Book of the Month

Book of the Month selects titles from a broad range of genres and offers a mix of both fiction and nonfiction titles–making it a perfect gift that keeps on giving.

A Very, Very Bad Thing — Jeffrey Self

Marley is one of the only gay kids in his North Carolina town — and he feels like he might as well be one of the only gay kids in the universe. Or at least that’s true until Christopher shows up in the halls of his high school. Christopher’s great to talk to, great to look at, great to be with-and he seems to feel the same way about Marley. It’s almost too good to be true.

There’s a hitch (of course): Christopher’s parents are super conservative, and super not okay with him being gay.

That doesn’t stop Marley and Christopher from falling in love. Marley is determined to be with Christopher through ups and downs-until an insurmountable down is thrown their way. Suddenly, Marley finds himself lying in order to get to the truth-and seeing the suffocating consequences this can bring.

In A Very, Very Bad Thing, Jeffery Self unforgettably shows how love can make us do all the wrong things for all the right reasons-especially if we see them as the only way to make love survive.

So Happiness to Meet You: Foolishly, Blissfully Stranded in Vietnam — Karin Esterhammer

After job losses and the housing crash, the author and her family leave LA to start over in a most unlikely place: a 9-foot-wide back-alley house in one of Ho Chi Minh City’s poorest districts, where neighbors unabashedly stare into windows, generously share their barbecued rat, keep cockroaches for luck, and ultimately help her find joy without Western trappings.

Weaponized — Zac Thompson

Truog Island is a desolate place where sexual activity is outlawed. There lives Trip Yash, bored out of his mind. That was until he met Cron. After a night of passion, Cron disappears taking Trip’s virginity with him. A few days later, Trip develops a rash on his hand that eventually blooms into a gun made from his own flesh.

It’s not long before Trip becomes a living weapon locked in a battle against an ancient virus that threatens to ruin his island home. As his body continues to change, terrifying forces emerge with the power to weaponize the dead.

For fans of Clive Barker and David Cronenberg, Weaponized is a nerve-shattering exploration of sexual identity and people’s strange relationship with tools of death. It is a Kafka-esque horror take on sexual orientation and sexually transmitted infections, and how we villainize those who are different.

A Pornographer — Arch Brown

In 2012, in the months following the death of playwright and filmmaker Arch Brown at the age of 76, an unpublished manuscript was discovered while archiving his possessions, a memoir titled A Pornographer. In it, Brown, whose career as a director of sex films stretched from 1967 to 1985, recounts his interviews in the late 1960s and early 1970s with many of the men and women who wanted to star in his sex films—some who did, others who did not. Here, he is all at once receptionist, gopher, casting agent, writer, director, stagehand, cameraman, talent scout, friend, and on-the-spot psychiatrist. You don’t need to have viewed any of Arch Brown’s sex films from this era to appreciate this memoir. In fact, Brown goes out of his way to not mention the titles of any of his films and he only identifies his cast of characters by fictional first names. The result is that A Pornographer is an historical gem, an unexpectedly insightful psychological view of the performers who were drawn to having sex in front of a camera and how and why audiences responded to them.

Jerusalem Ablaze — Orlando Ortega-Medina

For fans of Hanif Kureishi and Margaret Atwood, this collection of thirteen gripping and intriguing short stories are about sexuality, death, obsession, and religion. Sometimes bleak, occasionally violent, and often possessed of a dark humor, each story contains characters who are flawed individuals trying their best to make sense of their lives.

Once upon a time, a band from Egypt accidentally visited a small town in Israel. Although you may not have heard about it, you can now see a musical about it on Broadway. “The Band’s Visit,” music and lyrics by David Yazbek and book by Itamar Moses, is directed by David Cromer and opened at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre on November 9th. The musical spans a single night as members of the Alexandria Ceremonial Police Orchestra accidentally end up in the “biege, boring, blah blah blah” town of Beit Hatikva instead of at the Arab cultural center in Petah Tikvah.

The result of this comedic confusion is a heartwarming moment of contact between two otherwise distant cultures. The locals complain about boredom, relationship problems, and local businesses as the Egyptians provide charming background music. Much like in “Come From Away” when foreigners get stranded, the locals provide food, housing, and hospitality. Also much like in “Come From Away,” there isn’t much else that happens. “The Band’s Visit” is only about an hour and a half and is performed in one act. There is almost no plot or even any character developments. Sadly, there also aren’t any memorable songs or major musical leitmotifs.

The musical does, however, provide an endearing slice of life in a small desert town. The Egyptian band members, perpetually awkward in their powder blue military uniforms, make the otherwise bored townspeople seem more dynamic and emotional. For example, the beautiful Dina (Katrina Lenk) longs for the glamorous life shown in Arab movies and for a more romantic life. One man (Adam Kantor) stands by a payphone waiting for his girlfriend to call. Papi (Etai Benson) laments about how he is too shy to flirt with the girl he likes. Itzik (John Cariani) and his wife Iris (Kristen Sieh) feel disconnected and stuck in their relationship, despite their newborn baby. Overall, nothing major happens in anyone’s life in the one-night span of the musical, but there is a generalized feeling of loss and loneliness amidst some new connections.

Technically, there is nothing wrong with “The Band’s Visit.” It is innocent and simple and sweet and short. It has culture and several languages and unique musical styles. But on the other hand, there is nothing particularly right with the musical either. It is mostly lacking the complexity of plot, character, and songs that we expect in a musical nowadays. It almost seems like the weak second act of an otherwise good musical. But as it stands it is certainly missing something–and when there finally is a major event, the band’s concert in Petah Tikvah, the show ends. This is certainly intentional, but instead of this dramatic device being interesting and subversive, it is merely disappointing. The final curtain falls and there have been no major plot events, no resolutions, no character arcs. It is as if we got a brief glimpse of this world, void of both context of what came before and information about what will happen next.

Although “The Band’s Visit” provides an entertaining and somewhat enjoyable hour and half, it seems that it does not have what it takes to have a healthy and long run on Broadway. But in a theatrical season so sparse this musical might surprise us all and end up an underdog hero.

It is easy to criticize one-man shows, especially ones that claim to be educational. However, “Latin History for Morons” is certainly more entertaining that any lecture or lesson you’ve ever attended before. John Leguizamo’s show at Studio 54 was inspired his son being bullied and calling racial slurs. In response, Leguizamo started researching Latino history in order to find heroes for his son to write a report about. The outcome of this research is his two-hour show that claims to span 3,000 years of Latino history.

The framing device about Leguizamo’s son seems a bit forced, and he continually returns to scenes and caricatures of his family, including his Jewish wife and his detached teenage daughter. In addition to these recurring characters, Leguizamo provides lisping conquistadors, flamboyant Aztec kings, a sassy Alexis de Tocqueville, among many others. In all of his portrayals of historical Latinos, he draws heavily–perhaps too heavily–on modern-day racial stereotypes. He draws on a diverse canon of stereotypes including gay latinos, dancing latinos, combative latinos, and more.

At times this is extremely comedic and feels effective; other times, it feels that it crosses the line of too crude and almost offensive. His claim, for example, of “it’s ok, I have a gay family member” feels misguided. Although the show certainly is educational, he seems to care more about the laughs than the lesson plan, and the result is often jokes that border on the offensive. Leguizamo has a clear passion for educating his audience, but the structure of his piece is more anecdotal and instead of providing a clear timeline (like he claims he will at the beginning) it is more a messy hodgepodge of battles and massacres with conversations with his son mixed throughout.

The largest thing distracting from the lesson is Leguizamo’s desire for laughs. The show is advertised as 90 minutes, but actually runs about two hours to due his milking the jokes and giving the audience ample time to laugh. However, the comedy is probably the best part of the show, and is absolutely what makes the show enjoyable. But the comedy does sometimes get in the way of the stated academic purpose of the piece.

It is almost impossible to ignore the potentially similarities between “Latin History for Morons” and Michael Moore’s “The Terms of My Surrender,” the other political one-man show this season. But while Moore’s show seemed unproductive and preachy, “Latin History for Morons” is getting audiences talking about Latino culture, something that has been deeply ignored, demonized, and criminalized in our current political atmosphere. Maybe it’s the comedy that makes this show so much more enjoyable than its predecessor. It certainly isn’t the facts or the educational aspect, since Moore actually taught audiences much more than Leguizamo does. Perhaps it was the subtly of “Latin History.” It was political, but it also was comedic, had a family storyline, and felt like a playful lecture by a dilettante but passionate professor. “The Terms of My Surrender,” on the other hand, was more of a middle aged white man screaming at the audience about an incompetent president, void of any comedy or theatricality.

Regardless of whatever the secret ingredient is, something about “Latin History for Morons” works. Best of all, it provides audiences with a memorable and meaningful quote: “violence is the lowest form of communication”–a sentiment drawn from Latino culture that is perfectly applicable to our current moment. It leaves audiences not only laughing, but talking–about politics, about Latino culture, about racial stereotypes, and about the potential uses of theater.

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Byrd’s Famous Cookies

In 1924, Ben T. Byrd, Sr. began baking small batches of cookies from his bakery in Savannah, Georgia, packing them in wooden crates, and personally delivering them to neighborhood markets in his Model T Ford. The cookies were soon christened “Byrd’s Famous Cookies” and steadily gained popularity not only locally, but also among visitors who discovered the delicious confections while visiting Savannah.

It was Byrd’s son, BT Byrd, Jr., who would later go by Cookie Byrd, who had the idea of packing these bite sized confections in tins, so that they would travel better. This idea, paired with his popularizing of the Benne Wafer and the Benne Seed, took the company to a new level. By making these delicious treats transportable, Byrd became a gourmet food company, able to ship cookies to other markets.

Cookie Byrd’s daughter and son-in-law, Kay and Benny Curl, were the third generation to take the reins of Byrd Cookie Company. Under their ownership, the company grew leaps and bounds, developing dozens of new flavors and packaging ideas, most notably the Key Lime Cooler, that remains, to this day, the best selling cookie. It was the first cookie to ever win the Dessert of the Year award at the NASFT Fancy Food Show.

Kay and Benny’s daughter, Stephanie Lindley, is the latest Byrd to drive the Cookie Truck. Under Stephanie’s leadership the company is expanding their reach further. With strategic local, regional, and national relationships in place, Lindley has arranged for Byrd’s Famous Cookies to be available at such places as Old Savannah tours, Delta Sky Clubs, Universal Studios, and Neiman Marcus Department Stores. With an eye for international growth, Byrd will soon be exporting to dozens of countries in Europe, South America, North America, and Asia.

