Paul Osborn’s play Morning’s At Seven is one of theater’s great rescues. A flop on Broadway in 1939, it was resurrected in 1980 by director Vivian Matalon, whose peerless production established it as a classic piece of Americana. It’s a gentle satire on small-town life, with busybodies and petty jealousies and snobbery, and although it’s as sturdily constructed as a Chekhov play, it’s not as dark. There may be conflicts, but the characters have more fun—and are fun to be around.
Seven Sins
The work of Austin McCormick, the polymath artistic director and choreographer of Company XIV, may be handily classified as burlesque—costumer Zane Pihlstrom provides more than enough feathers, fringes, and pasties to justify it—but that label doesn’t really fit a production that incorporates dance, opera, pop music, and acrobatics as well. All are on display in his newest effort, Seven Sins.
The Confession of Lily Dare
It’s been quite a while since Charles Busch, the playwright and performer who specializes in sending up old movie tropes in works like The Divine Sister and Red Scare on Sunset, has had a show that he deemed ready for review, so The Confession of Lily Dare counts as a successful return to form. It’s a loopy satire of film melodramas about fallen women, although its most prominent forbear is Shaw’s Mrs. Warren’s Profession (first performed in 1902). Few performers can discern Hollywood camp as well as Busch: he has even provided commentary on DVD releases of The Bad Seed and Dead Ringer.
Happy Birthday Doug
Drew Droege made a big splash with his 2017 hit Bright Colors and Bold Patterns, in which his main character, Gerry, attended a gay wedding whose intendeds had asked on their invitation that nobody wear bright colors or bold patterns. Droege’s solo performance as Gerry let one know the other characters through his reactions to them. Now he is back with another solo show keyed to an important event: Happy Birthday Doug. And once again, he is making mincemeat of stereotypes in the gay world.
Darling Grenadine
It’s not long into the new musical Darling Grenadine, after a brief direct address to the audience by Adam Kantor’s ingratiating lead character, Harry, that the first song comes, but it takes till the top of the second act to get to the song that gives the show its bizarre title. It’s an ode to the pomegranate syrup that goes into a Shirley Temple, and by that time what began as a romance of struggling artists in New York City has found an unexpected path through the shopworn trappings of such tales.
Medea
The script for Simon Stone’s Medea at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) carries the notation “after Euripides.” Anyone who attends and expects tunics and armbands will therefore be disappointed: Stone has modernized the story of the spurned wife of Jason, the Argonaut who turned to the daughter of Creon for physical comfort. His version changes the names of the characters: Medea is Anna; Jason is Lucas; Creon is Christopher; and Creon’s daughter, who doesn’t appear in Euripides, is named Clara and is very much present.
Paradise Lost
The Fellowship for Performing Arts concentrates its efforts on drama with a Christian theme. Previously it has presented an adaptation of C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters; Shadowlands, a 1990 drama about Lewis himself and his middle-aged romance with an American Jewish woman; and Robert Bolt’s A Man for All Seasons (1960), about Sir Thomas More. But its current production of Paradise Lost is a heartening leap forward for the company.
Maz and Bricks
Maz and Bricks, a production of the estimable Irish company Fishamble, draws on many of the hallmark of Irish drama in the last quarter century. Playwright Eva O’Connor tells her story, a two-hander, with vibrant narrative monologues alternating with scenes and even a double direct address from its characters to the audience. The monologue intertwining has been a staple of Irish playwriting from Brian Friel (Faith Healer, 1979) to Conor McPherson (Port Authority, 2001). The scabrous language, elevated to poetry, is equally Irish.
Or, An Astronaut Play
The welcoming speech at a Tank production usually stresses the reach of the organization. The audience is typically informed that the Tank produced more than 1,000 productions last year. It’s impossible that all of them would be home runs, of course, and yet even those with modest virtues may be worth noting. Such is the case with Johnny G. Lloyd’s Or, An Astronaut Play, an amusing sketch of a play enhanced by very good performances, as well as the author’s intelligence and sly wit.
The Thin Place
Lucas Hnath, recently represented on Broadway by the spun-from-fact Hillary and Clinton, and soon to be represented at the Vineyard by Dana H., a story drawn from family experience, is cleansing his theatrical palate between them with The Thin Place, a story of the afterlife that conjures up the eerie worlds of Conor McPherson and M.R. James. The dedication to Ricky Jay, the late magician, indicates Hnath is out to perform his own sleight of hand with a deeply unsettling ghost story.
