Off-B'way Review: The Winter's Tale

Lily Rabe and Raul Esparza
in The Winter's Tale.
Credit: Joan Marcus

After a radical reinterpretation of Romeo and Juliet, the Public Theater’s summer Shakespeare in the Park returns with a traditional and highly engaging production of The Winter’s Tale, one of the Bard’s lesser-known romances. This has always been one of the more difficult Shakespearean plays to bring off because of its fractured structure. The first half is a florid tragedy of jealousy destroying the peace of the kingdom of Sicilia while the second half is a comic frolic in the countryside of Bohemia. Director Daniel Sullivan balances the two halves perfectly by staging it straightforwardly without “concepts” or gimmicks and simply allowing the fantastic tale to unfold. Even the infamously ridiculous stage direction “exit, pursued by a bear” is cleverly and quickly conveyed the aide of Bradley King’s atmospheric lighting design. Maruti Evans’ imaginative set places the action on a giant clock, denoting the change of seasons and passage of time. The first half is set in wintry ice, suggesting the frigid environment of Sicilia’s court while the second becomes a lush spring garden, evoking the thawing of enmities.

The convoluted, fairy-tale-like storyline is set in motion by the Othello-like madness of King Leontes (an intense Raul Esparza) who suspects his faithful wife Hermione (a magnificent Lily Rabe) of cheating on him with his best friend, the visiting Polixenes, King of Bohemia (charismatic Gilbert Owuor). While imprisoned for her alleged infidelity, Hermione gives birth to a baby girl whom Leontes banishes. The queen dies of grief (or does she?), the child resurfaces in Bohemia sixteen years later, and after many machinations, all ends well.

Chuck Cooper (l.) and cast in
The Winter's Tale.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Sullivan treats the Bard’s fanciful devices as perfectly plausible and focuses on the human emotions generated by the not-quite-believable story. The cast creates credible people caught up in incredible circumstances. The standout is Rabe as the besieged Hermione. In previous productions, this pitiable heroine is played as a weak, defenseless victim, shrinking from her spouse’s unjustified wrath. Rabe is a tigress, railing against her wrongful accusations. Her physical life is startlingly realistic. In the trial scene, where Leontes is set to sentence his wife to death, Rabe as Hermione remembers that she has just given birth and is physically weak and exhausted. She is also dirty and disheveled (Linda Cho created the fanciful costumes). The actress plays against this condition to give full vent to Hermione’s rage and proves herself a roaring advocate for her defense.

Marsha Stephanie Blake, Lily Rabe,
and Raul Esparza in The Winter's Tale.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Esparza takes us on a roller-coaster of emotions from unreasoning jealousy to ragged regret. Marsha Stephanie Blake provides sturdy support as the sage councillor Paulina. Chuck Cooper gives unexpected depth to the comic role of the Old Shepherd who takes in the lost child Perdita (enchanting Isabela Ferrer). Steven Skybell ably doubles in two very different roles as Paulina’s put-upon husband Antigonus and the outrageously rascally theif Autolycus. Michael Khalid Karadsheh, Matthew Eby, Teagle F. Bougere, and Daniel Kyri also have moments to shine in this delightful summer romance spanning winter’s frost and spring’s flowering.

Aug. 11-23. Public Theater at the Delacorte Theater, Central Park at W. 81 St., NYC. Running time: two hours and 50 mins. including intermission. publictheater.org.

Off-B'way Review: Henry VI: A Trilogy in Two Parts

Mia Katigbak and Jon Norman Schneider
in Henry VI: A Trilogy in Two Parts.
Credit: HanJie Chow

What a difference a day makes. The first part of NAATCO (National Asian-American Theater Company) and the Public Theater’s two-evening presentation of Shakespeare’s Henry VI trilogy is a confusing muddle with ridiculously labyrinthine plots and melodramatic acting and direction. I actually dreaded returning to the Public the following evening for the second part. But, much to my relief and delight, Part Two was a tighter, ferocious spectacle of power politics. The press materials claims this early work from the Bard inspired the bloodthirsty Game of Thrones fantasy series and the second part bears that out. Originally presented in 2018, Henry VI: A Trilogy in Two Parts condenses three of the Bard’s early history plays in a two-night sprawling epic. The action covers the seemingly endless War of the Roses wherein the Houses of York and Lancaster battle for the crown during the reign of the boyishly naive title monarch.

