King Lear

As you probably already know, in the old days theatre critics wrote their reviews right after seeing the performances. In fact, as the shows ended, the critics ran up the aisles to maximize their writing time before deadline.

If it were still the old days, and if I had written my review of King Lear right after seeing it, I would have given it an excellent review. I was caught up in the glow of a Saturday night performance in good seats watching a play I love starring many actors I deeply admire.

But time has passed, and the glow is gone. I have had time to realize that, yeah, the sound and fury did signify nothing. Glenda Jackson was great fun, but, really, Lear shouldn't be great fun. I respected and enjoyed her performance, but she didn't touch me. I thought that Ruth Wilson was quite good, while Elizabeth Marvel was not at her best (far from her best, really). The third sister, Aisling O'Sullivan, shrieked her way through the show; she was terrible, but I appreciated her commitment. (And, yeah, the three sisters all had different accents; consistency was not a characteristic of this production.) Jayne Houdyshell and John Douglas Thompson were excellent, as Jayne Houdyshell and John Douglas Thompson always are.

But what play was everybody in? Some seemed to be in Shakespeare's actual Lear; some seemed to be in a star-turn Lear; some seemed to be in a satire of Lear; and still others seemed to be in a college version directed by a young person with more imagination than skill.

This is not the first time I've seen such a distinguished cast end up in such a jambalaya of a classic. In fact, the criticism "they all seemed like they were in different shows" has become common in recent years, particularly when the cast is star-studded.

Way back when, in the days of affordable Broadway, before directors decided that their ideas are more important than the playwrights', classics weren't events. Instead, they were solid productions, true to the writing, with cast members all in the same time period and speaking the same language. Many of these productions lacked big stars, but they were excellent. I miss them.

Wendy Caster
(3rd row center; $159)
Show-Score: 70

Liz's Top Ten of 2018

While I can't say I'll miss a whole lot of things that went down in 2018, it's worth acknowledging just how good the theater was, at least in these parts. Whereas past seasons have been pretty weak, I had a lot of trouble whittling my list down to a top ten this year. Some of the ones I finally settled on weren't so easy to call: many just narrowly edged out other excellent productions (sorry, Network, Our Lady of 121st Street, Soft Power and Boys in the Band, you all kicked truly impressive ass--but something or another ended up taking your spot. I'm sure you'll forgive me. Soft Power, I'm especially eager to see you again when you're just a teeny bit clearer on what you want to be).

Anyway, thanks for the memories, 2018, at least as far as escaping to the theater goes.

To a happier and more peaceful new year--and another strong season!

SpongeBob SquarePants
My initial review was tepid, I admit it. But then, (a) the first time I saw the show, I went alone on a Wednesday afternoon, I was prepared to dislike everything I saw, and I was seated behind four ladies who all promptly fell asleep, so I was not exactly in the ideal headspace. Also, and way more importantly, (b) I did not have my son and nephew with me. Watching the show through their (very wide) eyes a second time made me realize that I'd stumbled on the perfect way to see it. My concerns about corporate soullessness vanished, especially once my son started bouncing up and down in his seat and singing along with "Best Day Ever" (we shushed him, but we all had a great time. And he wasn't the only one singing, either). Inventive, sweet, well-meaning and probably deserving of a longer run than it got, the show may remain a corporate behemoth--but it's one that had a great deal of charm, love and magic to it.

The Ferryman
The Ferryman was structured almost exactly the way Butterworth's Jerusalem was: the same loose, sweeping, frequently comedic scenes that gradually cohered into something bigger, less naturalistic, more intensely explosive--replete, even, with the same sonic build in the last scenes. The pacing thus felt lifted from the earlier (and, to me, ever-so-slightly-better) epic. Still, truly, this is the only criticism I can come up with (though I'm sure that, were I Irish, I might find plenty more to gripe about). The Ferryman is gripping, beautifully acted (even by a baby, a bunny, and a goose, for chrissakes), and I felt like I knew and cared for its many characters by the end of a fleeting three-plus hours. Butterworth might work on changing up the pacing of his future plays, but then, he's written two sweeping, huge, long, extraordinary plays, and I have never written a damn scene in my life. He totally wins this round.