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      Review: Off Broadway, Jim Parsons Meets the Small Bang Theory

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      In a revival of the 2002 musical “A Man of No Importance,” the star of “The Big Bang Theory” achieves something more delicate.You couldn’t have predicted from “Ragtime,” which ran on Broadway for two years in the late 1990s, that its authors would follow up with something as vastly different as “A Man of No Importance.” Yet that’s what Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens, who wrote the songs, and Terrence McNally, who wrote the book, did in 2002. Their second musical is as quiet, delicate and Irish as its predecessor is loud, meaty and American. Instead of bleating big themes, it ekes feeling from repression in telling the story of a character who does the same.He is Alfie Byrne, a Dublin bus conductor and closeted gay man who in 1964 finds some measure of fulfillment — or at least companionship — among St. Imelda’s Players, the awful amateur theatrical group whose shows he directs in the social hall of his parish church. With Oscar Wilde as his spirit guide, he makes his small-scale art into a life that’s more beautiful than the one the real world gave him.Likewise the lovely revival that opened on Sunday at Classic Stage Company, starring Jim Parsons and directed by John Doyle. Trimmer than the very fine original production at Lincoln Center Theater, and staged on a minimal set (also by Doyle) consisting of a few chairs, mirrors and statuary Marys, it’s a good fit for material that was always modest. Twenty years on, it’s also a good fit for a moment in which closet stories are beginning to lose their currency.In that sense it’s an advantage that Parsons, at 49, is younger by nearly a decade than both Roger Rees, who played Alfie in 2002, and Albert Finney, who originated the role in the 1994 film on which the musical is based. With his confident voice, unlined face and television polish, he never seems hopeless or, viewed from our time, too old for a new start. And after 12 seasons of “The Big Bang Theory,” he knows not only what marks to hit but exactly how to hit them.A.J. Shively, left, as Robbie Fay and Parsons as Alfie Byrne in the musical “A Man Of No Importance” at the Classic Stage Company.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAs such, Alfie’s problem is not so much “the love that dare not speak its name” as the personality that won’t shut up. He’s a classic, bossy theatrical misfit, accepted (if only he believed it) at least as much for his oddness as despite it. On the bus each day, he reads poetry to delighted riders, and tries to bring culture even to the handsome young driver he calls, after Wilde’s reckless lover, Bosie — as if the name Robbie Fay weren’t sufficient.At home, though, Alfie locks his bedroom door against the curious eyes of his older sister, Lily, who somehow has not guessed his secret. Lily (Mare Winningham) hopes to marry their neighbor, the butcher Carney (Thom Sesma), but will not do so until her brother is settled. So when Alfie takes an interest in Adele Rice, a new passenger on his bus, Lily tries to push them together, not understanding that Alfie’s interest is purely artistic. He wants Adele (Shereen Ahmed) to play the lead in his new St. Imelda’s production, Wilde’s highly inappropriate “Salome,” with its forbidden lust and “immodest dancing.”The film tells this story straightforwardly if ploddingly, as if it were a bus route. We know from the start that Carney, being a butcher and also a ham, will undermine “Salome,” in which he can only play a minor role. And we know that Adele is not the virginal princess Alfie imagines, nor Robbie fated to be the kissable Jokanaan. The musical paradoxically produces a more streamlined and unpredictable experience by giving it a more ornate frame: McNally’s book imagines Alfie’s story as a production put on by his St. Imelda Players.This allows Flaherty and Ahrens to customize song forms to suit each moment and explore genres that fit the milieu — cue the fiddle and uilleann pipes. Though this occasionally produces some stage Irish mush, it also produces some first-rate musical storytelling in numbers like “Books,” in which Lily and Carney sniff at Alfie’s suspicious habits, and “The Streets of Dublin,” in which Robbie (A.J. Shively) drags Alfie out for a high-spirited night on the town.In allowing for shorter scenes and simpler transitions. McNally’s frame is a perfect match for Doyle’s essentialist aesthetic, in which the first question asked seems to be: How little do we need? (Call it his Small Bang Theory.) As in his 2013 “Passion,” he has shrunk the cast by about a quarter (in this case, from 17 to 13) and the running time similarly. As in his Tony-winning revival of “The Color Purple,” he abjures almost all specific signs of setting. And as in so much of what he