Teresa Avia Lim and Paul Juhn in
Henry VI: A Trilogy in Two Parts.
Credit: HanJie Chow

Director and Adapter Stephen Brown-Fried can do little to enliven the overstuffed Part One, subtitled Foreign Wars. The young king (sensitive Jon Norman Schneider) is embroiled in armed conflict to retain the French lands conquered by his father the war-like Henry V. The French have a secret weapon, the possibly divine, possibly witchy Joan of Arc (fiery Myka Cue). Meanwhile, the devious Duke of York (steely Rajesh Bose) is scheming to seize the throne, countered by Henry’s dominant wife Queen Margaret (commanding Teresa Avia Lim). There are so many slow-motion battles, reversals of fortune and elaborate stratagems, it’s nearly impossible to keep track of them all. (Mextly Couzin’s striking lighting does help clarify the action somewhat.) In one ironic scene, York’s convoluted explanation for his claim to the crown gets the biggest laugh of the evening. 

Actors are constantly moving pylons entwined with thick ropes back and forth across the drab set by the design team of dots. The absurd black and white costumes by threeAsFour featuring weird puffy fabric choices, denote no specific period and make the performers look like they are wearing sleeping bags or comforters. Hardly appropriate for combat. Mia Katigbak does have moments of dignified grace as Henry’s humane advisor, an island of sanity in a sea of madness. (There are many interesting examples of cross-gender casting with women playing male roles.)  

Kimiye Corwin, David Shih, and 
John D. Haggerty in
Henry VI: A Trilogy in Two Parts.
Credit: HanJie Chow

But Part Two, subtitled Civil Strife, benefits from mainly focusing on a single story arc: the machiavellian machinations of the crippled, satanic Duke of Gloucester, later to be crowned the infamous Richard III. Played like a diminutive dynamo demon by Julyana Soelistyo, Richard becomes the center of an epic battle to seize the monarchy at all costs. Brown-Fried’s pacing becomes quicker and clearer, the battles are not as repetitive and the acting is sharper. Schneider’s Henry grows more complex, displaying the woebegone king’s conflicting inner struggle between religious idealism and brutal reality. (In a fascinating double-casting choice, he reappears as a lowly messenger after the king has been taken captive.) Lim’s Margaret emerges as a wolf-like predator, devouring anyone who crosses her. A production of Richard III featuring Soelistyo and Lim would be a terrific cage match. There are also vibrant performances in this second part by Anna Ishida as Warwick, Orville Mendoza as the rebel Jack Cade, and David Lee Huynh as Clifford.

The three Henry VI plays are rarely performed, yet they have relevance in today’s world. Both feature a deeply divided country with leaders exploiting populist fears and passions to gain unchecked power. This production attempts to make that connection, but only succeeds half-way.

June 21—July 19. Public Theater, 425 Lafayette St., NYC. Running time: Part One: two hours and 45 mins. including intermission; Part Two: two hours and 15 mins. including intermission. publictheater.org.

Off-B'way Review: Girl, Interrupted

Juliana Canfield in Girl, Interrupted.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Though it has flaws in terms of pacing and repetition, the new musical adaptation of Girl, Interrupted at the Public, based on Susanna Kaysen’s 1993 memoir, is a heart-wrenching portrayal of surviving mental illness. Pulitzer Prize-winner Martina Majok’s book feelingly depicts Susanna’s struggles with suicidal tendencies and her two-year residency at a mental facility in late 1960s Boston. The country’s collective nervous breakdown over civil rights and Vietnam parallels the psychological battles taking place within Susanna and her fellow patients. The title derives from a Vermeer painting “Girl Interrupted at Her Music.” Susanna obsesses over the work which she encountered during a visit to the Frick Museum with her high-school English teacher who may or may have been sexually inappropriate with her. She identifies with the girl in the painting since they both are interrupted at pursuing their full potential.

