concept took some warming to on my part, and I suspect it won't be everyone's cup of tea — though my audience was wildly enthusiastic from the first number. I left the theater feeling I had witnessed something genuinely special.

To the production's credit, the score is played more or less intact, in the correct song order, with lyrics unchanged despite their numerous references to things both feline and quintessentially English. As far as I can tell, only two numbers have been cut entirely: the "Pekes and Pollicles" episode in the first act and "Growltiger's Last Stand" in the second. Otherwise, The Jellicle Ball hews scrupulously to Eliot and composer Andrew Lloyd Webber. The songs don't always fit the literal situations precisely, but they consistently deliver emotional truth.

Lloyd Webber's richly varied score — one of his very best — sounds as good as ever. For all the jokes Cats inspired in its day, it's worth remembering what a boldly audacious concept it was, and what a hot ticket too. The original Trevor Nunn staging, with its iconic Gillian Lynne choreography, made its record-breaking way around the world, and I treasure it still. But this version is entirely its own thing.

Directed by Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch, the production pays poignant homage to the ballroom scene in a moving slide-show montage at the top of Act Two. The reimagined choreography, the clever work of Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons, crackles with invention. Kai Harada's sound design is, as is too often the case these days, overly amplified — but things settle appropriately for the score's quieter, more reflective moments.

The cast is impressive across the board. André De Shields is a far cry from the richly sonorous bass-baritones of London originator Brian Blessed and Broadway's Ken Page, but he makes Old Deuteronomy entirely his own. "Tempress" Chasity Moore makes Grizabella a genuinely touching outcast and delivers a moving "Memory." Junior LaBeija brings real poignancy to Gus, the aging theater cat. Sydney James Harcourt commands the stage as Rum Tum Tugger, and Robert "Silk" Mason dazzles as Magical Mister Mistoffelees.

The large ensemble alsoincludes Ken Ard (DJ Griddlebone), Kya Azeen (Etcetera), Bryson Battle (Jellylorum), Jonathan Burke (Mungojerrie), Baby Byrne (Victoria), Dava Huesca (Rumpleteazer), Dudney Joseph Jr. (Munkustrap), Leiomy (Demeter), Primo Thee Ballerino (Tumblebrutus), Xavier Reyes (Jennyanydots), Nora Schell (Bustopher Jones), Bebe Nicole Simpson (Demeter), Emma Sofia (Skimbleshanks), Garnet Williams (Bombalurina), and Teddy Wilson Jr. (Sillibub).

Rachel Hauck's evocative set beautifully conjures the ballroom atmosphere, and Qween Jean has a field day with an array of extravagantly dazzling costumes.

(Broadhurst Theatre, 235 West 44th Street; catsthejellicleball.com)

Photo by Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade: Nora Schell as ‘Bustopher Jones’

Fallen Angels (Roundabout Theatre Company)

By Harry Forbes

Though not quite in the exalted league of Noël Coward classics like “Private Lives” and “Design for Living,” his 1925 comedy “Fallen Angels” still sparkles with the playwright’s signature wit. Roundabout Theatre Company has mounted a sumptuous revival, directed with style by Scott Ellis.

Kelli O'Hara and Rose Byrne — fresh off Byrne’s Oscar-nominated turn in “If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You” — star as Julia and Jane, the sophisticated friends originally played by Tallulah Bankhead and Edna Best.

Years earlier, both women had affairs with the same French Lothario, Maurice — and, daringly for its era, the play leaves little doubt that the relationships were far from platonic. When Maurice announces by post that he is coming to London to see them, the now-settled wives are thrown into romantic turmoil. As the anticipated reunion fails to materialize, Julia and Jane drink themselves into a deliciously comic stupor, unleashing volleys of brittle, bitchy repartee.

Meanwhile, their husbands — Fred (Aasif Mandvi) and Willy (Christopher Fitzgerald) — remain blissfully oblivious, off golfing while emotional chaos reigns at home. Hovering nearby is Julia’s overly precociouis maid Saunders, played with excellent comic timing by Tracee Chimo.

The cast is uniformly strong. O’Hara, so often cast as poised and proper heroines (with “Days of Wine and Roses” a notable exception), gets a welcome opportunity to flaunt her comic gifts. Byrne, meanwhile, is especially hilarious in the latter half of the brisk, intermissionless 90-minute adaptation. (The original play ran three acts.) Fitzgerald delivers his usual amusing work, while Mark Consuelos makes an appealing late entrance as the elusive French charmer.

David Rockwell’s lavish drawing-room set for Julia and Fred’s London home is plushly opulent, beautifully illuminated by Kenneth Posner. Jeff Mahshie contributes stylish period costumes that add greatly to the production’s visual appeal. John Gromada’s sound design is generally unobtrusive, though occasional audibility issues suggest that a touch more sound enhancement might not have gone amiss.

