At last, a family that isn’t dysfunctional! A mother and father still romantically in love after 19 years of marriage. A footballl hero son who is their pride and joy.
As a passionate piece of 20th century history, it works. As a parable for the present day, not so much. Clifford Odets’ 1935 Depression-era play “Waiting for Lefty” is a rabble-rousing tirade against big business and its heavy-handed control of the “downtrodden masses.
It takes a super-savvy conductor to lead a group of four extraordinary non-musicians (plus one actual violin virtuoso) through the intricate movements of a play about a string quartet, and Simon Levy is that man.
Whole lotta screamin’ goin’ on, and it isn’t coming from the audience. In fact, the audience becomes quieter and quieter as the evening wears on. Not a good sign for what is supposed to be a rip-roaring comedy.
Seven people stranded in a stalled elevator makes an interesting premise for a play, wouldn’t you think? Well, almost. In “Elevator,” a new play written and directed by Michael Leoni, seven strangers, fine actors all, twiddle through the first hours of the ordeal without really making contact with
Bloody hell! No, that’s not an expletive, it’s a description of Martin McDonagh’s play “The Lieutenant of Inishmore,” now messing up the stage of the Mark Taper Forum.
At the same moment that Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan was being chided by the Republicans on the Senate Judiciary Committee for having clerked for the suddenly demonic “activist judge,” Thurgood Marshall, Marshall himself, in the person of actor Laurence Fishburne, was enthralling audiences in a
If you want to see acting at its very best, then you must see Michael McGee’s extraordinary performance at the SFS Theatre on Melrose. The play is “St.
Nestled at the foot of the George Washington Bridge, way past all the trendy restaurants and the streets of neatly gentrified brownstones, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, is the neighborhood called Washington Heights.
In 1965, Polish-Jewish novelist Jerzy Kosinski wrote “The Painted Bird,” a novel widely seen as an autobiography of his own tragic experiences during the Holocaust.
Five women sit in a row onstage and talk about being women. Their subjects range from buying a bra to their obsession with boots to the enduring chic of the color black.
Take a boy whose mother died when he was 12 and whose father abandoned them even before that, have him fixated on his own machismo, his seething anger, and Elvis Presley, and you have a roaring bully and an egocentric Presley-impersonator who claims he has a “spiritual connection” with the iconic si