directs, particularly his cycle of Stephen Sondheim musicals, he has reduced the band by having some actors play instruments; new orchestrations by Bruce Coughlin mean you never feel cheated.Few shows benefit from all these deprivations at once, and “A Man of No Importance” does suffer slightly in its final third as it begins to reveal too much skeleton. Even if you know the story you may wonder which character an actor is now playing, or whether you’re in the church or the pub. You may also feel the lack of choreography, especially with the fine dancer Shively in the cast.But for the most part, this being a show about the possibilities of even the most minimal stage, a minimal stage makes an apt enough setting, and the style enhances more than it squelches. Doyle even manages the equivalent of a hat trick, when an actor plays a tambourine that, in turn, plays a plate.At their best, Doyle’s small triumphs of restraint and husbandry add up to something large. “The Cuddles Mary Gave,” a song whose title seems to promise sickly sweetness, becomes powerfully specific as performed across the grain, without sentimentality, by William Youmans. Nor have I heard a sound so mournful as the one produced in the show’s saddest moment by the accordion: a wheeze of despair.And with actors of such ample imagination — including Winningham, so vinegary as Lily, and Ahmed so exquisitely reticent as Adele — the circumstances informing trenchant performances need not be visible to the audience. They need only be palpable. The rest is up to us.In other words, Doyle won’t hand us emotion dead on a plate, or even on a tambourine. That approach has earned him lots of fans and detractors since his New York breakthrough with “Sweeney Todd” in 2005; they are often the same people. It’s fitting that as he steps down after six years as Classic Stage’s artistic director, he does so with such a rich example of what he brings to the table — or, rather, takes away from it. I hope he keeps doing so. To adapt a great Sondheim lyric: Give us less to see.A Man of No ImportanceThrough Dec. 18 at Classic Stage Company, Manhattan; classicstage.org. Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes. More

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      The ‘Kimberly Akimbo’ Creative Team on Assembling Their Quirky Puzzle

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      The toilets wouldn’t stop flushing. The playwright David Lindsay-Abaire was trying to talk about his collaboration with the composer Jeanine Tesori and the director Jessica Stone on their musical, “Kimberly Akimbo,” and in the background, the janitorial staff members of the Booth Theater were cleaning the bathrooms.“I said to Jeanine,” he said, trying to keep a straight face as another toilet flushed, “I wish we could write a musical the way that I write a play, where there’s not a team of other people involved.”Another flush.Tesori stood up, muttering, “I have to close that door myself.” Which prompted Stone to bend over in laughter.“Thank you,” Stone said, as Tesori returned to her seat in the basement lounge of the Broadway theater.“It is on theme,” Lindsay-Abaire said. “Nothing better.”“Isn’t that enough?” Tesori responded. “Doesn’t that say everything?”For the creative team behind “Kimberly Akimbo,” the chaotic energy of this morning fit the musical itself, whose concept seems — on the page, at least — too off-kilter for a shiny Broadway marquee.Victoria Clark, center, as Kimberly with Alli Mauzey, foreground left, and Steven Boyer, foreground right, who play her parents.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesA musical dramedy set in New Jersey, “Kimberly Akimbo” tells the story of a teenager named Kimberly (played by Victoria Clark) who has a disease akin to progeria, which causes her to age at a hyperspeed. At 16, she looks 72.It’s far from a tragedy, though, thanks in part to the quirky characters: Kimberly’s pregnant mother is a hypochondriac; her best friend, Seth, loves anagrams and plays the tuba; and her aunt is trying to persuade her to commit some white-collar crimes. Through it all, even though people with her condition have an average life expectancy of 16 years, Kimberly learns to be young and unafraid after years of taking on adult responsibilities.