In the end, this revival of “Fallen Angels” may amount to decidedly lightweight entertainment, but enjoyably so all the same.

(Todd Haimes Theatre, 227 W 42nd St.; roundabouttheatre.org; through June 7)

Photo by Joan Marcus: (l.-r.) Kelli O’Hara, Mark Consuelos, and Rose Byrne

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

Chess (Imperial Theatre)

By Harry Forbes

The ever-popular Benny Andersson–Tim Rice–Björn Ulvaeus score remains the chief allure of Chess, the sleek pop-rock musical that has persisted for decades despite its famously vexed book. Since the show’s 1986 London premiere, nearly every major revival has felt compelled to overhaul its narrative, and Danny Strong’s new version is only the latest attempt to resolve its structural problems. But when a production can boast at least three dynamic actor-singers, half the battle is won. In that respect, this revival succeeds handsomely: Aaron Tveit, Lea Michele and Nicholas Christopher deliver the score with clarity, intensity and star-level assurance.

The Cold War plot still centers on the volatile American champion Freddie Trumper (Tveit) and his formidable Soviet rival, Anatoly Sergievsky (Christopher). Their high-stakes chess match becomes further charged by Florence (Michele), Freddie’s lover, strategist and “second,” who rekindles a past romance with Anatoly. As in previous versions, Florence’s Hungarian background—specifically the disappearance of her father after the 1956 uprising—figures into an already overstuffed narrative that rarely gains the emotional traction it seeks.

By the second act, Freddie has abandoned competing for a career in television commentary, and Anatoly’s wife, Svetlana—summoned by the K.G.B.—enters the fray to pressure him homeward. These complications feel familiar, yet the production finds its surest footing whenever the music takes over.

All three leads shine in their signature numbers: Tveit tears through “Pity the Child” with raw ferocity; Michele delivers a taut, pointed “Nobody’s Side”; and Christopher brings stirring command to “Anthem.” Michele and the excellent Hannah Cruz (as Svetlana) give “I Know Him So Well” the requisite warmth. Svetlana’s role seems to have been expanded with the addition of a new song, “He Is a Man, He Is a Child.”

Musically, the show feels somewhat streamlined. Several of the more lyrical, operetta-like passages appear to have been trimmed in favor of the propulsive rock material, resulting in a somewhat less varied palette. John Shivers’s sound design, firmly in the modern Broadway mold, tends toward overamplification.

Strong work also comes from Bradley Dean and Sean Allan Krill as Molokov (K.G.B.) and Walter de Courcey (C.I.A.), respectively. And Bryce Pinkham, an ever-reliable presence, plays the Arbiter and, in Strong’s revision, doubles as narrator. This device proves less effective: the intermittent contemporary jokes about President Biden, RFK Jr., and Donald Trump may earn quick laughs but undermine the show’s original dramatic context. Beyond these additions, Strong’s rewrite does not meaningfully advance the book’s long-standing problems.

Longtime admirers will inevitably recall earlier incarnations. The 1988 Broadway version, with a freshly crafted book by Richard Nelson, offered a more traditional storytelling frame. And the original London cast—Elaine Paige, Murray Head, and especially Tommy Körberg, whose “Anthem” remains the performance to beat—still casts a long shadow. The New York company of that era, featuring Philip Casnoff, the late David Carroll and Judy Kuhn, introduced the lovely Florence ballad “Someone Else’s Story,” sung here by Michele in a new position near the show’s conclusion. Fans will note several other re-ordered numbers as well. And for some, the memory of the 2003 New York concert, with Josh Groban, Adam Pascal, Raúl Esparza and Julia Murney, remains vivid.

Michael Mayer, building on his 2018 Kennedy Center staging, directs with his customary savvy. With the orchestra visible on David Rockwell’s minimalistic set—cleanly lit by Kevin Adams—the production occasionally evokes a City Center Encores! presentation. Lorin Latarro’s choreography keeps the ensemble in fluid motion, particularly in a sleek “One Night in Bangkok.”

Tom Broecker’s costumes are neatly tailored for the principals, with the ensemble largely clad in gray except for the flashier second-act opener.

For all its enduring flaws, Chess continues to exert a peculiar fascination. And this revival, buoyed by three commanding performances and that indelible score, makes a strong case for why theaters keep returning to it: when the music is delivered with this level of artistry, the game remains hard to resist.

(Imperial Theatre, 249 West 45th Street; chessbroadway.com; through May 3)

Photos by Matthew Murphy: 

Top:  (l.-r.) Aaron Tveit, Lea Michele

Below: (l.-r.) Lea Michele, Nicholas Christopher

Sweet Smell of Success (MasterVoices)

By Harry Forbes

MasterVoices, under the assured and ever-curious leadership of Artistic Director Ted Sperling, ventured beyond its customary repertoire of Gershwin, Weill, and Sondheim for this year’s annual Broadway musical presentation.