Ta'Rea Campell, Juliana Canfield and 
Lauren Jeanne Thomas in 
Girl, Interrupted.
Crdit: Joan Marcus

Issues of sexism are also addressed as her therapist dismisses her ambitions of becoming a writer (“No one is a writer”) and advocates a career for her as a dental technician. (Susanna is finally released when she accepts a proposal of marriage, but later fulfills her literary dreams.) There is only one male actor (a versatile Manoel Felciano), listed as “The Male Presence” who represents the restrictions of the patriarchal society. Majok emphasizes the bond developed between the protagonist and the other inmates. Their shared experiences of trauma and misogyny and feelings of oppression provide a strong connection. One of the most moving scenes involves Susannah and her friends visiting a patient in the violent ward. You can feel their hearts breaking at the degraded state of their former wardmate (she has smeared the walls of her cell with her own excrement), but also the fear that they could slip this far down.

Aimee Mann’s songs starkly evoke the period of the late 1960s, mixing folk-rock with soft-pop, Bacharach-like melodies. Her poetic lyrics chart the strange, far country the young women are trekking through. “Now you’re split in two/And each side isn’t you” they sing as they contemplate their interior conflicts.

Katherine Reis, Mia Pak, Juliana Canfield,
Gabi Campo, King Princess, and Sally Shaw
in Girl, Interrupted.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Director Jo Bonney’s staging is fluid, facilitated by the flexible set by the design team dots and the scene-shifting lighting by Heather Gilbert. Sarah Laux’s costumes subtly denote character such as a frilly mini-skirt for the flirtatious Daisy or radical rags for the rebellious Lisa. But, on the negative side, there are several slowly-paced sequences and many of the women’s stories are too similar, though the actresses including Gabi Campo, Mia Pak, Katherine Reis, and Sally Shaw do their best to provide differentiation.

The entire cast is exemplary. Constantly on stage, Juliana Canfield as Susannah carries the weight of the show on her slender shoulders and delivers a bravura performance, expressively conveying the young woman’s descent into irrationality and her valiant fight to regain her sanity. King Princess is fiery and funny as the defiant Lisa, the role which won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Angelina Jolie in the 1999 movie version.

Ta’Rea Campbell has several forceful moments as the compassionate nurse Valerie, expressing her divided emotions between sympathy for the young women and responsibility to perform her unpleasant job. Emily Skinner is properly starchy as Susanna’s no-nonsense British therapist. Lauren Jeanne Thomas is delightfully naive as an eager student nurse. She also ably doubles on the bass, flute and violin, along with Felciano who plays the guitar, bass and violin. Andrea Grody is the proficient music director and plays keys and guitar. There are slow patches, but over all, this Girl is a vibrant one.

June 4—July 12. Public Theater, 425 Lafayette St., NYC. Running time: 110 minutes with no intermission. publictheater.org.

Off-B'way Update: Public Theater 2026-27 Season

Jacob Ming-Trent in How Shakespare Saved
My Life.
Credit: Kevin Berne

The Public Theater has announced its schedule for the fall and winter of the 2026-27 season. The roster includes a wide variety of solos, new plays, musicals and adaptations of the classics. First up is How Shakespeare Saved My Life, Jacob Ming-Trent's one-man exploration of his lifelong connection with the Bard (opens Sept. 27). This is a production of Red Bull Theater in a co-production with Berkeley Rep and Folger Theater.

Ryan J. Haddad's autobiographical play Good Time Charlie follows (opening Oct. 9).  As a young man, Charlie dreamt of a life on the stage, but his parents thought dentistry sounded better, so he channeled his passion for culture into his nephew Ryan—a fellow theater-loving gay kid with Broadway ambitions. Haddad will star in his play with additional cast to be announced.

The West End production of
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
Credit: Marc Brenner

Next up is the musical version of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, based on the F. Scott Fitzgerald story about a man who ages backwards. This musical transplants the story from New Orleans (as depicted in the film version starring Brad Pitt) to a Cornish fishing village on the coast of Great Britain. (opens Oct. 21.) This North American premiere follows a hit run in London's West End.

Richard Nelson's Apple family returns to the Public with We'll See which takes place on the night of the midterm Congressional elections (opens Nov. 3). This is the latest in Nelson's Rhinebeck Panorama about three families in the upstate New York town dealing with local and national issues. Sally Murphy, Maryann Plunkett, Laila Robbins and Jay O. Sanders return to their roles as the Apple siblings. Additional casting to be announced.