“I love stories that weave together pain, and hilarity and absurdity. And that, to me, is David and Jeanine, and their work and their sensibility,” said Stone, 52, who has been attached to the musical since 2019. “It’s exhilarating.”When the show premiered Off Broadway last winter at Atlantic Theater Company, Jesse Green, the chief theater critic for The New York Times, called it a “funny and moving new musical.” Led by the producer David Stone (no relation to the director), the show sold out its run, and a Broadway transfer was quickly announced. (As the producer of musicals like “Next to Normal” and “If/Then,” Stone is no stranger to an out-of-the-box concept.) Now “Kimberly Akimbo” is in previews, and scheduled to open on Nov. 10.Tesori, 60, and Lindsay-Abaire, 52, first worked together on “Shrek the Musical” in 2008, and for the past seven years, transforming Lindsay-Abaire’s 2001 play “Kimberly Akimbo” into a musical was their passion project. The focus and intimacy of that partnership, he said, made the musical “the easiest thing I’ve ever written.”He compares writing a musical to working on a puzzle. (He loves puzzles and word games; the show’s title is an anagram.) “It is like dumping a bunch of puzzle pieces onto the table,” he said. “It’s hard when you say, ‘Hey, 20 people, come on in and let’s do this puzzle together.’ But if it’s just the two of you — ‘I have this corner’; ‘I’m working on the edges; let’s get to the middle’ — then it comes into focus. And seldom does that happen with a musical.”Stone, Tesori and Lindsay-Abaire gathered to discuss their process on the first day of previews. These are edited excerpts from the discussion.Clark and Justin Cooley, who are reprising their roles on Broadway. “The two of them give each other really beautiful gifts,” the show’s director said of the actors.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesDavid, what were the instincts that led you to write “Kimberly Akimbo” 20 years ago?DAVID LINDSAY-ABAIRE I was writing what I hoped would be a great part for an actress that I loved and adored: Marylouise Burke [who starred in the play Off Broadway in 2001]. I wrote a part for her because she and now Vicki [Victoria Clark] have such an amazing young spirit about them, even though they’re actresses of a certain age. And so I wanted to write an amazing part for a great actor. But I also wanted to explore mortality and what it means to truly live in the moment. What I probably didn’t know at the time was that I was also writing about my family in many ways, and things that I was afraid of and angry about.How do you mean?LINDSAY-ABAIRE Uh oh …JEANINE TESORI I don’t know if you can open that door.LINDSAY-ABAIRE Look, I love my family very much. And they messed me up just enough for this play to be what it is. [Tesori pats Lindsay-Abaire’s arm, remarking, “Wow.”] I don’t feel messed up by them. But I feel messed up just enough to be the writer and be the person that I am.TESORI That’s what makes you a storyteller. Healthy enough to write, damaged enough to want to write.The play didn’t have monologues for Kimberly, but it did have monologues for her parents. Was creating the musical a way to create more interiority for her?LINDSAY-ABAIRE During “Shrek,” I said to Jeanine, “I would love to write a musical the way that I write a play, where it would just be us figuring it out for as long as we needed to figure it out.” And then Jeanine said, “Well, how about one of your plays? I think ‘Kimberly Akimbo’ could be a musical. It has a really deep, complicated inner life. Those characters want to sing to me, their emotions are deep. And I like how funny it is.”By making it a musical, we had a way into the characters that the play did not have. We could crack open Kimberly’s heart, and let her express all of those feelings and emotions and fears and desires and longings, that are only subtext in the play.TESORI I feel it in my body when something sings, I can’t put it into words. And these characters, they reminded me of people I grew up with, they reminded me of people in my family — and not always people who are center stage, especially in a musical.Jessica, how did you direct Victoria Clark, who is 63, and Justin Cooley, who plays her boyfriend, Seth, who’s now 19? They come across as being the same age.STONE: It actually is thrilling because you have two people on opposite ends of the spectrum. The skill that Vicki brings to the process of exploration can’t be created in Justin. I watch him being elevated by the discipline and skill, and her surgical approach to figuring out Kim and mapping out Kim’s world and behavior. He starts to sort of mimic that work ethic and he starts to explore and basically copy that approach.His complete honesty, tabula rasa, complete truthful, youthful, wide-eyed innocence and sweetness — it’s really hard to create that once you’ve lived, you know, 35 more years. So the fact that she’s in his orbit, this beautiful, innocent, youthful presence also washes over her. So the two of them give each other really beautiful gifts.Speaking of teenagers, there’s a duality to the show. It’s about youthfulness, but it’s also about mortality. As experienced artists, how do you keep that youthful tone intact?TESORI It’s part of being of a certain age, and what we have all experienced at this age. I’m older than these two. We share the same sensibility of humor. But there’s also this sense, like, we’ve been through some [expletive]. And our friends have been through some [expletive], and we’ve lost people. And if you’re lucky, you’re able to