Instead, the company offered a lovingly reconsidered revival of Marvin Hamlisch’s Sweet Smell of Success, the ambitious 2002 musical that, despite its pedigree, lasted only 109 performances on Broadway. In MasterVoices’ hands, however, the piece revealed fresh vigor—and, more importantly, fresh reason for admiration.

Drawn from the 1957 film by Clifford Odets and Ernest Lehman (from Lehman’s own novella), the musical follows a ruthless gossip columnist, unmistakably modeled on Walter Winchell, and the hungry young press agent he draws into his orbit.

Hamlisch’s score, among the most musically substantial of his theatrical career, surged with new clarity under Sperling’s baton. Conducting and directing the semi-staged production, he led his 17-piece orchestra through William David Brohn’s original orchestrations with exuberant sweep and crisp detail. The result was a sound both muscular and propulsive—an engine powering the drama forward.

Though an early sound glitch required a brief restart, the evening soon settled into confident form. If Rose Hall’s wide stage occasionally challenged the storytelling’s focus, the performers met the moment with such presence that the narrative’s shifting tensions ultimately landed impresssively.

Raúl Esparza, stepping into the role originated by John Lithgow, gave a chillingly charismatic performance as J.J. Hunsecker, confidently poised and commanding vocal authority. The irony that Esparza once might have been cast as the younger, scrappier Sidney Falco was not lost; that part was expertly handled by Ali Louis Bourzgui, whose breakthrough turn in last season’s The Who’s Tommy has clearly marked him as a rising star. His rendition of “At the Fountain,” his character’s recurring theme, was delivered beautifully.

Lizzy McAlpine offered a luminous presence as Susan, J.J.’s sheltered sister, imbuing her songs with a quiet sensitivity. Noah J. Ricketts, as her musician-lover Dallas, lent the evening some of its warmest vocal moments, particularly in “I Cannot Hear the City” and his duet with McAlpine, “That’s How I Say Goodbye.” And Aline Mayagoitia, as Sidney’s neglected girlfriend Rita, all but stole the show with a sultry, roof-rattling “Rita’s Tune.”

Part of the production’s fascination lay in the participation of lyricist Craig Carnelia and book writer John Guare, who helped refine the material for this presentation. Their reinstatement of earlier passages—including replacing the original opening number, “The Column,” with the number “Rumor”—and their bold rethinking of the ending gave the work a renewed sense of dramatic coherence.

Andrew Palermo’s choreography invigorated several sequences, while the MasterVoices Chorus—arrayed on three imposing tiers behind the action—provided a sonic richness that deepened the production’s emotional and musical palette.

Even with the orchestra prominently placed onstage, Ryan Howell’s scenic design, accented by Isabella Byrd’s atmospheric lighting, effectively conjured the city’s murky underbelly. Tracy Christensen’s period-perfect costumes were another plus on the creative team.

MasterVoices’ Sweet Smell of Success may not erase the musical’s complicated Broadway past, but it offers a persuasive argument for its artistic worth. Under Sperling’s stewardship, the piece feels not merely revived, but rediscovered.

(Rose Theater, Jazz at Lincoln Center; 10 Columbus Circle;; mastervoices.org; Nov. 21 and 22 only)

Photos by Toby Tenenbaum:

Top: (l.-r.) Ali Louis Bourzgui, Raúl Esparza

Below: “Sweet Smell of Success” ensemble

Art (The Music Box)

By Harry Forbes

Yasmina Reza’s 1994 crowd-pleasing comedy about art and friendship has gotten a first-rate revival 29 years after Christopher Hampton’s translation from the original French premiered in London in 1996. 

I saw that West End production with its gold chip cast of Albert Finney, Tom Courteney, and Ken Stott, replaced by a panoply of other top name actors who fitted the play to their respective personalities. The 1998 Tony-winning Broadway production with Alan Alda, Victor Garber, and Alfred Molina also led to a succession of excellent replacements.

And now this revival -- skillfully directed by Scott Ellis - joins its distinguished predecessors. The plot revolves around three longtime friends whose relationship starts to unravel when Serge (Neil Patrick Harris) pays an enormous price for an abstract painting -- for all intents and purposes, a white canvas -- to the contemptuous amazement of Marc (Bobby Cannavale) who can’t resist derisive laughter when he’s first shown the canvas and learns the astronomical pricetag. When Marc attempts to enlist their mutual friend Yvan (James Corden) to his point of view, the latter tries in vain to remain steadfastly neutral. 