Stephen Kunken, Sally Murphy, Maryann Plunkett,
Laila Robbins, Jon DeVries and Jay O. Sanders
as the Apple Family in Regular Singing (2013 at the Public)
Credit: Joan Marcus

Off-B'way Review: Public Charge

Zabryna Guevara in Public Charge.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Though Julissa Reynoso and Michael J. Chepiga’s Public Charge (fittingly at the Public Theater) takes place only a few years ago, this fast-paced docu-play feels like a relic from another era. Based on Reynoso’s experiences as a diplomat under Hillary Clinton’s State Department and as Barack Obama’s Ambassador to Uruguay, Public Charge follows the intricacies and infighting to accomplish meaningful and constructive foreign policy changes through persuasion rather than violence. In our current political moment, the administration blunders into war and bombs targets indiscriminately, eschewing diplomacy or even civility. 

Focusing on the herculean task of Reynoso, Obama and Clinton to reform the US’s entrenched no-contact policy toward Cuba, the play is a primer on how government at the highest level works or doesn’t. We open with an ironic prologue. Eight-year-old Julissa is attempting to emigrate from her native Dominican Republic to join her mother in the US. In an embarrassing interview with immigration officials, her request is delayed for fear she will become a “public charge” or a burden on the state by depending on welfare. We jump ahead several years to see Julissa become an official in Obama’s administration, helping to determine our policy towards Latin America. 

Smoothly and swiftly staged by Doug Hughes, the play shifts around the globe on Arnulfo Maldonado’s versatile set, transformed by Ben Stanton’s lighting, and Lucy MacKinnon’s video design into a plethora of settings from a bodega in the Bronx to the corridors of power in Washington, Havana, and Montevideo.  

Reynoso and Chepiga’s script is short on characterization but long on fast-paced action. Apart from the layered portrayal of Julissa herself (brought to vivid life by Zabryna Guevara), the other personae are given only one or two traits. Career State Dept. official Cheryl Mills is brusque and no-nonsense, constantly telling those under her to “Pause,” dispense with chit-chat, and deliver results. Julissa’s initial superior and later subordinate Ricardo Zuniga, a hard-line anti-Communist conservative from Honduras, exists to represent opposition to her attempts to knock the walls between the US and Cuba. Marinda Anderson and Dan Domingues do their best to bring extra dimension to these roles. Al Rodrigo is more successful as Julissa’s uncle and the pragmatic president of Uruguay. 

Zabryna Guevara, Marinda Anderson,
Armando Riesco and Maggie Bofill
in Public Charge.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Yes, the characters are thin, but the plotting takes up the slack with more twists and turns than an espionage thriller. Just as a breakthrough appears possible, an American aide worker is imprisoned and held hostage by Castro’s government (After five years in captivity, he is finally released.) The roller-coaster ride continues until Obama’s famous declaration of plans to normalize relations with Cuba. Jules celebrates and predicts years of progress under a Hillary Clinton presidency. We all know how that turned out. Despite the downer ending, Public Charge is a vital reminder of the difficult but necessary struggle to make the world a safer place.  

Public Charge: March 25—April 12. Public Theater, 425 Lafayette St., NYC. Running time: 100 minutes with no intermission. publictheater.org.

Off-B'way Review: Ulysses

The company of Ulysses.
Credit: Joan Marcus

The innovative theater collective Elevator Repair Service has tackled such literary giants as Fitzgerald (Gatz, its day-long version of The Great Gatsby), Faulkner (The Sound and the Fury) and Hemingway (The Sun Also Rises). The 35-year-old company is now taking on the greatest challenge in its history by brining to the stage what is generally regarded as one of the most confounding literary masterpieces, James Joyce’ Ulysses. The 1922 massive tome chronicles a single day—June 16, 1904—in Dublin, following the wanderings of Leopold Bloom, his wife Molly and the young Stephen Dedalus, paralleling Homer’s epic The Odyssey. Joyce experiments with style and form, switches genres with each chapter and has the characters express their inner thoughts. We are told in an onstage intro that one critic famously said that not much happens in Ulysses, apart from everything you can possibly imagine. 

