The best arts & culture in NYC: Critics' picks

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  [Note: Jinkx Monsoon plays the role of Mary Todd Lincoln through September 30, joined by new cast members Kumail Nanjiani, Michael Urie and Jenn Harris. Jane Krakowski assumes the central role on October 14.] Cole Escola’s Oh, Mary! is not just funny: It is dizzyingly, breathtakingly funny, the kind of funny that ambushes your body into uncontained laughter. Stage comedies have become an endangered species in recent decades, and when they do pop up they tend to be the kind of funny that evokes smirks, chuckles or wry smiles of recognition. Not so here: I can’t remember the last time I saw a play that made me laugh, helplessly and loudly, as much as Oh, Mary! did—and my reaction was shared by the rest of the audience, which burst into applause at the end of every scene. Fasten your seatbelts: This 80-minute show is a fast and wild joy ride. Escola has earned a cult reputation as a sly comedic genius in their dazzling solo performances (Help! I’m Stuck!) and on TV shows like At Home with Amy Sedaris, Difficult People and Search Party. But Oh, Mary!, their first full-length play, may surprise even longtime fans. In this hilariously anachronistic historical burlesque, Escola plays—who else?—Mary Todd Lincoln, in the weeks leading up to her husband’s assassination. Boozy, vicious and miserable, the unstable and outrageously contrary Mary is oblivious to the Civil War and hell-bent on achieving stardom as—what else?—a cabaret singer.      Oh,...

Theater review by Marcus Scott As a subject in American mass culture, cults have moved well beyond a cult following. They are hard to escape these days, whether in horror films—from Hereditary and Midsommar to more off-angle offerings like The Menu, Opus and Him—or in the realm of nonfiction, where real-world sects like the Zizians, NXIVM and the cult of Mother God have fueled documentaries, exposés and bestsellers. And now contemporary theater is finally catching up to the Zeitgeist with Nazareth Hassan’s Practice, an incantatory deep dive into the sociologies of performance that is as disturbing as it is riveting. Expertly directed by Keenan Tyler Oliphant, with electrifying movement by Camden Gonzalez and an extraordinary ensemble cast, the play’s world premiere at Playwrights Horizons conjures a theatrical experience in which the line between artistic rigor and psychic violation is perilously thin. Practice | Photograph: Courtesy Alexander Mejía In the play’s opening scene, a study in human pliancy, seven young performers stand on a bare stage, auditioning with the same monologue. With each take, they absorb direction unquestioningly: bending without breaking, desperate to prove themselves to a gaze they cannot see. The disembodied voice dispensing notes from the aptly named “God mic” belongs to Asa Leon (Ronald Peet), a critically acclaimed auteur whose MacArthur “genius” grant—“Not that I would label myself as a genius,” he protests coquettishly—has enabled him to...

Theater review by Adam Feldman  Stephen Schwartz was only in his twenties in 1976, when he wrote the score for The Baker’s Wife, but he already had three huge hits running on Broadway at once: Pippin, Godspell and The Magic Show. This latest musical—adapted from Marcel Pagnol’s 1938 French film about a village whose heartbroken baker quits making bread—was more modest and more conventional than Schwartz’s previous ones (or his future smash Wicked), and much less successful. The show was tested in a grueling pre-Broadway tour, during which its director and both leading actors were replaced, but it was never sufficiently proved; airless and half-baked, it closed out of town. But the story now has a happy ending in the form of director Gordon Greenberg’s luxuriously cast and thoroughly enchanting revival at Classic Stage Company. After fifty years and numerous rewrites, The Baker’s Wife has risen. The Baker’s Wife | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew Murphy While it is unrelated to the figure of the Baker’s Wife in the fairy-tale musical Into the Woods, this show does have the air of a fable. An expert and affable baker, Aimable (Scott Bakula)—his name means lovable–moves to a Provençal bourg in the 1930s, to the delight of its hungry inhabitants; beside him is his new bride, Genevieve (Ariana DeBose), an attractive woman decades his junior. For Genevieve—her name starts with jeune, i.e. young—Aimable is a rebound from a bruising affair with a married man. But although she has...