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Pinot Noir — Bonterra

Careful sourcing from celebrated Mendocino County vineyards with various microclimates and soil types results in a complex, bright, fruit forward Pinot Noir. After hand harvesting, the fruit was gently de-stemmed and moved to small open-top fermenters for a three-day cold soak. It was then inoculated with select yeast strains for fermentation. The cap was punched down daily to reach the desired color and level of phenols. After a gentle pressing in a basket press, the wine was settled and transferred to 100% French oak barrels where it underwent malolactic fermentation. The wine was aged in French oak for ten months and then finned with organic egg whites prior to bottling.

This Pinot Noir has aromas of strawberry and raspberry, accented with hints of oak spice and vanilla. In the mouth, this wine is rich with nice soft tannins and flavors of berries, vanilla and spice that fade into a lovely long finish.

Appellation: Mendocino County
Alcohol: 14.5%

In the quickly-cancelled but much beloved TV show “Smash” Uma Thurman played Rebecca Duvall, a famous movie actress who was making a Broadway debut. Her casting was a ploy by the producers to sell more tickets, even though they knew she was not as talented or qualified as the original stage actress they planned to star in the show. Over the course of rehearsals and previews, it became evident that Rebecca Duvall could not make the transition to the stage, that sometimes a screen actor is always (and only) a screen actor.

Although many may have forgotten about Thurman’s little stint on “Smash” I could not help but have it in mind when seeing “The Parisian Woman” which opened at the Hudson Theatre on Thursday. The irony was as striking as it was tragic. It seems that once again, Thurman is doomed to repeat her “Smash” plotline, but this time instead of quitting, she is sticking with a show that seems almost sure to fail.

“The Parisian Woman” by Beau Willimon, inspired by a 19th century work “La Parisienne” tells the story of Chloe (Thurman), an alluring socialite in DC who is willing to manipulate those around her to get her husband Tom (Josh Lucas) a nomination for a judgeship. Among those entangled in her web are her wealthy lover Peter (Martin Csokas) as well as the future head of the Federal Reserve Jeanette (Blair Brown) and her Liberal daughter Rebecca (Phillipa Soo). This brief synopsis may feel like a political melodrama, and at times it is. But at other times it tries to be a comedy, at others a romance, and at its most painful moments, an incredibly obvious political commentary void of any nuance.

However, with such a celebrity-infused cast that includes the star the of “Kill Bill” movies, a cast member of the “American Pyscho” film, a “Lord of the Rings” alumnus, a guest star on “Orange is the New Black,” and an original staring cast member of “Hamilton” what could go wrong?

Seemingly, a lot. It is hard though where to place the blame. Fundamentally, this play seems like a bad piece of writing. Willimon has no other significant playwrighting credits, a fact that surprises no one in the audience. Other than the clear genre confusion previously mentioned, the dialogue itself is completely overwrought, robotic, and simplistic, often complete with odd one-liners and bon mots that only Oscar Wilde could pull off. But some blame must also go to the director, Pam McKinnon, whose most recent Broadways projects were all mostly unsuccessful, most recently, the flop “Amelie.” The staging of the show was often awkward and incredibly unnatural, including bizarre acting gestures and seemingly never-ending pseudo-experimental moments of stage silence.

One of the more tragic elements of the production is the presence of Phillipa Soo, who mistakenly collaborated with McKinnon again after the disastrous production of “Amelie” earlier this year. Despite working with poorly written material and a less-than-stellar director, Soo was probably the best part of the show, albeit for the two short scenes she was in it. Brown was also not awful as a staunch and unethical Republican, but her accent and bawdiness seemed too much of a replica of her “Orange is the New Black” character to be praise-worthy. It is clear that the playwright was much better at writing female characters than male, since then men of the production (Lucas and Csokas) were basically intolerable and miserable to watch. But in their defense, their characters were horribly written and had to contend with some of the most stilted dialogue to be heard on Broadway in the last decade.

Among all the things to be critical of, one of the most obvious is the timing of the dialogue and the interactions between the actors. It was as if the actors were not even listening to each other, they were just waiting for their scene partner to finish, so they could speak their next line. This lack of engagement, combined with the poor quality of the writing, tragically gave the show a vibe closer to that of a high school play than a Broadway production.

In spite all of the criticism, praise must be given to the set design by Derek McLane and costumes by Jane Greenwood which were detailed, chic, and incredibly impressive. The same cannot be said about the overwrought projections (Darrel Maloney), sound design, and original compositions (Broken Chord), which seemed like bad copies of the aesthetics from “Dear Evan Hansen” and “The Father.” I would also be remiss if I did not praise “The Parisian Woman” for trying to be a play about contemporary politics, something we have yet to see on Broadway since the 2016 election. Although there has been a string of one-man show political rants (“Terms of my Surrender” and “Latin History for Morons”), it is refreshing to see a work of dramatic fiction try to tackle our political climate. Sadly, I am only able to praise this as a goal, since it wholeheartedly failed to provide any meaningful or thought-provoking political commentary.

In the middle of this creative flop is Uma Thurman. The entire show rests on her. She drives the plot and she makes all the political points–at least she tries to do both. Sadly, she is not very successful at either.  Although she is certainly not a bad actress and does actually have some triumphant acting moments in this production, this role is clearly too much for her. She practically never leaves the stage and by the end she seems tired, overwhelmed, and a little bit lost. Much like Clive Owen in “M. Butterfly” she is proving the maxim that perhaps screen actors should stay on the screen.

But is she to blame? Is the cast as a whole? Or should we criticize the poorly written dialogue and the bad direction? Most likely all deserve some criticism for failing to produce an even halfway decent production. Regardless of who you chose to blame, it is clear that “The Parisian Woman” is likely to become one of the many shows placed in the “Broadway flop” category following it’s imminent closing.

Upon walking into the new production of “Once on this Island,” which opened on Sunday at the Circle in the Square Theatre, you are greeted by trash, old tee-shirts hanging on the walls, a small pool of water leading offstage, a live chicken and goat, and the cast meandering around the stage, which is completely covered in sand. They are wearing everything from bathing suits to table cloths to school uniforms to jean shorts. Most importantly, they are all barefoot. They have sand in their toes, they stand in the water, they walk with the goat, they run on the beach, they climb through the trash. Before the show has even begun, the musical has a vibe, a tone, a feeling, a smell, a sensation, an aesthetic. The actors can feel it, but more importantly, the audience can feel it.

The uniqueness of the production continued when the show itself began. The actors picked up various pieces of trash–a tube from a pool vacuum, a crate, a homemade maraca, a rainstick–and began to make a soundscape for the opening number. While this revival was in production, it was reported that in lieu of instruments, the cast would be using found-object instruments (mostly if not entirely percussion) and otherwise singing a cappella. However, this information was somewhat misleading, because in addition to the found objects the actors used there was also a small orchestra that consisted of a percussionist and a keyboardist (whose synthesizer filled in for basically everything else). Although the effect of the ensemble of actors using found objects was certainly interesting, it seems that after the first number they had completely forgotten about it, and instead let the small pit play for them.

After the opening number that introduces the class dynamics of the island (peasant natives versus the rich, mixed-race French descendants) as well as the gods of the local religion, the story begins. After a large storm a young girl almost drowns, but is saved by the gods and delivered to a couple (Phillip Boykin and Kenita Miller) who become her adoptive parents. They call their daughter Ti Moune, which means “orphan.” Ti Moune (Hailey Kilgore) eventually grows up, saves a rich boy from the other side of the island when he crashes his car, and falls in love with him. Their forbidden romance draws elements from “Romeo and Juliet” and “The Little Mermaid” but has no happy ending for the pair.

The story itself is driven by four major gods: Agwe, god of water (Quentin Earl Darrington), Asaka, god of earth (Alex Newell), Erzulie, god of love (Lea Salonga), and Papa Ge, god of death (Merle Dandridge). Although these actors begin in costumes of typical island people, they slowly add pieces that gradually become incredibly elaborate and regal, transforming them into gods. A plastic table cloths becomes a giant hoop skirt, a piece of chiffon becomes a gown, a blue string becomes a giant fabric beard, a hood becomes a massive robe. The gods collectively work to help Ti Moune on her quest to save her love, and in the end prove that love can conquer death by turning her into a tree.

Of the entire cast, the four actors playing the gods stole the show and certainly gave the best performances. In particular Salonga (“Miss Saigon,” “Cinderella,” “Les Miserables”) and Newell (of “Glee” fame) were equally fierce and majestic in their queenly roles. Although the focus should have been on Kilgore as Ti Moune, her performance was not captivating enough. She was sweet and has a good voice, but she could not command the stage or compete with the iconic presence of some of the other leads.

Overall “Once on this Island” felt more like a song cycle than a musical. Each song felt similar, with chaotic choreography (by Camille A. Brown), excessive amounts of haze, an over-stressed parallel between Ti Moune, her younger self (Mia Williamson), and the doll version of Ti Moune that her younger self carried around, a loud final note from the pit to punctuate the ending, and a dramatic light cue. After a while it felt more like a concert than a work of fiction.

But maybe the director, Michael Arden, intended this revival to be more about the feeling of the island than about the plot of the story. The aesthetic was clear and incredibly well curated by the designers: costumes by Clint Romas, set by Dane Laffrey, lighting by Jules Fisher and Peggy Eisenhauer, found instruments by John Bertles and Bash the Trash. The visual and sonic textures of the piece have an added emotional and maybe even political resonance in our current moment where Caribbean has been ravished by hurricanes.

More than anything else, this revival of “Once on this Island” provides an aesthetic experience unlike anything else on Broadway.

I am of the generation that does not remember a world before Spongebob. Therefore I was extremely skeptical when I heard that Tina Landau was going to adapt the beloved anthropomorphic sea sponge into a Broadway musical. Like many, I had high expectations and was expecting to be disappointed.

To quote a very emotional child during intermission: “I didn’t want to like it this much!” Watching this new musical comes with an overwhelming mix of emotions: you go in thinking it can’t possibly be good, but during the show you are swept up and captivated, you dance along, you root for your favorites, you laugh and you smile. Although it is certainly unexpected, “Spongebob Squarepants: The Musical” is a hit. It is magical and colorful and fun. It has sophistication and nuance amidst childish jokes and physical humor. Just like the original cartoon, it is an incredible visual spectacle with some real substance underneath. It’s perfect not only for children but for families, for adults, for anyone; this musical is for everyone.