Is it even possible to stage such a work which relies so heavily on interior monologues and so little on plot in theatrical terms? Burgess Meredith directed an adaptation of the phantasmagoric Nightgown section (Bloom venturing into Dublin’s red-light district and his own imagination) Off-Broadway in 1958 starring Zero Mostel which was revived on Broadway in 1974. Here director John Collins and co-director Scott Shepherd are taking on the work as a whole, or at least an edited version. While some of the sections are bogged down in attempts to dramatize Joyce’s literary excesses and tend to drag, this adaptation does capture the vital energy of the author’s vivid characters, his deep themes of sexuality, religion and literature, and the emergence of Dublin itself as a life force.    

Off-B'way Review: The Seat of Our Pants

Shuler Hensley and Micaela Diamond in
The Seat of Our Pants.
Credit: Joan Marcus

At this year’s Thanksgiving dinner, a young relative expressed her fears the world might be doomed because of AI and a certain lawless occupant of the White House. Us old folks had to reassure her that America and humankind in general has faced worst crises and we’ve come through, if only by the skin of our teeth or the seat of our pants. In similar conversations, friends have expressed the overwhelming fear that freedom and democracy are kaput in this country, that we are headed for becoming another Gilead (the fictional right-wing dystopia of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale), and where can they safely emigrate to? 

These encounters brought home the realization that this is the perfect historic moment for Ethan Lipton’s The Seat of Our Pants (at the Public), a musical adaptation of The Skin of Our Teeth, Thornton Wilder’s crazy comedy of civilization triumphing over countless disasters. Debuting on Broadway in 1942, as America had just entered the Second World War, Wilder’s Pulitzer-Prize winning existential extravaganza imagines a typical modern suburban family, the Antrobuses standing in for all of humanity as they face glaciers, floods, and devastating wars. Characters speak directly to the audience, the fourth wall is broken numerous times, dinosaurs and mammoths romp through living rooms, and Noah’s Ark, the Ice Age and World War III are recreated. It’s insane but it works. As does Lipton’s adaptation which cleverly balances Wilder’s original, slightly dated script with modern sensibility and appropriately off-kilter, satiric songs. (John Kander, Fred Ebb, and Joseph Stein attempted their own musical version of Skin which went through regional productions, readings, and workshops, but never made it to New York.)

Michael Lepore, Micaela Dimaond, 
Ruthie Ann Miles, Geena Quintos, and 
David Ryan Smith in The Seat of Our Pants.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Lipton follows Wilder’s original fairly closely with a few well-placed detours into 2025 territory and his songs strike just the right note of whimsical earnestness. The Antrobus family and their maid Sabina are first seen in their New Jersey home struggling to stay warm as a sheet of ice threatens to obliterate mankind. As they gather around a diminishing fire with homeless refugees representing philosophical, religious and artistic figures, they sing “We were born out of the darkness/And should the darkness call us back/Let us pray we smell a brisket/As we slip into the black.” It’s that specific absurd image of a brisket that brings us into the Wilder mindset of bizarre comedy amidst terror. Director Leigh Silverman stages the goofy goings-on with a serious edge, allowing the comedy to subtly come through and the seriousness to slowly surface.

Off-B'way Review: Bat Boy The Musical; Oh Happy Day!

Two fantasy-based productions are currently running Off-Broadway, one darkly satirical, the other raucous yet reverential. The campy comedy is Bat Boy, New York City Center’s annual gala presentation, and the roof-raising and religious offering is Oh Happy Day! at the Public. Both have moments of joy, fun, and outrageous theatrical flair.

Taylor Trensch, Mary Faber, and
Christopher Sieber in Bat Boy The Musical.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Bat Boy opened Off-Broadway in 2001. It was one of many funny spoof-ical shows, satirizing pop culture and musical conventions. Inspired by a sensational tabloid story, Keythe Farley and Brian Flemming’s jokey book focuses on a bat-like youngster found in a West Virginia cave. A veterinarian’s family takes the boy in and attempts to assimilate him into their conservative community, but his natural blood lust, not to mention his vampirish appearance, causes issues. Like Little Shop of Horrors, Urinetown, Hairspray, Reefer Madness, and Book of Mormon, the goofy show takes a parodistic tone and Alex Timbers’ confident new staging combines a cartoonish viewpoint with slick professionalism.