The Wild Parrots of Campbell
It’s possible that The Wild Parrots of Campbell, set in a suburb of San Jose, may well call to mind the 2003 documentary The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill. Whether the parrots in the film have by now migrated to the South Bay is not a concern of playwright Alex Riad’s blistering nuclear-family drama. They’re a side note in a work that doesn’t have ornithology on its mind.
The Michaels
Like The Apple Family Plays and The Gabriels, Richard Nelson’s new play, The Michaels, focuses on a family in Rhinebeck, N.Y., a destination that has become for this playwright what Idaho is for the dramatist Samuel D. Hunter. In Rhinebeck, Nelson finds a microcosm of American life, although his primary structural models are clearly the plays of Anton Chekhov. Nelson has had a hand in translating three plays by the Russian master, and Chekhov’s influence is evident in the quotidian concerns of the earlier families as well as this one: it’s the first in a third cycle.
Forbidden Broadway: The Next Generation
It has been five years since the last edition of Forbidden Broadway, titled Forbidden Broadway Comes Out Swinging. (It always did.) The long hiatus, however, hasn’t dulled the ruthlessness of Gerard Alessandrini, the Drama Desk–winning lyricist and director who satirizes a range of theater shows and foibles, often using classic show music with his own deft lyrics. And he has probably never been more ruthless than in Forbidden Broadway: The Next Generation. Smart, vicious and superbly cast, it’s sublime.
Little Shop of Horrors
Walter Kerr’s New York Times review of the original production of Little Shop of Horrors in 1982 started with a bloviating discourse on special effects’ ruination of good theater and its threat to the jobs of live actors. Then he added: “[T]he lyrics aren’t really witty enough to keep us eagerly attentive while the Equity membership is disappearing.” In our post–King Kong world, though, time has had its revenge. His clueless review is now an embarrassing read, while Howard Ashman and Alan Menken’s creation has an unassailable stature.
The White Chip
Dramas about alcoholism are usually dour and lugubrious, like the films Days of Wine and Roses or The Lost Weekend. It’s a surprise, therefore, to find playwright Sean Daniels has taken a leaf from Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-in—quick cuts, actors switching roles expeditiously with the help of a costume elementa, wry humor—to deliver what turns out to be, in the end, a story that can’t escape the sadness and seriousness of the ruin alcoholism can wreak. In spite of the grim story, the journey feels different and fresh.
Caesar and Cleopatra
David Staller, the artistic director of the Gingold Group, has made his mission to celebrate the plays of George Bernard Shaw. To that end, the group offers readings of Shaw plays monthly and hosts discussions about him. One play each year receives a fully staged production. The current offering, Caesar and Cleopatra, is a rarity. Although it’s interesting, it’s less satisfying than, for instance, its low-budget Heartbreak House was last season.
American Moor
Keith Hamilton Cobb has written a thrilling part for himself in American Moor, a powerful look at Shakespeare, Othello, and the plight of black actors trying to pursue their craft with honesty. Cobb himself stars, although his character in the script is called the Actor. The play arrives at a moment when race and white privilege dominate the zeitgeist. Some of the material is familiar, but much is unique and insightful.
Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe?
The title question of Poseidon Theatre Company’s immersive/interactive production Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? The Cooping Theory 1969 is probably not one most people have asked themselves, even if they were aware that the great author had died mysteriously in 1849. Even less likely to be known is the second phrase in the title: “the cooping theory.”
Eureka Day
Jonathan Spector’s new play Eureka Day is the unusual satire that takes aim at left-wing politics. It is perhaps the most notable rare bird of its kind since Jonathan Reynolds’s wonderful Stonewall Jackson’s House, which appeared more than 20 years ago. Spector sets his play in Berkeley, Calif., a town whose radical politics have put it at the forefront of social change yet also earned it the nickname Berserkeley.
See You
If nothing else, the Bridge Production Group deserves a shout-out for tackling difficult material. Just 10 minutes into a mere 70 minutes’ running time, See You, by Canadian writer Guillaume Corbeil, is more than likely to provoke thoughts of how swiftly mortal lives are over, and whether your own demise will occur before the play ends. In short, See You is a stultifying, irritating work—playwriting by lists.