This new musical, which opened at the Palace Theater on Monday, is probably not the Spongebob musical most people would expect. Unlike Disney musicals such as “The Lion King” and “Beauty and the Beast” there are no large masks or giant costumes shaped like sponges, seastars, and other fish. Instead, director Landau has imagined a world inspired by the cartoon, translating the 2D world into something 3D. With the help of costume and set designer David Zinn, the entire theater is transformed into Bikini Bottom; the entire set is remarkably made from pool supplies, beach toys, and trash. The costumes are all every-day clothes that evoke the cartoon, making the characters feel grounded. This translation of flat, sea-life cartoon creatures into live performing humans is a remarkable feat, a point that cannot be understated. The director, designers, and actors have accomplished something extraordinary, perhaps one of the best examples of “suspension of disbelief” ever seen in theater.

Ethan Slater, who plays Spongebob, mimics the voice, gestures, physicality, and laugh of his character, fitting with a costume that evokes the cartoon in a subtle way. Lilli Cooper replaces Sandy’s spacesuit bubble with an Afro. Brian Ray Norris wears big red boxing gloves to represent Mr. Krabs’ claws. Wesley Taylor, briefly holds a small puppet of Plankton, but after the scene discards it; he is in a shiny green suit with an eyepatch, but through the magic of this musical, the audience accepts that he is actually a microscopic single-celled plankton. Disbelief is suspended, the magic is washed over the audience, and we delight in our two and a half hour trip to Bikini Bottom.

To help flesh out the entire experience there is lighting by Kevin Adams, sound by Walter Tarbach, projections by Peter Nigrini, and live Foley sounds by Mike Dobson. Both Nigrini and Dobson prove that we need more design Tony awards, since their work in projection and live sound design are unparalleled. Dobson has a visible booth in what was once a orchestra-level seating box that is now filled with every sort of odd percussion instrument, which he uses to make live sounds during the show ranging from the squeak of Spongebob’s shoes to the crashing of boulders to the echoing stomp of Pearl the whale (played by the extremely young but vocally fierce Jai’ Len Christine Lo Josey). He’s got chimes and whistles and drums and squeakers and even a gong. The live and visible element of these sounds makes the show feel like a cartoon, complete with a ridiculous and comedic soundscape.

Although the musical does have a plot, it isn’t very important; this musical is all about the experience and the enjoyment. We want to live in the world of the musical, regardless of what happens in it. But to summarize: the show starts with an ordinary Bikini Bottom day, but soon turns apocalyptic as a volcano threatens to destroy the town. As the citizens struggle to save their society, friendships are tested, frenzied townspeople are exploited for capitalist gain, and political crisis ensues. In yet another unexpected twist, the musical tackles large themes like xenophobia (the fish protest against Sandy, the land mammal), religious fanaticism (the Sardines form of a cult of devotion to Patrick, played by Danny Skinner), political abuses of power (the somewhat corrupt mayor played by Gaeleen Gilliland), and even fake news (represented by the paranoid reporter Perch Perkins, played by Kelvin Moon Loh). So somehow “Spongebob Squarepants: The Musical” turned out to be a politically-relevant, educational comedy.

Although the design, direction, and writing–the songs are all by various artists ranging from Cyndi Lauper, Aerosmith, Sara Bareilles, David Bowie, Panic! At the Disco, Plain White T’s, T.I., and more–are all exemplary, significant praise must be given to the actors, who make the cartoon come alive. Where would “Spongebob Squarepants: The Musical” be without Ethan Slater? He is an amazing singer, has the Spongebob walk (danging arms included) and the laugh mastered, exhibits an impressive physicality–including singing while climbing ladders upside down–and has an energy level that is unprecedented. In short, he captures everything audiences have loved about the Spongebob cartoon for the past two decades. By his side are the amazing Lili Cooper as Sandy, the hilarious Danny Skinner as Patrick, and the superb Gavin Lee as Squidword, complete with a false set of second legs that somehow manage to tap dance. Even the villain couple of Wesley Taylor’s Plankton and Stephanie Hsu’s Karen the Computer Wife are spectacular. (Praise must be given to my alma mater, Vassar College, which produced both Slater and Cooper.)

More than anything else, the ingenious direction, well-thought design, and amazing performances of the actors prove how shows like “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” or the closely-related by not nearly as good “The Little Mermaid” failed. This musical creates a bright and vivid undersea world that feels real. It combines massive spectacle with well-placed low budget gestures, like kelp made from pool floatees, boulders created by large bouncy balls shot down tubes, or debris as confetti placed in front of a fan.

When people heard that Spongebob was getting a Broadway musical they laughed. But the joke is on them, because “Spongebob Squarepants: The Musical” is one of the best musicals on Broadway right now, and is certainly the best musical of the season. Quite simply, it is extraordinary. Go take a trip to Bikini Bottom, you won’t regret it for a second.

If you’re my age, vacationing is out of the question, traveling is for my rich white friends who took a break after college to “find themselves.” As a millennial I truly believe the baby boomers just absolutely destroyed the economy and we are left to scramble and attempt to thrive in what is now a wasteland. So when I see people my age post pics traveling I’m salty and yeah I’m a little bitter so I decide to see ideally how a poor person (such as myself) would go about planning a vacation.

1. Have a job that allows you to take a week off. If your job doesn’t let you do that, guess what my friend? It’s not in ya budget. Ain’t no shame just buy a case of wine and relax on your two days off. Download some movies illegally have great sex with your significant other and you’re set.

2. Don’t use any website other than the hotel’s to find or book your hotel! For example expedia or hotels.com all  add a charge to the price they show you as opposed to going and booking straight from the hotels page plus use retailmenot.com to find promo codes. Everything on the internet has a promo code, even if its just 10%.  The app hoteltonight is good for cheap rates as well. I got a stay at a hotel in Vegas for $28 once.

3. Download and use air b&b! It is the greatest thing I have found out about since learning Pete wentz is half Jamaican. Air b&b lets you book someone’s house or room in city’s all across the US for waaaaay cheaper than a hotel. Plus if you have a kitchen you’re less likely to eat out. Also might like to add I too have a promo code for this one  (www.airbnb.com/c/jennyc104).

4. Bring your own alcohol. I cannot express this enough, guys, pre-game for your life before going out there is no sense in spending 100 dollars at the bar to black out when all it cost was 9.99 for that bottle of Amsterdam and maybe two gin and tonics later at the bar.

5. If you’re flying or planning on flying, check out airfare watch dog, they have insane deals that they find for you on both last minute and future flights. Or once again look for the prices and booking info straight from the airlines website, they always give you the price raw no additives.

6. Consider active options. Hiking or camping can be a great way to recharge and relax. Just make sure you have the appropriate gear to get the best out of your trip.

7. Plan ahead! Planning and booking tours or activities saves you a lot of money and time. A lot of attractions offer tickets for lower prices if you buy or book with at least a week prior to scheduled visit.

There’s something about the 90s that just won’t go away, and maybe we never want them to. The “Cruel Intentions” musical is now in its third incarnation, this time downtown in the Village at (le) poisson rouge. It opened on Monday, December 11th in a limited engagement running through early 2018. The musical is based on the 1999 movie starring Sarah Michelle Gellar, Ryan Phillippe, Reese Witherspoon, and Selma Blair which was inspired by the 1782 French novel Dangerous Liaisons. Back in the 90s the film somehow managed to adapt the pre-French Revolution novel of sexual scheming and excess into the world of New York City teenagers at an elite high school. Despite the complete lack of parallels and confusing plot of the source material, it completely worked–and now it works again as a musical. The musical was adapted by Jordan Ross, Lindsey Rosin, and Roger Krumble and is directed by Lindsey Rosin.

The musical follows step-siblings Sebastian (Constantine Rousouli) and Kathryn (Lauren Zakrin) as they make wagers about if Sebastian can sleep with Cecile (Jessie Shelton), the new girl at school, and Annette (Carrie St. Louis), the headmaster’s virginal daughter. To complicate the mix we have the gay friend Blaine (Alex Boniello), his secret football-playing boyfriend Greg (Brian Muller), Cecile’s black music teacher Donald (Matthew Griffin), and her uptight racist mother (Patricia Richardson). Love triangles abound as Donald likes Cecile who like Sebastian who likes Annette, not to mention the intense and almost incestuous sexual attraction between step-siblings Sebastian and Kathryn. Throughout the show it’s hard to decide who has all the power and who is manipulating whom, but in the end both of the evil step-siblings get punishments in one form or another.

The most defining part of the musical by far is the score. The show is a jukebox musical comprised entirely of 90s songs, including hits you thought you had forgotten like “I Saw the Sign,” “I’m Only Happen When it Rains,” “Bittersweet Symphony,” “Sex and Candy,” “Sunday Morning,” “So Kiss Me,” and more. The musical has (overly) dramatic scenes of plot adapted from the movie, and then the characters randomly burst into a 90s song. At times this can seem ridiculous, but it is when the actors play into the comedic ridiculousness of the situation that the songs work best. Boniello, Muller, Shelton, and St. Louis were best at this, almost winking at the audience every time they began to sing another absurd song.

In a 90s nostalgia jukebox musical, harnessing the comedy is essential. Perhaps this is what made the performances of the leading pair unsuccessful. Both Rousouli and Zakrin seemed too invested in the seriousness and dramatics of their characters to understand that the musical is mostly an extended piece of sketch comedy with great (bad?) songs. The over-acting by the leads made this incarnation slightly less enjoyable than the previous ones, although this could have been caused by the absence of Jenn Damiano and/or Katie Stevens, who had both previously played Kathryn with much more success than Zakrin.

That being said, it is absolutely worth noting that the vocals in the production were extraordinary, with each cast members belting out song after song. When they were good, the songs were the best part of the musical, since the audience got to jam to their old favorite while watching a talented singer completely nail the song, sometimes even with cheesey choreography (by Jennifer Weber). Equally enjoyable were the costumes (styled by Tilly Grimes) which were inspired by the movie and contained a corset, a rosary, a plaid miniskirt, some tie-over sweaters, and a sea of matching blazers.

“Cruel Intentions: The Musical” is not high art, but it is fun, sexy, and seductive. For what it is–a 90s jukebox nostalgia musical comedy–it is a great time and certainly worth the trip for a night of (dinner) theater downtown. What’s more, this musical, despite its lack of seriousness or budget, managed to absolutely surpasses the recent Broadway production of its distant cousin “Les Liaisons Dangereuses.”