Taylor Trensch, Alex Newell, and
Gabi Carrubba in Bat Boy The Musical.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Laurence O’Keefe’s songs still hit the bull’s-eye on their satiric targets, especially as staged by choreographer Connor Gallagher with a tip of the hat to Broadway tropes. The Sondheim-esque “Three Bedroom House” retains its driving energy, reminiscent of “Another Hundred People” from Company, delivered with humor and power by Kerry Butler as Meredith, Bat-Boy’s adoptive mother, and Gabi Carrubba as Shelley, his more than sisterly temporary sibling. (Butler originated the role of Shelley and has beautifully transitioned to the more mature role.)  “Show You a Thing or Two,” in which Edgar aka Bat Boy is given a crash course in history and culture, is a delightful tribute to Eliza Doolittle moments and Main Stem pizzazz, complete with a Chorus Line kick line, courtesy of Gallagher. “Children, Children,” a forest-set sexual fantasy with Edgar and Shelley teetering on the brink of sexual awakening, makes fun of Julie Taymor’s Lion King menagerie. The chorus is transformed into horny woodland creatures, led by a delightfully Dionysus-like Alex Newell as the God Pan. Jennifer Moeller’s crazy critter costumes are a hoot (as is David Korins’ Halloween-ish haunted-house set.)

Off-B'way Review: The Other Americans; Mexodus

John Leguizamo and Luna Lauren Velez
in The Other Americans.
Credit: Joan Marcus

John Leguizamo has carved out a unique position for himself in the American theater with a series of riotously funny solo plays, including Freak, Spic-O-Rama, Sexaholix, and Ghetto Klown, documenting his experiences as an Hispanic citizen and performer. With his new play The Other Americans in which he also plays the lead at the Public Theater, Leguizamo attempts to branch out and depict the impact of blindly pursuing the American Dream on a Latino family in terms of traditional narrative drama. His heart and intentions are in the right place and the first act has some strong moments, but his plot is too melodramatic and contrived, borrowing too heavily from previous similar works, particularly Arthur Miller’s classic Death of a Salesman. The playwright’s performance and that of the tight ensemble and Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s muscular staging are proficient and professional, but the play feels thin and forced.

Like Miller’s Willy Loman, August Wilson’s Troy Maxon in Fences, and O’Neill’s Hickey from The Iceman Cometh, Leguizamo’s protagonist Nelson Castro is a self-deluded hustler. A would-be big-shot who always has a lucrative scheme in the works, Nelson is actually a bankrupt businessman whose fanciful deals are more hot air than solid planning. The setting is the Castro family’s expensive home in Forrest Hills, Queens (beautiful design by Arnulfo Maldonado) where Nelson and his wife Patti (marvelously maternal Luna Lauren Velez) are nervously awaiting the homecoming of their son Nick (appropriately volatile Trey Santiago-Hudson) after a stay in a mental health facility. It’s gradually revealed Nick is suffering from post-traumatic stress from a vicious attack by white racists. They are joined by daughter Toni (spunky Rebecca Jimenez) and her fiancee Eddie (adorably nerdy Bradley James Tejeda), and Nelson’s more successful sister Norma (intense Rosa Evangelina Arredondo) and family friend Veronica (funny Sarah Nina Hayon). 

Off-B'way Review: Goddess; Lights Out: Nat "King" Cole

Austin Scott and Amber Iman in Goddess.
Credit: Joan Marcus

There are several thrilling elements in Goddess, the new musical at the Public Theater, and in Lights Out: Nat “King” Cole, the new play with music at the New York Theater Workshop. But both shows fail to coalesce into a satisfying whole. Goddess features the exciting voice of Amber Iman, a vibrant score by Michael Thurber, and dazzling choreography by Darrell Grand Moultrie, but the book by Saheem Ali (who also directs) and Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright James Ijames (credited with “additional book material”) is cliched and underdeveloped. 

The plot revolves around the divine singer Nadira (a stunning Iman) who is in reality Marimba, goddess of music. Like the Rita Hayworth character in the Hollywood movie musical, Down to Earth, Marimba has descended from the heavens and experiences internal conflict when she falls in love with a mortal (a virile Austin Scott as Omari, the son of politician in modern-day Mombasa, the capital of Kenya). 