Theater review by Raven SnookElse Went's expansive five-hour saga Initiative follows seven teenagers in a sleepy coastal California town as they navigate worldview-shaping dramas of adolescence at the turn of the 21st century. Terrorism, war, societal instability and the advent of instant messaging mark the specific backdrop of their coming of age. But their explorations of love, sexuality and identity—and struggles with bullying, drugs and disappointing adults—will resonate with any generation.Loosely inspired by the lives of the playwright and her wife, director Emma Rosa Went, the play opens under a shooting-star sky as two pals on the cusp of high school—the sporty Lo (Carson Higgins) and the sensitive Riley (Greg Cuellar, captivating)—ruminate on questions big (like the nature of existence) and small (like the size of their dicks). In one impulsive instant, though, their relationship is wrecked, and they go on separate but intertwined paths in search of their purpose and their people. Initiative | Photograph: Courtesy Joan Marcus Epic Dungeons & Dragons campaigns make up a significant portion of the production. Riley, a sparkling storyteller, plays dungeon master to a group that also includes the anxious overachiever Clara (a moving Olivia Rose Barresi), the caustic but needy Kendall (Andrea Lopez Alvarez), the gender-questioning NYC transplant Ty (Harrison Densmore) and Lo's sweet younger brother Em (Christopher Dylan White). During these fantastical sequences, the...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Sophocles’s Oedipus is a story of blind ambition: the cautionary tale of a proud ancient Greek ruler whose determination to avoid a terrible fate leads him into it headlong. There are no kings in the English playwright-director Robert Icke’s modernized 2018 adaptation of the play, written ”(long) after Sophocles,” as the script jokingly notes. Icke’s Oedipus (Mark Strong) is a star politician instead, with resemblances to several other 2010s leaders. Like Barack Obama, he is an inspirational family man derided by some as a foreigner; like Donald Trump, he’s a populist outsider who promises strong leadership; and like France’s Emmanuel Macron, he shares a scandalous past with his significantly older wife. On the verge of winning power, Oedipus presents himself as the bald, muscular, tough-talking hero-daddy his rudderless country needs: the reformist politician as badass motherfucker. Which in a tragic sense—spoiler alert—he already is.  Oedipus | Photograph: Courtesy Julieta Cervantes Oedipus is not really about the fall of a great man; rather, it’s about a great man coming to realize that he has already fallen. It is election night, the TV screen blinks with news, and Oedipus is surrounded by his family: his studious daughter Antigone (the lovely and sympathetic Olivia Reis); his twin sons, the sweet Polyneices (James Wilbraham) and the rakish Eteocles (Jordan Scowen); his sturdy old mum, Merope (Anne Reid, tasty as a crust of bread),...

Theater review by Adam Feldman  Ever since the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical The Phantom of the Opera hung up its mask in 2023, after a record 35-year run on Broadway, the show’s ardent admirers (there are packs of them) have been wishing it were somehow here again. And now it is—with an emphasis on somehow. The revisal of Phantom now playing Off Broadway as Masquerade has been significantly revised to fit a very different form: an immersive experience, à la Sleep No More, in which audiences are led en masque through multiple locations in a midtown complex designed to evoke the 19th-century Paris Opera House where soprano Christine Daaé is tutored and stalked by the facially misshapen serial killer who lives in the basement. The very notion of this reimagining—created by Lloyd Webber and director Diane Paulus, from a concept by Randy Weiner—is surprising; perhaps even more surprising is that, somehow, they pull it off.  Masquerade | Photograph: Courtesy Oscar Ouk The complexity of the enterprise is staggering. Six groups of 60 spectators at a time enter the building at 15-minute intervals; each group gets its own Phantom and Christine, but the other actors repeat their roles multiple times a night. The spectators are guided by the stern ballet mistress Madame Giry through a multitude of discrete playing spaces on floors throughout the complex, including the roof. To help sustain the atmosphere and the sense of event, audience members must wear black, white or silver...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Vulnerability comes hard to Ethan (Micah Stock), a blocked gay writer in his 30s. He is a wounded soul, prickly and sour, with a defensive armor forged from serial abandonment: by his mother, who left when he was a child; by his father, a meth addict; and by his aunt, Sarah (Laurie Metcalf), whom he resents for not having done more to help. Sarah is a fortress unto her own: a gristly nurse at the end of her career who has moved to a very small town to be alone. (“Just—suits me better. Not being around—people.”) But when the two wind up sharing a home during the 2020 Covid shutdown, their mutual tenderness grows as they tough it out, filling time and space that otherwise feel emptier than ever.  Little Bear Ridge Road | Photograph: Julieta Cervantes This is the universe of Samuel D. Hunter’s Little Bear Ridge Road, a gorgeous new drama whose touching central relationship coexists with a larger exploration of the intimate and cosmic. Hunter's clear-eyed portraits of pain and grace—including Greater Clements, Grangeville, The Few, The Harvest and The Whale—have consistently brightened Off Broadway seasons for the past 15 years. This production, directed with superb acerbity by Joe Mantello, marks the playwright's overdue Broadway debut, and it doesn’t disappoint. The play is a multifaceted gem, exquisitely shaped and cut, that shines out from the simplest of settings (designed by Scott Pask): a large greige recliner couch, set on a disc...