Another apocalyptic week in politics, another apocalyptic play on Broadway. “The Children” by Lucy Kirkwood and directed by James Macdonald opened this Tuesday at Friedman Theatre. Among the other dystopias, political rants, and apocalyptic pieces this season, “The Children” seems unremarkable, just another piece that makes the audience think of the potentially not-too-far-off doom awaiting us. But unlike some of the more dramatic, violent, or political shows to come to Broadway recently, this once seems a bit too sanguine and void of action. Three older British actors in a single-set room for two hours (no intermission) is not nearly as captivating as torture or death on stage that similar plays have been relying on to keep audiences interested.

The gimmick employed by this play to keep the audience on paying attention is the set, designed by Miriam Buether. The set is of a single room within a large rectangular box–but here’s the “fun” part–that is somewhat dramatically tilted. As if you couldn’t notice in the first scene an apple is placed on a table and it rolls right off. Something is off-kilter, although it’s not exactly what, or if this tilt is supposed to be literal or symbolic.

“The Children” tells the story of three retired nuclear engineers / physicists, married couple Hazel (Deobrah Findlay) and Robin (Ron Cook) and their former friend and coworker Rose (Francesca Annis). The three worked together at a nearby, waterside nuclear power plant  which they helped construct. However, minutes into the play we learn that the plant has recently exploded, releasing toxic radiation and causing thousands to contract cancer. Hazel and Robin had to leave their home because it was too close to the radiation zone, but are otherwise happily enjoying retirement in their new cottage–that is until Rose shows up on their doorstep. Prior to the events of the play, the couple had not seen Rose in forty years, and we quickly learn that in addition to being coworkers, Rose and her were best friends and Robin was having an affair with her.

It is at this point that the nuclear apocalypse play turns into a senior citizen version of the classic mistress play. The action focuses on Robin and Rose sharing secret kisses between glasses of parsnip wine (don’t ask), and Rose asking about Hazel’s daughter–the symbol of Robin choosing Hazel over her. Here the odd title “The Children” gets repeated just a few too many times. But the point is driven home: nuclear power (and the apocalypse it has created) affects the children.

Perhaps the most interesting part of the play is the ethical debate that occurs towards the very end. In order to stop radiation from spreading, a crew of people need to go back to the plant, in the toxic zone, and fix the plant, even though they know it will kill them. Who should do this: young people with families who need the money, or the older generation who built the plant and caused this problem? Should Rose, Hazel, and Robin leave comfortable retirement to save the town from radiation, even if it means accepting a death sentence? Do they have less to live for than the young employees with small children who are currently forming the (literal) skeleton crew?

This debate is the saving grace of the play, since it provides a moral and ethical debate that is as fascinating as it is relevant. Who’s responsibility is it to fix a mistake? Who’s life is more worthwhile, the old or the young? Without the morality discussion, “The Children” is an odd mix of apocalypse and stage naturalism, a combination that certainly no one asked for. Perhaps this play fared better with more intellectual British audiences, but here on Broadway audiences often want something a bit more stimulating.

Adrienne Kennedy’s new play at Theater For a New Audience is a 45 minute experience unlike anything you have ever witnessed before. It is somewhere between a wonderful dream and a terrifying nightmare, a reverie and a fantasia, a set of monologues and a lyric poem; it is equal parts tragic and beautiful. Kennedy’s plays are known for being fractured, cyclical, symbolic, expressionistic, and above all, confronting issues of race. This play is no exception: “He Brought Her Heart Back in a Box” is set in 1941 Georgia and tells the doomed love story of a rich white man and a mixed-race black woman. It has been said that Kennedy does not do linear stories, but this play is perhaps her most straightforward. The piece begins with the pair talking together–maybe even meeting for the first time, although they know of each other–and things quickly turn romantic as they make plans to get married in New York and eventually move to Paris. The rest of the play exists as two separate but simultaneous monologues, written as letters to each other.

Although the “plot” moves forward, the narrative drives continually further and further into the past, as both Kay (Juliana Canfield) and Chris (Tom Pecinka) work through and confront memories about their parents. Kay tries to piece together the fractured narrative of her mother, who some claim committed suicide after giving birth to her and others say was murdered by her white lover. Chris struggles with the legacy of his racist father who helped plan, organize, and implement the segregation of the town in such an efficient way that he even gains the attention (and friendship) of soon-to-be Nazis. Their family narratives are fragmented, disjointed, unclear, and at times even contradictory. They explore the question: how do we live with our history? In many ways, the letters Kay and Chris write to each other are acts of excavation and exorcism, an attempt to come to terms with the past they have inherited and figure out who they are.

Other than the first scene, the entire play is structured as parallel monologues. For a “love story,” the lovers barely speak to, touch, or interact with each other. Normally, this is not a recipe for a successful play, but Kennedy manages to defy all the odds. Canfield and Pecinka do an incredible job with their material, bringing the longing and pain of their characters to life with passion and nuance, even if this means developing a romance from opposite sides of the stage.

The work, which in most simplistic terms is a “play,” is filled with music and others texts, most notably Noel Coward’s operetta “Bittersweet” and Christopher Marlowe’s “The Massacre at Paris.” Just like everything else in the piece, these songs and bits of intertext repeatedly float in and out, complicating the supposed linearity. It is not only the inclusion of music and an Elizabethan drama, however, that give this play an operatic feeling; the scope, scale, and stakes of the work are what make it resemble a grand opera. Seemingly, in a two person, 45 minute play this would be impossible, and yet somehow Kennedy, the director Evan Yionoulis, and the two actors make it seem more like a Greek tragedy than a one act play.

The defining piece of the stage is a massive, multi-floor staircase that splits the playing space and seems to define every movement of the actors. This simple yet evocative set is designed by Christopher Barreca. The play begins with Chris walking up them to see Kay; it ends with Kay running up them to see Chris–and of course, there is a dramatic descent at one point. The idea of a staircase in a drama would usually be benign, but in this operatic dreamscape it conjures up a certain mythos, reminding us of legendary stories of lovers and underworlds like Orpheus and Eurydice, Aeneas and Dido, or Dante’s Inferno. Quickly, Chris and Kay become more than just two people from a small Southern town. Quickly their story becomes something bigger, an important political exploration about the racist history of America that we all have inherited and must contend with every day.

Just like Chris and Kay, all Americans live in a nation that was based on slavery, segregation, and racialized violence. Like Chris and Kay, we must all work through that complicated, nightmarish past. We must recognize it, not forget it, but more importantly we must fight it. Chris and Kay knowingly form an interracial couple, but radically chose to leave their racist town and start a new life in a place that will accept them. “He Brought Her Heart Back in a Box” takes us on their journey, through dreams and nightmares. Kennedy’s bold new work forces us to reconcile the past while looking hopefully towards the future.

But nothing about the “Mean Girls” musical disappoints. Quite simply, it is a triumph. It so perfectly adapts the beloved, generation-defining film on to the Broadway stage, adding fierce belts and group dance numbers with an ease that seems almost effortless. Composer Jeff Richmond, lyricist Neil Benjamin, and of course, director and choreographer Casey Nicholaw have certainly done an impeccable job. Often when movies are made into musicals the songs feel awkward and unnecessary, since audiences know that the original scene did not have (or need) songs. But this new musical makes it hard to imagine a “Mean Girls” without such soon-to-be iconic songs like Karen’s “Sexy” or Janis and Damian’s “Revenge Party.”

Adding any content into the already-iconic script of the musical was a risk — as was cutting some of the famous lines and scenes. Thankfully, Tina Fey has given the film’s devotees not only the “Mean Girls” they remember, but the “Mean Girls” musical they want, and dare I say, the musical they deserve after 14 years of devoted fandom.

Of course, a good portion of the musical feels new. After all, the classic 2004 story has been updated to 2018, complete with memes, twitter fights, emojis, and even a Trump reference. This update becomes quite noticeable in Gregg Barnes’ costumes. Barnes managed to fuse the color palette, silhouettes, and iconic looks of the movie into more modern outfits. Don’t worry, there is still just as much pink. Probably more, actually.

The modernization is also deeply felt in the set, which is made entirely up of curved, movable screens (set design by Scott Pask; video design by Finn Ross and Adam Young). Pask, Ross, and Young prove a perfect collaboration and have managed to master ultra-modern digital set, which usually reads as flat and boring on the stage. Perhaps what makes the usage of the screens so masterful is the transitions, which include swipes sideways or upwards, invoking the way a physical set change would occur in a traditional set. Overall, these effects make you forget that these are screens, perfectly merging the digital with the traditional. Not only do they provide more flexibility, but add serious bonus points modernity and ingenuity.

Although the writing, direction, and design are certainly praise-worthy, the cast also had a lot of work to do in order to pull this “Mean Girls” musical off. The principle actors have managed to find the perfect blend of inspiration and innovation, giving audiences a strong sense of the legendary performances by Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams while still making it their own.

Even moreso than the film, the “Mean Girls” musical is really all about the Plastics. At the center is Regina George, the queen bee, here played by Taylor Louderman, who is a true devil in a pink high heel. Louderman perhaps sounds the most like her film counterpart, but gives a very different performance. From her very first entrance she was a star, but it took until her song near the end of Act I, “Someone Gets Hurts” for her to really show off her vocal abilities. But it was in her Act II song “Watch the World Burn” that she belted the house down, proving she is perhaps the most vocally talented member of the cast.

At her side are the gossip Gretchen Weiners, played by Ashley Park, and the ditsy Karen Smith, played by Kate Rockwell. Park is beautifully fragile, desperate to serve, yet ready to crack at any moment — she even compares herself to an iPhone without a case. Her song “What’s Wrong With Me” is perhaps the most emotionally raw moment in the musical. On the other side of the spectrum is Rockwell’s Karen, who is the perfect picture of a sexy Barbie doll; Rockwell is so hilarious that she manages to steal every scene she’s in.

Hiding behind this fierce trio are the rest of the cast. At the core of the show is Erika Henningson as Cady Heron. Compared to her female costars, Henningson does not manage to shine. Although she carries the show plot-wise, vocally she simply cannot compete. Performances by Cheech Manohar (Kevin) and Kyle Selig (Aaron) round out the cast, but thankfully in this feminist-infused musical, the straight male characters are mostly obsolete.

The same cannot be said for Damian and Janice, who are neither obsolete nor lack star presence. Perhaps the largest structural change to the musical involves Damian and Janis, who have become narrators, framing the musical as a “cautionary tale” and as a musical — although metatheater in musicals is overdone, here it is done sparingly and to great comedic effect.

Grey Hensen plays the gay icon Damian with such campy panache that it seems the character was always his. His Alyssa Edwards, Cher, and Boy George shirts feel perfectly in place, as does his amazing tap number. Barrett Wilbert Weed’s Janice, on the other hand, feels nothing like the movie; instead of a goth, she is now an alternative artsy hipster. Although her modernization feels somewhat laborious, what she lacks in attire she makes up for in vocals. Weed carries the show in between the major songs by Louderman, often making up for potential weakness of Henningson.