Austin Scott and Amber Iman in Goddess.
Credit: Joan Marcus

In order to fulfill her destiny as mankind’s muse, Marimba must defy her mother, the evil goddess of war (represented by a giant puppet beautifully designed by Julian Crouch). Similarly, Omari, who longs to expression himself as sax player, is forced to confront his conservative parents and veer from their plans for him to continue the family’s political dynasty. The authors fail to deliver on either of these fronts, denying us the battle for either character which will resolve their conflicts. Instead, their romance is cut short when Marimba returns skyward and all struggles are quickly wrapped up in a tidy finale. 

Nick Rashad Burroughs and cast in Goddess.
Credit: Joan Marcus

The ending and the tired plot are something of a let down, but there are plenty of musical pluses along the way. Iman is a divine vision with a soaring voice to match. Austin Scott makes an attractive equal as her leading man, skillfully depicting Omari’s inner conflict and he plays a mean sax. Nick Rashad Burroughs and Arica Jackson provide generous comic relief as saucy emcee and barmaid at Moto Moto, the nightclub where Nadira plies her trade. Destinee Rae as Omari’s ambitious fiancee, J Paul Nicholas as his oppressive father, and Ayana George Jackson as his loving mother do their best to bring life to their stereotyped roles. Reggie D. White is an intriguing, mystifying presence as a sagacious seer. Melissa Clark, Teshomech Olenja, and Awa Secka comprise the vibrantly sexy GrioTrio, an African Greek Chorus narrating the tale.

B'way/Off-B'way Update: MTC and Public Theater Seasons

David Lindsay-Abaire
Credit: Tricia Baron

Manhattan Theater Club and The Public Theater have announced all or part of their 2025-26 New York theater season schedules.  MTC will present two plays by Pulitzer Prize-winning authors while the Public will deliver a plethora of world premieres. MTC will premiere The Balusters by David Lindsay-Abaire (Dinner with Friends, Rabbit Hole, Good People) at Broadway's Samuel J. Friedman Theater in the spring of 2026. 

"Manhattan Theatre Club has been my artistic home since I was a baby-playwright, so of course I’m thrilled to be back with The Balusters, my newest play about well-intentioned people behaving really badly,” commented David Lindsay-Abaire. “The only thing more exciting than having a new show on Broadway? Having it helmed by the brilliant director Kenny Leon. After twenty-five years of plays with MTC, I’ve never looked forward to sharing a story with an audience more than I am with The Balusters." The play focuses on a small residential community which is thrown into turmoil when a newcomer suggests installing a stop sign at the corner of the neighborhood's prettiest block.

Off-B'way Reviews: Glass. Kill. What If If Only. Imp.; Wine in the Wilderness

Adelind Horan, Ayana Workman, Sathya Sridharan,
and Japeth Balaban in Glass.
Credit: Joan Marcus

You never know what you’re going to get with a Caryl Churchill play, but it’s sure to be something unique, thought-provoking, and convention-breaking. After exploring gender and racial barriers in Cloud 9, the clash of capitalism and feminism in Top Girls, financial turmoil in Serious Money, magic and demons in The Skirker, cloning in A Number, and numerous other topics in bizarre and weird ways, she tackles the power of legends, myths, and metaphor in a quartet of odd but affecting one-acts, Glass. Kill. What If If Only. Imp. at the Public Theater. 

The first three playlets are short and explosive, detonating like miniature bombs. Director James MacDonald has separated them with entertaining circus acts, performed with winning charm by balancing whiz Junru Wang and expert juggler Maddox Morfit-Tighe. These fun interludes act as palate cleansers between Churchill’s short unusual dramatic courses. Glass concerns a girl made of glass (played with appropriate delicacy and yearning by Ayana Workman). She is easily breakable and transparent, not just physically but emotionally. MacDonald stages the play on a narrow ledge, emphasizing the precarious space the girl occupies. There is no special costume or effect to convey her crystalline condition, MacDonald and Churchill ask us to use our imagination as she converses with the family clock, a ceramic dog and a vase on the need to remain still on a shelf. She falls for an equally vulnerable boy (tender Japhet Balaban), who is victimized by an abusive father. The climax of this bitter fairy tale is shattering, literally and figuratively. 