Theater review by Melissa Rose Bernardo In the 1925 court case United States v. Cartozian, the U.S. government sued to revoke the citizenship of a man named Tatos Cartozian, on the grounds that Armenians like him weren’t white. The Armenian-American playwright Talene Monahon has now worked that story into Meet the Cartozians, a sprawling, fascinating work of historical fiction that examines ethnicity, history and family legacy.  Monahon’s century-jumping play begins in 1923—not long after the Armenian genocide during World War I—in a stately Oregon home where the Cartozians’ high-priced lawyer, Wallace McCamant (Will Brill), is meeting with the family: Tatos (Nael Nacer, wonderfully reserved), his proper daughter (Tamara Sevunts, excellent), his boisterous son (Raffi Barsoumian) and his judgmental mother (the incomparable Andrea Martin, whose first line, “Mmhmm,” nearly brings down the house). McCamant has found anthropologists who will trace the Armenians’ origins to the Caucasus mountains (“the origins of the white race”) and praise “to the terrific tendency of Armenians to intermingle and procreate with white populations all over the world.” McCamant also plans to bring in “excellent Armenians” from the East Coast, who have light blue eyes and speak perfect English: “These folks have married into society. They belong to golf clubs, their children attend good schools.” That strategy may seem ludicrous today—not to mention troubling—but with citizenship at stake, does it...

Brooklyn Ballet's take on The Nutcracker, choreographed by artistic director Lynn Parkerson, emphasizes cultural and artistic diversity. Alongside sequences that hew to the classic 19th-century tradition are interludes featuring street dance, flamenco, belly dancing, Chinese dance, hoop dance, hip-hop and the Hopak, a traditional Ukrainian dance. The 2025 edition features Michael “Big Mike” Fields as a pop-and-lock Drosselmeyer amd Brian "HallowDreamz" Henry as a krumping Rat King, along with Aliesha Bryan, the Eva Dance Studio, Sira Melikian, ShanDien LaRance, George Sanders and Dance Theatre of Harlem alums Kamala Saara, Derek Brockington, Kouadio Davis and Crystal Serrano. Live music is proviced by beatboxer Baba Israel, violinist Zafir Tawil, accordionist Mikhail Smirnoff, drummer Paula Green and dizi floutist Yimin Miao.

George Balanchine's magical 1954 production, set to Tchaikovsky's timeless score, includes the full New York City Ballet company, two casts of School of American Ballet students, scenery by Rouben Ter-Arutunian, costumes by Karinska and lighting by Mark Stanley, after Ronald Bates's original concept. The show is a magical occasion: Along with a one-ton Christmas tree that grows from 12 to 40 feet, there's a snowstorm of blizzard proportions and a Mother Ginger with a nine-foot-wide skirt. In the end, however, Balanchine's choreography is what holds it all together. It's enchanting, and it never grows old.    

Broadway review by Adam Feldman A little-known fact about the anarchist firebrand Emma Goldman is that she dabbled in theater criticism. In a series of 1914 lectures, collected in book form as The Social Significance of Modern Drama, she assessed such writers as Ibsen, Strindberg, Chekhov and Shaw through the lens of their revolutionary potential. Modern drama, she opined, “mirrors every phase of life and embraces every strata of society, showing each and all caught in the throes of the tremendous changes going on, and forced either to become part of the process or be left behind.” That is a good description, as it happens, of the 1998 musical Ragtime, which is being revived on Broadway by Lincoln Center Theater in a first-class production directed by Lear deBessonet and anchored by the superb actor-singer Joshua Henry. The show is a vast panorama of American life in the turbulent early years of the 20th century, as illustrated by the intersecting stories of three fictional families—those of a moneyed white businessman, a Jewish immigrant and a successful Black pianist—as well as a clutch of real-life figures from the period, including Goldman herself. It is hard to know what she would make of this grand musical pageant. Perhaps she would admire the production’s epic sweep, stirring score and excellent cast; perhaps she might shudder at the lavish scale of its 28-piece orchestra and even larger ensemble of actors. Either way, this Ragtime is an embarrassment of riches. ...