Other than the slight structural changes, what feels most different about the “Mean Girls” musical is its sense of morality; it has a much clearer message and makes some important educational points. The musical includes an effective critique of cyberbullying, bringing the movie into 2018 with our new ideas about what mean girls can do. The junior class girls are told that everyone says nasty things, which means everyone is not only a victim, but part of the problem. So in the words of Damian, think before you send that tweet or text or picture. In addition to mini-lecture on cyberbullying, the musical includes brief but appreciated references to racist beauty standards, school district elitism, child pornography, rape culture, and more.

On the surface, it is easy to compare the “Mean Girls” musical to the “Heathers” musical of a few years ago, not only because they are both movie-to-musical adaptations about a trio of ruthless, pretty, and popular girls, but because both include the memorable belting of Barrett Wilbert Weed. Although I was making comparisons throughout most of the “Mean Girls” musical, it was the final song that convinced me that (despite the many musical similarities) they are, in fact, quite different. “Mean Girls” famously ends (spoiler alert?) with the ostracized Cady winning prom queen, breaking up the plastic crown, and sharing it with all the girls in her class. In the musical, this becomes the finale, “I See Stars” which is, admittedly, the cheesiest part of the show, but brings a smile to your face and makes you realize that compared to “Heathers,” this musical has a better moral for us to get behind. “Mean Girls” is about bullying and acceptance, real issues that high school students face every day.

Yes, the “Mean Girls” musical has a very obvious lesson and is trying to be more educational, but we are better off for it. This musical will not only make diehard fans like me happy to relive an iconic film in a new, more fun genre, but will also teach audiences important lesson about how we should treat each other, especially in this digital, impersonal age.

“Mean Girls” opened on Sunday, April 8th at the August Wilson Theatre. Run Time: 2 Hours and 30 Minutes with one intermission.

Although Albee is beloved for many of his plays, there is something extraordinary about “Three Tall Women.” Of course, the semiautobiographical nature is important: much of the play is based on Albee’s own (homophobic) mother. But beyond that — or maybe because of it — the play is tight and fierce and potent. It perfectly blends the emotional vigor of his earlier period (“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”) with the experimentalism of his later years (“Seascape”). But the success of a play so small in cast relies entirely on the actresses.

Without a doubt, Glenda Jackson, Laurie Metcalf, and Alison Pill deliver. All three are simply magnificent. Just like the women (or woman) they represent, Jackson, Metcalf, and Pill represent three moments in life, three stages in a career, and most notably here, appeal to three distinct audience groups. The theater-going veterans (I use that term literally here) flock to see the legendary Glenda Jackson return to the Broadway stage. The middle aged theater aficionados fawn over Laurie Metcalf, the toast of the theater and film scene. The youngins are drawn in by Alison Pill, a name and face they have seen in a litany of film and television performances.

The three actresses play characters named A, B, and C. In the first half of the show that translates to an elderly woman, her middle-aged care taker, and a young lawyer handling her finances; in the second half they are all the same woman (A) at three different points in her life. Although this sounds confusing, this production merges the transition from the first half’s realism to the second half’s existentialism with ease.

Throughout the entire play, Glenda Jackson is at the helm. Rarely does she let one of the other two women take the wheel, and when she does its only so she can play a joke off them or catch her breath before her next tirade. But far from tyrannical, Jackson’s ferocity is exuberant. Although she begins an senile and forgetful, she is not to be tampered with or touched without permission. Although she is like a stinging snake in the first part of the play, in the second she is like a wise angel, teaching the other women all the lessons of life they have let to learn.

Though Jackson’s character (A) may be the wise one, it is Laurie Metcalf’s character (B) that thinks she has seen and done it all and knows how the world works. Metcalf transforms from a dowdy nurse to a wealthy adulteress in the span of the play, and does so with the exact mastery we have come to expect from — after all, that’s why we love her. In many way’s Metcalf’s middle-aged woman feels the most vulnerable; she may feel like she is at the perfect moment in a life, or as she describes it, on top of the mountain with a 360-degree view, she has a lot of unexpected hurt and pain in her future. Of course, Metcalf handles these emotional realization with a quiet severity.

Unlike, Metcalf’s woman (B), Alison Pill’s youthful young professional (C) is aware that she does not know what life holds in store for her. Still tall, still strong, she is confident about what she wants in life, and is sure that she does not want to turn into the other women. But fate has other plans for her. Perhaps the weakest of the performers (although this is like calling an Olympic bronze medalist a “loser”), Pill has less emotional depth to handle the roller coaster of lectures on life her character receives in the later portion of the play.

The main design challenge of “Three Tall Women” is the transition from three separate women existing in real time in a real room, to three versions of the same woman in an temporal space. This was ingeniously pulled off by the set designer, Miriam Buether, and the costume designer, Ann Roth. In a blink of an eye, the back wall of the beautifully furnished room turned into glass, with an Alice Through the Looking Glass copy of the set on the other side, complete with a mirror wall reflecting the set, the actors, and the audience. This illusion was beautiful and gave the illusion of the three women in an otherworldly space, watching the real world through a glass. The costumes too aided in this transition: in the second half all three women wore purple, with each in a dress reflecting the time period of when the woman was that age.

In the second half of the play, the three women discuss family, sexuality, money, aging, racism, death, and happiness. Each is at a different point in life and provides a unique perspective for each other, most notably the elderly A. Their long conversation is so emotional and educational it leaves you wishing you could go into a mirror world and talk to older versions of your self. But until that can happen, sitting for two hours watching three exceptional actresses perform a remarkable play is a great substitute.

Contrary to popular belief, deafness is not a curse, it is not the end of the world, it is not something that necessarily needs to be cured. In fact, many deaf people do not consider themselves disabled, but instead classify themselves as belonging to a linguistic community. If you only speak Albanian, being in a room of English-speaking people is no different than being a deaf person in a room full of hearing and speaking people. Thus, not all deaf people want to read lips, learn how to speak, or get cochlear implants.

Theoretically, all of this information is the theme of Mark Medoff’s 1979 play, “Children of a Lesser God,” the revival of which opened at Studio 54 on Wednesday. The play concerns Sarah Norman, a deaf woman, and her teacher-turned-husband James Leeds. James, played by Joshua Jackson, is passionate about teaching his deaf students to communicate not through sign language, but through speech, something that is often difficult, embarrassing, and frustrating for deaf people. Sarah, played by Lauren Ridloff, refuses to even attempt speaking.

In an unexpected (and unsubstantiated) plot twist, they somehow fall in love and get married, although it is unclear when, how, or why this happens. Soon, James learns that with the marriage comes a lifetime of being an interpreter, a role he clearly does not want. From there, tensions arise as James and Sarah fight over their different opinions of deafness, speech, children, and the future.

James represents everything wrong with the way society thinks about deafness. However, the play itself often tells us he is wrong, mainly through Sarah and her deaf friend/student/teacher/activist, Orin (played by John McGinty), both of who constantly disagree with him and tell him that he’ll never understand what it is like to live in their silence.

Despite the fact that James is told he is wrong, this entire production is focalized through him; he is perpetually at the center and never leaves the stage. Mr. Jackson gives a completely unenthusiastic, lackluster performance, producing a pompous and condescending vibe that, like him, never seems to go away. Because of this, the audience never connects with him, instead they feel annoyed, angry, and most of all, confused as to why Sarah wants to be with him.

Lauren Ridloff, who like her character was born deaf, provides such a powerful honesty to her character that it is impossible not to side with her and to believe everything she says. At no point does her lack of speech limit her acting ability; in fact, she manages to emote more with her face and hands than Jackson does with speech. For a newbie to professional acting, she is quite sublime.

Similar accolades must be given to the supporting cast. John McGinty (also deaf), as Orin, a deaf activist who learns to speak only so he can advocate to get more deaf teachers hired, perfectly captures the passion of deaf and disabled activists. Treshelle Edmond (also deaf) plays Lydia, a precocious student, with perfect teenage naivete. Julee Cerda as the legal advocate Edna Klein, Kecia Lewis as Mrs. Norman, and Anthony Edwards as the head of the deaf school, Mr. Franklin, round out the cast perfectly. Each of these hearing characters display varying degrees of cluelessness or lack of understanding about deafness, often acting as stand-ins for the uninformed audience.

However, the issues begin to crop up when it is not only the audience that is uninformed, but the director, Kenny Leon. Perhaps Mr. Leon is unaware that “Children of a Lesser God” is a deeply offensive play that majority of the deaf community loathes. Perhaps he does not understand that James is wrong to make decisions about and for Sarah. Perhaps he did not realize that the play is really about Sarah and her deafness, not James and his (selfish) “struggles.” Perhaps he and the producers did not know that no one wanted a revival of a play about forcing a deaf woman to speak on Broadway in 2018.

The design also left some lingering questions. The set, designed by Derek McLane, was a minimalist, monochromatic mix of branchless-trees and doorless-door frames. Lights by Mike Baldassari were oddly dim, blue, and dreamlike. Both designers were seemingly creating a space more fit for a postmodern experimental ballet than a naturalist play. Almost every scene transition included unnecessary music (sound design by Jill Bc Du Boff, composition by Branford Marsalis), an odd choice for a play about deafness, after all.

The production did make slight attempts at being more accessible, most notably in the inclusion of supertitles above the stage. Fascinatingly, the supertitles only include text for the words that were spoken onstage; they did not translate the sign language. This choice made it clear that the supertitles were not to make the play “easier” for hearing people, but to make it more accessible for deaf and hearing impaired audience members. Kudos to whoever made that decision.

However, the gesture is somewhat empty, because every time Sarah signs (and the supertitles say “Sarah signs”), hearing audience members are not excluded, are not forced to sit in the silence. Instead, James echoes and repeats everything she signs — which is completely unnecessary and unrealistic, since he understands sign language. This pattern of him speaking for her is present in Medoff’s script, and is therefore unavoidable. But what is avoidable is a production of a problematic play that includes a hearing character speaking for a deaf character; why do the play at all?

To make matters worse, Mr. Jackson clearly is not fluent in sign language and could not be bothered to study it diligently for this production. His signing is sloppy and sometimes almost nonexistent. But what is most careless is the pace at which he translates Sarah signing into English: he obviously is not actually able to read her signs or follow along. He translates so quickly that it is evident he is reciting memorized lines and not actually watching and translating her signs. Equally frustrating is his imprecise recitation of his own lines, which often don’t match the supertitles above him.