Deirdre O'Connell in Kill.
Credit: Joan Marcus

The powerful Deirdre O’Connell represents “Gods” in the following piece Kill, a Beckett-like monologue. Costume designer Enver Chakartash has clad her in a silvery suit with the suggestion of wings and she is seated on a suspended cloud. After stating that the gods do not exist, she launches on an epic retelling of the numerous tragedies surrounding the House of Atreus. Phrases detailing the murders within Agamemnon’s family and the endless slaughters that followed are repeated emphasizing the senselessness of death in the name of the deities. (The repetitions and circular nature of the speech reminded me of Lucky’s monologue in Waiting for Godot.) O’Connell’s character is a symbol for the made-up supreme beings of mythologies used to explain humanity’s inhumanity. O’Connell delivers this tirade with a leavening of humor and growing passion which finally erupts in an explosion of anger at the useless killing.

Off-B'way Review: SUMO

Red Concepción, Kris Bona, Paco Tolson, Ahmad Kamal,
and Scott Keiji Takeda in SUMO
at The PublicTheater. Photo credit: Joan Marcus.

At first Lisa Sanaye Dring’s SUMO, at the Public Theater in a co-production with Ma-Yi Theater Company and La Jolla Playhouse, seems to be plotted like so many familiar sports movies. The scrappy underdeveloped kid struggles manfully to build himself up and fulfill his dream of making it to the top. The grizzled veteran treats him harshly to toughen him up for the impossible climb. Commercial interests distract the newcomer, but he eventually triumphs on the athletic field. 

Dring’s script does contain these cliched tropes, but she also incorporates deep character development and a complex meditation on the sport of sumo itself and its relation to Japan’s cultural heritage. Director Ralph B. Pena and fight directors James Yaegashi and Chelsea Pace create muscular and fast-moving staging for both the scenes related to the story and the fascinating sumo matches to which the all-male cast commits themselves fully. Taiko drummer Shih-Wei Wu provides dynamic percussive accompaniment.  Hana S. Kim’s spectacular, gorgeous video designs, Paul Whitaker’s scene-shifting lighting, and Wilson Chin’s sumo-ring setting create a varied and intense arena for ideas and conflicting ambitions.

Earl T. Kim and Scott Keiji Takeda 
in SUMO.
Credit: Joan Marcus

Narrating the action and offering commentary are three Shinto priests or Kannushi (Paco Tolson, Kris Bona, and Viet Vo in drily comic turns.) We follow the young protagonist Akio (Scott Keiji Takeda in an impressive Off-Broadway debut) as he progresses from lowly apprentice to champion. The borderline sadistic grand master Mitsuo (a commanding David Shih) drives Akio hard, even resorting to physical abuse. Along the way, Dring gives us a crash course in the significance of sumo and its religious, mythological origins. The rigid ceremony of massive mammoths pushing each other until one is on the ground or outside the ring is much more than grunting and sweating. Dring explores the mystical meaning of the ceremonies to its participants and spectators. She also charts the interrelationships and delicate emotions of the members of Mitsuo’s heya or stable. 

Scott Keiji Takeda and 
David Shih in SUMO.
Credit: Joan Marcus

In addition to Akio, there are Ren and Fumio (compelling Ahad Kamal and Red Concepcion) whose clandestine romantic union provides a moving subplot, the earnest So (tender Michael Hisamoto), and Shinta (funny and heartbreaking Earl T. Kim) whose bulk belies his sympathetic nature. Gradually the majority of the wrestlers’ human flaws force them to drop out of the heya, leaving only Akio and Mitsuo. Ultimately, Akio must chose between the rigid macho strictures of Mitsuo and a more empathetic approach to his beloved sport. Dring’s plot arc is a bit predictable, but her thoughtful examination of sumo culture and Pena’s exhilarating staging make this a gripping takedown match.

March 5-30. Ma-Yi Theater Company, the Public Theater and La Jolla Playhouse at the Public Theater, 425 Lafayette St., NYC. Running time: two hours and 20 mins. including intermission. publictheater.org