Review by Adam Feldman  The low-key dazzling Speakeasy Magick has been nestled in the atmospheric McKittrick Hotel for more than a year, and now it has moved up to the Lodge: a small wood-framed room at Gallow Green, which functions as a rooftop bar in the summer. The show’s dark and noisy new digs suit it well. Hosted by Todd Robbins (Play Dead), who specializes in mild carnival-sideshow shocks, Speakeasy Magick is a moveable feast of legerdemain; audience members, seated at seven tables, are visited by a series of performers in turn. Robbins describes this as “magic speed dating.” One might also think of it as tricking: an illusion of intimacy, a satisfying climax, and off they go into the night. The evening is punctuated with brief performances on a makeshift stage. When I attended, the hearty Matthew Holtzclaw kicked things off with sleight of hand involving cigarettes and booze; later, the delicate-featured Alex Boyce pulled doves from thin air. But it’s the highly skilled close-up magic that really leaves you gasping with wonder. Holtzclaw’s table act comes to fruition with a highly effective variation on the classic cups-and-balls routine; the elegant, Singapore-born Prakash and the dauntingly tattooed Mark Calabrese—a razor of a card sharp—both find clever ways to integrate cell phones into their acts. Each performer has a tight 10-minute act, and most of them are excellent, but that’s the nice thing about the way the show is structured: If one of them happens to...

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  Theater, they say, is the fabulous invalid, regaling visitors with tales of past glory as it sinks into its deathbed; conversation, they say, is another dying art. But don’t tell that to Bess Wohl’s Liberation, which has just moved to Broadway, with its exceptional cast intact, after a much-discussed run at the Roundabout earlier this year. A searching and revealing drama about the achievements and limits of 1970s feminism, Liberation weaves different kinds of conversation into a multilayered narrative—and, in doing so, serendipitously restores the very word conversation to its roots. As an adjective or noun, converse denotes opposition or reversal. As a verb, however, it stems from the Latin term conversare, which means “turning together.” In other words: Conversation may involve disagreement—and in Liberation, it often does—but it is not at its core adversarial. It’s literally about sharing a revolution.  Liberation | Photograph: Courtesy Little Fang The revolution in question here is second-wave feminism, the so-called “women’s lib” movement of the 1960s and 1970s that aimed to continue the advances toward sexual equality that had come earlier in the century. The play’s first level of conversation takes place over a period of years in the early 1970s in a smelly high school gym somewhere in the midwest. Lizzie (Susannah Flood)—a budding journalist whose editor won’t let her write anything but wedding announcements and obituaries, which...

Austin McCormick and his risqué neo-Baroque dance-theater group Company XIV present a lavish erotic reimagining of the classic holiday tale, complete with circus performers, operatic singers and partial nudity. The word nutcracker has customarily conjured innocent wonder; now be ready to add glitter pasties, stripper poles and comically large stuffed penises to the toys in wonderland. Definitely leave the kids at home.  RECOMMENDED: Company XIV’s Nutcracker Rouge will make you blush

Broadway review by Adam Feldman  First things first: Just in Time is a helluva good time at the theater. It’s not just that, but that’s the baseline. Staged in a dazzling rush by Alex Timbers, the show summons the spirit of a 1960s concert at the Copacabana by the pop crooner Bobby Darin—as reincarnated by one of Broadway’s most winsome leading men, the radiant sweetie Jonathan Groff, who gives the performance his considerable all. You laugh, you smile, your heart breaks a little, you swing along with the brassy band, and you’re so well diverted and amused that you may not even notice when the ride you’re on takes a few unconventional turns.   Unlike most other jukebox-musical sources, Darin doesn’t come with a long catalogue of signature hits. If you know his work, it’s probably from four songs he released in 1958 and 1959: the novelty soap bubble “Splish Splash,” the doo-wop bop “Dream Lover” and two European cabaret songs translated into English, “Beyond the Sea” and “Mack the Knife.”  What he does have is a tragically foreshortened life. “Bobby wanted nothing more than to entertain, wherever he could, however he could, in whatever time he had, which it turns out was very little,” Groff tells us at the top of the show. “He died at 37.” Darin’s bum heart—so weak that doctors thought he wouldn’t survive his teens—is the musical’s countdown clock; it beats like a ticking time bomb.  Just in Time | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew Murphy Warren Leight and Isaac Oliver’s agile...