Eventually, bitter resentments surface and midway through, when Yvan is late for a dinner date with the others, the complacent Yvan delivers a tour-de-force hysterical monologue explaining his tardiness, and earning Corden well-deserved applause. 

Nothing else reaches that emotional peak, and Corden’s performance is really spectacularly good here, but Harris and Cannavale provide excellent and highly accomplished contrast, Harris petulantly offended by Marc’s response, and Cannavale, neatly balancing his character’s vulnerability and outward bluster. 

Several critics seem to be finding “Art” a lightweight and dated trifle, but I think Reza crafted a superb 100-minute vehicle that has held up brilliantly. Finney, Courtney and Stott brought a different vibe to the text, but the balance of humor and pathos is equally potent here, and Reza’s work remains satisfying as ever. 

The current design team provides a sleek, contemporary look, including David Rockwell set design (the three men’s apartments) brightly lit by Jen Schriever, while Linda Cho’s apt costumes, Mikaal Sulaiman’s sound design and Kid Harpoon’s music are likewise first-rate.

(The Music Box, 239 W 45th St; Telecharge or 212-239-6200; through December 21)

Photo by Matthew Murphy: (l..r.) James Corden, Neil Patrick Harris and Bobby Cannavale

Ragtime (Lincoln Center Theater)

By Harry Forbe

No one who saw the brief semi-staged concert presentation of composer Steven Flaherty and lyricist Lynn Ahrens 1998 masterwork at City Center last year should be surprised that the transfer to Lincoln Center is anything less than a splendid theatrical experience. Last year’s production was not part of the Encores musical series, but rather the venue’s annual fall Gala presentation. 

It was, nonetheless, directed by Encores’ outgoing artistic director Lear DeBessonet who now assumes that title with Lincoln Center Theater. Her superb staging of “Ragtime” gets her off to a highly auspicious start. The work was adapted most skillfully by the late Terrence McNally from E.L. Doctorow’s acclaimed 1975 novel.

David Korins’ spare but effective scenic design, lighted by Adam Honoré  and Donald Holder, adapts beautifully to the expansive Beaumont stage, and DeBessonet’s facility for dealing with large groupings of people, which she demonstrated so adeptly in her earlier work at the Public’s Delacorte and Encores, is on full display here.

McNally’s book streamlines the novel, trimming some of the plot turns, without losing its overall power. The life of a fictional upper crust New Rochelle family -- identified merely as Mother (Caissie Levy), Father (Colin Donnell), Mother’s Younger Brother (Ben Levi Ross), and their son (Nick Barrington) -- is upended while Father is away on an arctic expedition, and Mother gives shelter to an unwed black woman Sarah (Nichelle Lewis) and her new newborn baby. 

The child’s father, ragtime pianist Coalhouse Walker, Jr. (Joshua Henry) persistently comes to their home to win back the recalcitrant Sarah’s affections. Meanwhile, Tateh (Brandon Uranowitz), an impoverished Jewish immigrant, and his young daughter (Tabitha Lawing) face numerous vicissitudes as they struggle to forge a life in their adopted country.  

All of this plays out against the historical events and true-life characters of the turn-of-the-last-century age: Emma Goldman (Shaina Taub), Booker T. Washington (John Clay III), Evelyn Nesbitt (Anna Grace Barlow), Harry Houdini (Rodd Cyrus), and other then bold-faced names.

The City Center principals are back and once again, we can admire Joshua Henry’s powerful Coalhouse, Caissie Levy’s warmly sympathetic Mother; Brandon Uranowitz’s immensely likable Tateh. But the cast is uniformly fine, and holds up well to golden memories of the pearly original lineup of Brian Stokes Mitchell, Audra MacDonald, Marin Mazzie, and the rest. (The 2009 Broadway revival cast, Quentin Earl Darrington and Christiane Noll among them, deserves an affectionate nod as well.)

The show’s famous numbers get showstopping renditions here: Colehouse and Sarah’s “Wheels of a Dream” and “New Music”; Mother’s “Back to Before”; Coalhouse’s “Make Them Hear You” all land powerfully. 

As before, the show tugs at the proverbial heartstrings and registers as immensely moving and, in its themes, as relevant as ever. 

Production credits are all first-rate including Ellenore Scott’s choreography, Linda Cho’s costumes, Kai Harada’s sound, 59 Studio’s projections, Tom Watson’s hair and wig design. 

Music Director James Moore leads the 28-piece orchestra impeccably. And William David Brohn’s Tony Award-winning orchestrations sound as splendid as ever. 

(The Vivian Beaumont, 150 W 65th Street; lct.org; through January 4)

Photos by Matthew Murphy

Top: Nichelle Lewis, Joshua Henry

Below: Caissie Levy, Brandon Uranowitz

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

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