The only selling point for the production is that it stars three deaf actors; any piece of theater that includes that visibility and provides work for deaf actors is worthy of some praise.

“Children of a Lesser God” is a deeply flawed play. If you asked any deaf person their opinion about it they would probably have a whole rant, and certainly would not encourage you to go see or read it. I am not sure why Mr. Leon wanted to revive this problematic tome of yesteryear, or why he thought it was acceptable to not try to recuperate it, change it, and recenter it on the deaf characters. More than anything else, this production of “Children of a Lesser God” proves that some plays are best left on the shelf.

A revival of Kenneth Lonergan’s “Lobby Hero” marks the inaugural production of Second Stage’s Broadway season at the newly renovated Helen Hayes Theatre — and what a debut. Although the play is from 2001, when it premiered off-Broadway, nothing about the piece feels dated. In fact, this revival proves how little has changed in these seventeen years.

“Lobby Hero” tells the story of Jeff, a security guard (don’t you dare call him a doorman) for an apartment building in New York City. During one of his graveyard shifts Jeff (Michael Cera), encounters his boss William (Brian Tyree Henry), a womanizing police officer, Bill (Chris Evens), and his rookie female partner, Dawn (Bel Powley). Everything may begin banal and boring — not much happens in apartment lobbies in the middle of the night — but soon turns into a quiet but intense evening of ethical dilemmas, blackmail, perjury, and sexual assault.

The play asks several important questions about authority and truth, power and duty, right and wrong. Who are we supposed to protect? Who gets to decide when the rules apply? Are there times when we don’t need to follow the letter of the law?

Is William allowed to lie to the police to give his own brother an alibi? Should Dawn report Bill for having sex while on duty, even if she may lose her job? Does Bill get to sleep with Dawn in exchange for sticking up for her in a review hearing?

Amidst all these ethical quagmires is Jeff, sitting at his security desk. Perhaps the most central question of the play is what duty does Jeff have to tell the truth — about everything. Should he report William for lying, Bill for blackmailing and sexual harassment, Dawn for police brutality, or should he just keep quiet and do his own job?

The play may be from 2001, but the issues feel somehow more relevant now. It seems almost impossible that “Lobby Hero” is not a byproduct of #BlackLivesMatter and #MeToo. At the core of the piece are issues of racial profiling, police brutality, misuses of power, workplace sexual harassment, and rape. The fact that this play predates both recent movements, and yet still feels so accurate, proves how little progress has been made in the last seventeen years and how much work there is to be done.

Something about Longeran’s style is a bit awkward, a bit forced; it takes a little while for the actors and the audience to ease into it, but once they do it all clicks. Through some piece of thoughtful playwrighting it all works. He merges serious issues and biting comedy; he crafts quirky characters that are somehow annoying and yet deeply human and relatable. The text of the play does most of the work in making this production a success.

On the other hand, the director, Trip Cullman, does not seem to ever overcome the awkwardness. The blocking often felt very forced and stagey, with actors looking uncomfortable and unnatural. On the whole, Cullman did not chose to make and bold statements or choices, most tragically by not ending the play with a definitive statement about Jeff’s future. Will he always be “just a guy in a lobby” or will he finally leave and reach for something more meaningful?

David Rockwell designed the set, the lobby that Jeff never leaves, a solitary square that rotated unnecessarily around the stage. Overall this felt a bit gimicky, a slightly desperate attempt to make the play more dynamic, to provide a bit of action in an almost plotless play.

Despite the weak direction and spinning set, the cast was certainly endearing. Cera played Jeff very within his own acting style, but it was quite effective; he managed to find the comedy, the tragic longing, and the deep ethical confusion within the character. The other celebrity from the screen to appear in the play, Chris Evans, also surpassed expectations, although he had a much easier role, defined exclusively by misogyny and a mustache. Tyree gave a powerful performance, providing a deep critique about class and race in the justice system. Powley cames off as the least experienced of the four, but she managed to hold her own and very emotionally confronted sexual harassment and the threat of rape from Evan’s character, Bill. Together, the quartet of actors worked strongly together, although almost the entire play is various combinations of two-person scenes.

“Lobby Hero” is not a flashy play. Like so many other plays this season, it has some celebrities in it. But unlike many other shows currently running, “Lobby Hero” forces its audience to reevaluate their morals, to think back to all the ethics lessons they ever learned, to question their beliefs on race, class, duty, authority, the law, the police, and sexual assault; it makes you think. “Lobby Hero” may be from 2001, but a Broadway revival of it in 2018 — and one that feels equally relevant — is a wake up call: no more sleeping on the job, it is time to make some changes.

“Mamma Mia.” “Jersey Boys.” “American Idiot.” “On Your Feet.” “Beautiful.” (Not to mention, the upcoming Donna Summer musical, “Summer”). You know the type: a jukebox musical. When reading the previous titles and the phrase “jukebox musical” you either groaned and or cheered. This subgenre of musical theater is incredibly polarizing, people either love them or hate them. For the most part, traditional musical theater snobs loathe them, and diehard fans of the bands/artists go nuts for them.

The same can be said of Jimmy Buffett’s new musical (I never thought I would write those words), “Escape to Margaritaville,” now playing at the Marquis Theatre. Never have I felt so out of my element as I did while watching this musical — it felt like I was in a different country, like the musical was in another language. The audience was entirely made up of Jimmy Buffett fans, or “Parrotheads” as they call themselves, who knew the words to every song.

Not only did they know the words, but they sang along (loudly). They knew some choreography. They knew several call and responses, like when to scream “salt.” I’m still not entirely sure what was going on. Many even came in costume, complete with Hawaiian shirts and leis. It’s hard to imagine, but these Parrotheads seemed more enthusiastic than ABBA lovers at “Mamma Mia,” or the dancing Este-fans at the Marquis Theatre’s previous tenet, “On Your Feet.”

The very loosely formed plot of the musical follows the soon-to-be married Tammy (Lisa Howard) and the single scientist Rachel (Alison Luff) on a tropical vacation where they meet and of course fall in love with the bartender, Brick (Eric Petersen) and a guitar playing bar employee named Tully (Paul Alexander Nolan). Tully acts as our Jimmy Buffett stand-in, eventually signing a record deal, being discovered, and even winning a Grammy.

But certainly no one goes to see “Escape to Margaritaville” for the plot. Everyone is there to hear the songs they love. This is made most clear in the playbill, where all the songs are not listed by act, scene, or character, but simply alphabetically, basically just a list of Buffett’s greatest hits; it resembles a set list of a concert more than an outline for a musical. Which is telling, since “Escape to Margaritaville” often feels more like a concert than a musical.

But the relaxed, concert-like nature of the musical is not where the largest issues lie — after all, “Escape to Margaritaville” is advertised as “not just a musical, it’s a lifestyle.” The book of the musical by Greg Garcia and Mike O’Malley is certainly a corny mess. Throughout the show there are small, repetitious, and random references that only make sense later when you realize they were lifted from a verse of a song. Perhaps the worst example is when Tully says “I’m sad” and Brick replies, “want some cake?” which immediately segues into the lyric “nibblin’ on some sponge cake, watching the sun bake.”

None of the actors are safe from this hackneyed style of writing. To their credit, they all seem to be trying to make the best with what they have been given. That being said, no one stood out as exception or especially worthy of praise.

But by far the biggest problem in the piece comes in the form of Buffett’s lyrics, which to a non-Parrothead feel extremely dated, eerily reminiscent of the 1980s sexism that is no longer cute or acceptable. Throughout the musical, lyrics made fun of Mexico, disability, Spanish pronunciation, Judiasm, sexual assault, drug use, Caribbean cultures and dialects, vegetarians, and most obviously, alcoholism (and this is just a list of the most memorable problematic lyrics).

Unsurprisingly, the audience of Parrotheads are not concerned with the often offensive lyrics, and just go on loudly singing from their seats, frozen daiquiri in hand. It is also unsurprising that the audience has a very homogenous demographic: older white people. Jimmy Buffett’s sexism-enriched lyrics clearly do not appeal to a younger fan base, nor does it seem that he has garnered a new generation of devotees since his peak in the 80s and 90s.

As far as the whiteness of the audience, the musical even made a self-referential joke about the group Tully’s (aka Buffett’s) music appeals to most. His black male music producer says “a skinny guy in flips flops, playing acoustic guitar, singing about the beach — white people will love it.” Oddly, the audience found this hilarious, potentially unaware that their lack of diversity was being made fun of. The cast of the show was equally white, except for the hotel/bar owner Marley (Rema Webb) and her dishwasher Jamal (Andre War), both of whom had Caribbean dialect written in a broken English. The ensemble too was almost entirely white, except for a few token actors of color to give the piece a supposed diversity.

All this being said, it (sadly) does not matter that the musical is not well-written, has problematic lyrics, is very white, and has some horribly crafted jokes. “Escape to Margaritaville” is critic-proof; this musical has a very clear fan base, the Parrotheads, and they do not care if it is a quality piece of musical theater. After all, they are there for the experience, the “it’s 5 o’clock somewhere” lifestyle.

Joshua Harmon, who most recently captured the lonely gay experience in “Significant Other” now takes on the liberal obsession with student body diversity in his new play, “Admissions” at Lincoln Center. For anyone who has ever applied to a school or even seen one of those admissions brochures, this play will bring back some haunting memories. But this play goes beyond the glossy pictures of minority students or pie charts about what percent of the school’s population are students of color. Harmon takes us into the belly of the beast: a white admissions officer at an elite New England private school.

Sherri (Jessica Hecht) takes her job very seriously, and is incredibly proud of the fact that she has tripled the amount of minority students at Hillcrest since she began working there. She even lectures her coworker, Roberta (Ann McDonough) for not accurately representing the diversity of the school in her draft for the admissions magazine. But the family’s morals about race — their woke-ness if you will — is tested when the father, Bill (Andrew Garman), receives a promotion over a black teacher, and the son, Charlie (Ben Edelman), gets differed from Yale while his half-black best friend Perry is accepted.

Perry takes less AP courses than Charlie, did worse on his SATs, does not have a long resume of extracurriculars, and isn’t as good at basketball — and yet Perry got accepted and Charlie didn’t. Soon Charlie and his parents cannot help but question if it all came down to the part of the application where you check the box for what race you are.

Although both Sherri and Charlie begin the piece confident about their mission on diversity, once the Yale decision comes out, everything is put into question. Charlie goes on a rant about who “counts” as a person of color: Kim Kardashian? Penelope Cruz? Marion Cotillard? When does Asia not count? When does skintone not matter? When does an accent not mean anything?

Charlie’s rant is an amazing critique about the liberal conception of diversity and the somewhat tenuous definitions of what makes someone a person of color. Ben Edelman gives an extraordinary performance, perfectly encapsulating a privileged teenager who cannot reconcile his political ideas about race with his rejection from Yale.

But things get really interesting with Sherri, who is the center of the piece. Sherri represents the precise intersection of white guilt and white savior; she wields her power as an elite white woman to try to make her prep school more diverse. However, the audience is quick to learn that her politics are not perfect, and for her numbers and photographs are more important than the actual experiences of students of color. She constantly makes reference to a black alum who went to Harvard, then Harvard Law, then clerked for a Supreme court justice, ignoring that fact the while he was at the mostly white Hillcrest he was miserable. She yells at Roberta for not having enough “visibly minority” students in the catalog (although Perry is half black he looks white and therefore “doesn’t count”), eventually hand picking a group of three white, three black, two Asian, and two Latino students for Roberta to photograph.

Jessica Hecht helms the production, guiding us through the various ethical traps the family sets for themselves. Her performance is confident and powerful, portraying a helicopter parent with just the right amount of maternal overbearance. Although Sherri may have strong ideas about diversity, when it comes to her son and Yale, her politics fly out the window. The entire play is focused on her, so it is tempting to sympathize with her, but none of the characters can escape their own hypocrisy.

Roberta claims to “not see color” and thinks race doesn’t matter. Charlie thinks he deserves to go to Yale more than Perry. Bill has no qualms about taking a job from a black colleague or making choices for his son’s future. Perry’s mother, Ginnie (Sally Murphy) won’t shut up about “how white” the school is, never referencing the fact that she too is white. Sherri cares about diversity, but only a certain type, and only when it doesn’t hurt her son’s chances at going to a good college.

The supporting cast does an excellent job here, forcing the audience to question their own beliefs about race. McDonough is particularly comedic in her rendition of an older generation before diversity was the non-stop topic of admissions offices. Murphy too provides an excellent look at a “white mother of a black son,” full of all the pride and none of the consciousness.

Throughout the play, the morality of each character is tested; some come out firmer than ever in their staunch beliefs, but most are deeply shaken by the events, most of all Charlie. Just as Charlie is forced to reevaluate his ideas about race, diversity, admissions, and how he can personally affect change, so too is the audience. Although you may enter the theater knowing your stance on affirmative action and the college application process, by curtain call you probably will be struggling to decide how you feel.

On a final note, it is important to mention the demographic of the audience, those people sitting in the dark questioning their preconceived ideas about race. To borrow a not-exactly politically correct phrase from Sherri, there was not a single person in the audience who was “visibly black or Hispanic.” The voices of people of color were nonexistent in the play and were nonexistent in the audience. Although Harmon may have purposefully chosen to have “Admissions” be a piece where white people talk about and for people of color, I don’t believe he would have wanted his audience to be as white as his cast.

“King Lear” is one of those Shakespeare plays that you have probably seen too many times, right up there with “Macbeth” and “Hamlet.” What makes “King Lear” loveable for performers and audience members alike is its iconic moments: Lear dividing his kingdom, the massive storm, the blinding of Gloucester, the death of the sisters, and the mad king carrying on his dead daughter.

Though the play may have some incredible moments, the main reason it is a staple of many theatrical seasons is its starring role. King Lear is the role of a lifetime, and in this Royal Shakespeare Company production, Anthony Sher gives an iconic performance. He takes in every ounce of power and madness and insecurity and bellows it out, commanding the entire theater. Sher’s stage presence is unprecedented, whether he is on a platform screaming or curled in a ball whispering, he is captivating. The audience is in the palm of his hand the entire show.

What makes Sher so monarchical (pun intended) is perhaps his vocal technique. To play Lear, Sher speaks in such a horrifying guttural that it is impossible to listen to or look at anyone else. It is terrifying and painful and almost disgusting — in short, it is perfect for an aged, privileged, spoiled, senile king.

From the very start of the piece, Lear is set up to be our villain, a certainly unique and fresh take by Gregory Doran, the director. Usually the bastard Edmund is the central villain, destroying his brother Edgar’s life, seducing both Goneril and Regan, and ordering the murder of Cordelia and Lear. The aforementioned Goneril and Regan also usually provide some villainy by being unwelcoming hosts to their father and also gouging out Gloucester’s eyes, with the help of the Duke of Cornwall, or course.

But in this production, Edmund, Regan, and Goneril all seemed to have legitimate grievances. Edmund, played by the spectacular Paapa Essiedu, endears the audience to his plight as the unfairly rejected brother from the moment he steps on the stage. For once, he is not a villain, just someone with a gripe who wants to advance in the world. Essiedu is definitively the next strongest actor (after Sher), playing Edmund in way that has not been done before.

Similarly, Goneril and Regan, played by Nia Gwynne and Kelly Williams, are not the evil daughters you expected in a production of “King Lear.” Instead, they are two adult women dealing with their senile father and his unruly band of one hundred drunken nights he travels with.

Instead of those traditional villains, Mr. Doran has re-centered the production on Lear himself, not as a figure of sympathy, but as a personification of wrath. Here Lear is a raging tyrant, equally demanding and forceful. On the surface, this (re)interpretation of Shakespeare’s text is exciting and bold. However, as the tragedy gears towards a close, the directorial vision falls apart, completely unsupported by the text.

If Edmund isn’t a villain, why does he order the murder of Cordelia? Here he seemingly has no motivation, since he hasn’t shown a single evil streak throughout the production. Why do Goneril and Regan get so violent (their actions include blinding, poisoning, and suicide)? In the final portion of the show they transform from rightfully annoyed daughters into brutal and vicious assassins. Sadly, although Mr. Doran’s direction was fascinating in the first half of the show, his new spin could not be reconciled with the text of the second half, leaving the piece conflicted and unresolved.

Similarly, the design was somewhat disjointed, albeit beautiful. The costumes and set, both designed by Niki Turner, seemed to exist in two different worlds. Everyone wore mostly black, period-inspired clothes, gold jewelry, leather pieces, and fur. Overall it felt very neo-medieval, very Shakespeare meets a “Vogue” photoshoot. On the other hand, the set was made up of brick walls, a single tree, black metal tables, and a massive plexiglass cube which actors stood on top of and inside of.

To fill the mostly empty and cavernous set was a massive ensemble; the cast of this production totaled a staggering 46. A cast this large for a play (a Shakespeare play at that) is unprecedented, and quite frankly, unnecessary. That being said, the director made several interesting casting choices and used the ensemble in unexpected ways. Most noticeably, the ensemble often acted as homeless people, providing a grounding to the text, helping both the characters and the audience see that Lear’s actions affect other people and that there is a world outside of the castles and palaces.

Racially, the cast of the show was incredibly diverse. In a fascinating choice, the majority of the ensemble (who usually played servants, maids, messengers, soldiers, and homeless wanders) were played by people of color, making a very political statement. Cordelia (Mimi Ndiweni) and Edmund (Paapa Essiedu) were played by black actors, adding a level intensity to their roles within their respective families. The racial logic fell apart, however, with the Duke of Cornwall, Regan’s husband (James Clyde), who felt like the only role that had a supposedly “racially-neutral” casting.

Combined, the vaguely historical costumes, futurist set, reevaluation of who the villain is, and racial casting created an odd clash. Although it was aesthetically beautiful — the perfect image of how audiences want to see Shakespeare in 2018 — it seemed to lack coherence.

But this production was not about coherence, it instead chose to embrace the madness of the play and present a “King Lear” that was beautiful, intense, and felt new. It certainly delivers.

After “Ruined,” “The Trip to Bountiful,” “Romeo and Juliet” and last season’s “A Doll’s House, Part 2,” (not to mention three Tony nominations) the time has finally come for Condola Rashad to take center stage, to be a leading lady, to have all eyes on her. Broadway has been waiting far too long for this moment. Condola Rashad is a star, and now she is right where she belongs, at the center of Daniel Sullivan’s revival of “Saint Joan” at the Freidman Theatre, which opened on Wednesday.

George Bernard Shaw, who although long dead is lucky enough to have inspired two pieces currently on Broadway, wrote that in “Saint Joan” there are no villains; there is Joan the Maid and there is everyone else. This 1923 historical play concerns Joan of Arc, her attempts to help France with the Hundred Years War, and the Catholic Church’s eventual trial and execution of her for heresy. Thus, for most of the piece we are in the year 1429, exploring castles, battlegrounds, and churches.

Thankfully a sumptuous set by Scott Pask and transformative lighting by Justin Townsend made the piece feel chic, modern, and relevant. The space is framed with giant gold pipes, reminiscent of an inverted organ, which gave the world a Medieval tone without feeling like a stale period piece. That same cannot be said of Jane Greenwood’s costumes, which look like an overly colorful set of rented pieces from an old “Pippin” or “Once Upon this Mattress” production; a rare miss for such an iconic designer.

Despite the inconsistent design of the piece, Sullivan’s production was otherwise refined, choosing to focus more on the characters and the personal conflicts than on the confusing historical details (which include a disinherited French heir, a randomly powerful English duke, clergymen with complex titles, and a lot of talk about Burgundians). This approach strengthened the production overall, allowing the actors to shine and the audience to focus on character development instead of the progress of a complicated war.

Other than the magnificent Condola Rashad, the production was made up almost exclusively of men, playing powerful aristocrats, priests, soldiers, and monarchs fighting over whether Joan was a visionary or a lunatic. Patrick Page begins the piece (and the battle) as Robert de Baudricourt, the first man swayed into believing Joan and giving her men’s armor to wear.

Daniel Sunjata plays Dunois, an army commander who although reticent eventually becomes one of Joan’s fiercest advocates, letting her lead the army into a crucial victory at Orleans. Sunjata gives a touching performance seemingly deeply affected by Joan’s words.

Perhaps the most notable — an important — fan of Joan’s is heir to the throne, and eventual King Charles VII, played by the loveable Adam Candler-Berat. His interpretation of the Dauphin is childish, naive, and spoiled, but ready to lead his country and very open to the mysticism of Joan. Other than the stupendous Rashad, Berat is the next most praise worthy performance; he crafts a character that feels so complete, so unburdened by the complicated historical world of the play.

The opposite team is led by Jack Davenport who plays the Earl of Warwick, the English aristocrat who began the war against Joan, aided of course by the Bishop of Beauvais, Cauchon (played by Walter Bobbie). Sadly this pair of otherwise accomplished actors have two lengthy scenes without Joan. In this play, a scene without Joan is one without interest. But in this production, a scene without Condola Rashad is a scene not worth watching. Thus, the two long instances of scenes without her often drag, making the play feel rather endless, which is somewhat unfourtunate because it mars the performances of Davenport and Bobbie, who audiences will remember as the boring guys who talked while we waited for Rashad to come onstage again.

That being said, it is necessary to note that the play suffers from some minor pacing issues, which are the direct cause of Rashad’s extraordinary talent. When she is not onstage, the audience is (rightfully) unhappy, and each moment of stage time without her is merely a moment of distraction, waiting for her to make a glorious return.

In a magical realist epilogue, a post-execution Joan visits the now elderly King Charles VII’s dream, and is joined by Dunois, Warwick, Beauvais, and a man who gave her a cross made of sticks while she was being burned to death. While all snuggling in a bed, a message is delivered from the Vatican: 489 years after her death, Joan was made into a saint.

Just like her character, Condola Rashad has become a saint in this almighty production; “Saint Joan” is her apotheosis.

The Drama Desk Awards will be held at Town Hall on June 3rd, hosted by Michael Urie. The awards honor both Broadway and Off-Broadway productions performed throughout the season. This year Spongebob Squarepants, Mean Girls, and Carousel lead with the most nominations.

Here is the complete list of nominations:

Outstanding Play
Admissions
Mary Jane
Miles for Mary
People, Places and Things
School Girls, or, The African Mean Girls Play

Outstanding Musical
Desperate Measures
KPOP
Mean Girls
Old Stock: A Refugee Love Story
SpongeBob SquarePants

Outstanding Revival of a Play
Angels in America
Hindle Wakes
In the Blood
Three Tall Women
Travesties

Outstanding Revival of a Musical
Amerike — The Golden Land
Carousel
My Fair Lady
Once On This Island
Pacific Overtures

Outstanding Actor in a Play
Johnny Flynn, Hangmen
Andrew Garfield, Angels in America
Tom Hollander, Travesties
James McArdle, Angels in America
Paul Sparks, At Home at the Zoo

Outstanding Actress in a Play
Carrie Coon, Mary Jane
Denise Gough, People, Places & Things
Glenda Jackson, Three Tall Women
Laurie Metcalf, Three Tall Women
Billie Piper, Yerma

Outstanding Actor in a Musical
Jelani Alladin, Frozen
Harry Hadden-Paton, My Fair Lady
Joshua Henry, Carousel
Evan Ruggiero, Bastard Jones
Ethan Slater, SpongeBob SquarePants

Outstanding Actress in a Musical
Gizel Jiménez, Miss You Like Hell
LaChanze, Summer: The Donna Summer Musical
Jessie Mueller, Carousel
Ashley Park, KPOP
Daphne Rubin-Vega, Miss You Like Hell

Outstanding Featured Actor in a Play
Anthony Boyle, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Ben Edelman, Admissions
Brian Tyree Henry, Lobby Hero
Nathan Lane, Angels in America
David Morse, The Iceman Cometh
Gregg Mozgala, Cost of Living

Outstanding Featured Actress in a Play
Jocelyn Bioh, In the Blood
Jamie Brewer, Amy and the Orphans
Barbara Marten, People, Places & Things
Deirdre O’Connell, Fulfillment Center
Constance Shulman, Bobbie Clearly

Outstanding Featured Actor in a Musical
Damon Daunno, The Lucky Ones
Alexander Gemignani, Carousel
Grey Henson, Mean Girls
Gavin Lee, SpongeBob SquarePants
Tony Yazbeck, Prince of Broadway

Outstanding Featured Actress in a Musical
Lindsay Mendez, Carousel
Kenita R. Miller, Once on This Island
Ashley Park, Mean Girls
Diana Rigg, My Fair Lady
Kate Rockwell, Mean Girls

Outstanding Director of a Play
Marianne Elliott, Angels in America
Jeremy Herrin, People, Places & Things
Joe Mantello, Three Tall Women
Lila Neugebauer, Miles for Mary
Simon Stone, Yerma
John Tiffany, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

Outstanding Director of a Musical
Christian Barry, Old Stock: A Refugee Love Story
Teddy Bergman, KPOP
Jack O’Brien, Carousel
Tina Landau, SpongeBob SquarePants
Bartlett Sher, My Fair Lady

The LaDuca Award for Outstanding Choreography
Camille A. Brown, Once on This Island
Christopher Gattelli, SpongeBob SquarePants
Casey Nicholaw, Mean Girls
Justin Peck, Carousel
Nejla Yatkin, The Boy Who Danced on Air

Outstanding Music
The Bengsons, The Lucky Ones
Ben Caplan, Christian Barry, Old Stock: A Refugee Love Story
David Friedman, Desperate Measures
Erin McKeown, Miss You Like Hell
Helen Park, Max Vernon, KPOP

Outstanding Lyrics
Nell Benjamin, Mean Girls
Quiara Alegría Hudes/Erin McKeown, Miss You Like Hell
Peter Kellogg, Desperate Measures
Helen Park, Max Vernon, KPOP

Outstanding Book of a Musical
Tina Fey, Mean Girls
Kyle Jarrow, SpongeBob Squarepants
Peter Kellogg, Desperate Measures
Hannah Moscovitch, Old Stock: A Refugee Love Story

Outstanding Orchestrations
Tom Kitt, SpongeBob SquarePants
Annmarie Milazzo and Michael Starobin (John Bertles and Bash the Trash, found instrument design), Once on This Island
Charlie Rosen, Erin McKeown, Miss You Like Hell
Jonathan Tunick, Pacific Overtures
Jonathan Tunick, Carousel

Outstanding Music in a Play
Imogen Heap, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Justin Hicks, Mlima’s Tale
Amatus Karim-Ali, The Homecoming Queen
Justin Levine, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Adrian Sutton, Angels in America

The Hudson Scenic Studio Award for Outstanding Set Design of a Play
Miriam Buether, Three Tall Women
Bunny Christie, People, Places & Things
Lizzie Clachan, Yerma
Maruti Evans, Kill Move Paradise
Louisa Thompson, In the Blood

Outstanding Set Design for a Musical
Louisa Adamson, Christian Barry, Old Stock: A Refugee Love Story
Beowulf Boritt, Prince of Broadway
Dane Laffrey, Once on This Island
Santo Loquasto, Carousel
David Zinn, SpongeBob SquarePants

Outstanding Costume Design for a Play
Dede M. Ayite, School Girls; Or, The African Mean Girls Play
Jonathan Fensom, Farinelli and the King
Katrina Lindsay, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Ann Roth, Three Tall Women
Emilio Sosa, Venus

Outstanding Costume Design for a Musical
Gregg Barnes, Mean Girls
Clint Ramos, Once on This Island
David Zinn, SpongeBob SquarePants
Catherine Zuber, My Fair Lady
Dede M. Ayite, Bella: An American Tall Tale

Outstanding Lighting Design for a Play
Neil Austin, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Natasha Chivers, 1984
Alan C. Edwards, Kill Move Paradise
Paul Gallo, Three Tall Women
Paul Russell, Farinelli and the King

Outstanding Lighting Design for a Musical
Louisa Adamson, Christian Barry, Old Stock: A Refugee Love Story
Amith Chandrashaker, The Lucky Ones
Jules Fisher, Peggy Eisenhauer, Once on This Island
Brian MacDevitt, Carousel
Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew, KPOP

Outstanding Projection Design
David Bengali, Van Gogh’s Ear
Andrezj Goulding, People, Places & Things
Peter Nigrini, SpongeBob SquarePants
Finn Ross and Adam Young, Mean Girls
Finn Ross and Ash J. Woodward, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

Outstanding Sound Design in a Play
Brendan Aanes, Balls
Gareth Fry, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Tom Gibbons, 1984
Tom Gibbons, People, Places & Things
Stefan Gregory, Yerma
Palmer Hefferan, Today is My Birthday

Outstanding Sound Design in a Musical
Kai Harada, The Band’s Visit
Scott Lehrer, Carousel
Will Pickens, KPOP
Dan Moses Schreier, Pacific Overtures

Outstanding Wig and Hair
Carole Hancock, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Campbell Young Associates, Farinelli and the King
Cookie Jordan, School Girls;, or The African Mean Girls Play
Charles G. LaPointe, SpongeBob SquarePants
Josh Marquette, Mean Girls

Outstanding Solo Performance
Billy Crudup, Harry Clarke
David Greenspan, Strange Interlude
Jon Levin, A Hunger Artist
Lesli Margherita, Who’s Holiday!
Sophie Melville, Iphigenia in Splott

The Chase Award for Unique Theatrical Experience
Derren Brown: Secret
Master
Say Something Bunny!

Outstanding Puppet Design
Finn Caldwell, Nick Barnes, Angels in America
Michael Curry, Frozen
Charlie Kanev, Sarah Nolan, and Jonathan Levin, A Hunger Artist
Vandy Wood, The Artificial Jungle

Outstanding Fight Choreography
J. David Brimmer, Is God Is
Steve Rankin, Carousel
Unkle Dave’s Fight House, Oedipus El Rey

Special Awards
School Girls; Or, the African Mean Girls Play — Outstanding Ensemble
Presented to Nabiyah Be, MaameYaa Boafo, Paige Gilbert, Zainab Jah, Nike Kadri, Abena Mensah-Bonsu, Mirirai Sithole, and Myra Lucretia Taylor
Juan Castano — Sam Norkin Award
For varied performances in Oedipus El Rey, A Parallelogram, and Transfers
Sean Carvajal and Edi Gathegi — Special Award
For last-minute entrances into Signature Theatre’s Jesus Hopped the A Train

Productions with multiple nominations:
Carousel -12
SpongeBob SquarePants — 11
Mean Girls — 10
Harry Potter and the Cursed Child — 8
Angels in America — 7
KPOP — 7
Once on This Island — 7
People, Places & Things — 7
Three Tall Women — 7
Old Stock: A Refugee Love Story — 6
Miss You Like Hell — 5
My Fair Lady — 5
Desperate Measures — 4
Yerma — 4
Farinelli and the King — 3
In the Blood — 3
The Lucky Ones — 3
Pacific Overtures — 3
School Girls; Or, The African Mean Girls Play — 3
1984–2
Admissions — 2
Frozen — 2
A Hunger Artist — 2
Kill Move Paradise — 2
Mary Jane — 2
Miles for Mary — 2
Prince of Broadway — 2