bring both of those things to an audience so they can recognize it. Because I think sometimes because musicals have artifice, they can seem artificial. And they’re not. They are the greatest art form.STONE We’re all parents. And we all have been close observers to adolescents. That adds a little bit to the glaze of authenticity, and a little understanding of the behavior, needs and pitfalls.LINDSAY-ABAIRE The first time in, I was really accessing my teenage years and stuff about my parents and my family, but really homing in on the Seth character who is very close to me in very many ways. I’m now the father of teenage boys, and I just had access to the parents in a way that I didn’t have when I wrote it. I understand much more acutely the fear of losing a child. The whole dynamics between parents and teenagers that I was sort of making up 20 years ago, now I know it deeply and personally. And I also got the chance to put all of my high school friends up onstage. Those four kids in the show choir were not in the play.“If you can have a gaggle of teenagers skipping out of the show, and then this grumpy old man with tears in his eyes — that’s victory,” said Lindsay-Abaire, right.Victor Llorente for The New York TimesDo you imagine this as the kind of show that parents can take their teens to?STONE ​​My kids, 13 and 15, were here, and they loved it. Because I’m so invested in the parent side of the story, and in the mortality side of the story, and in the how-do-you-choose-to-live-your-remaining-days-on-this-planet side of the story, I forget about the delight, the tremendous luxury of hope and time, that teens have. And that enables so much in terms of imagination and promise. [My sons] think it’s hilarious. They love Deborah [Kimberly’s aunt, played by Bonnie Milligan], because they love a rule breaker. They also thought it was really moving. They were really intrigued by the relationship between Kim and Seth, not because it’s a traditional love story. But they really responded to that deep friendship.LINDSAY-ABAIRE Nothing has made me happier than seeing gaggles of teenagers really love the show. But at the same time, at the end of the Atlantic run, a grumpy old man was walking up the aisle and he looked at me and I thought he’s going to criticize the piece. And he said, “I just want you to know that I’m going to go out and live life more fully tomorrow.” My eyes welled up and then he was gone into the night. If you can have a gaggle of teenagers skipping out of the show, and then this grumpy old man with tears in his eyes — that’s victory.In the musical, Kimberly’s aunt sings an upbeat number about how to commit mail fraud. Jeanine, how did you write a catchy song about white collar crime?TESORI [laughs] It’s exposition, which is generally not great for a song. But then I thought, “Oh, if we make it really sort of furtive, and it’s got a little bit of a muted guitar thing, and it’s sort of like Peggy Lee, but maybe on a very, very off day …” It’s having it be fun, so that she can convince the teens to be part of it.LINDSAY-ABAIRE It’s a teaching song. We were talking about “The Rain in Spain” [from “My Fair Lady”], but it’s about check washing. It’s just messed up enough. More

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      ‘Hamlet’ Review: A Dirt-Eating Danish Prince, Born to Be Wild

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      Thomas Ostermeier’s production of “Hamlet,” presented as part of the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Next Wave festival, unleashes more madness than what Shakespeare has already offered.“Hamlet” is a work of excesses: an endlessly philosophizing hero, a play within a play and enough casualties that by the end the stage looks like a horror film, scattered with corpses.And yet it is still possible to out-“Hamlet” “Hamlet,” to create a production with even more spilled blood, more graveyard dirt and more madness than what Shakespeare has already offered. For better or for worse, this is Thomas Ostermeier’s production of “Hamlet” for the Schaubühne Berlin, presented as part of the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Next Wave festival: the Danish prince unleashed, like a rabid dog, onto the stage.At the start of the production, running in BAM’s Harvey Theater through Nov. 5, a few figures gather, Last Supper-style, at a long table with a white tablecloth. Their expressions are unclear: They’re not only behind a curtain, but also sitting far from us, upstage. Downstage is a plot of dirt, where a coffin is being lowered into the earth. They’re at a wedding table for Hamlet’s mother Gertrude’s marriage to his uncle Claudius. Hamlet (an unpredictable Lars Eidinger), crouched in a corner, begins his “to be or not to be” speech (yes, a whole two acts early), speaking into a camera he holds close to his face, which is projected large onto the curtain for us to see. (The video design is by Sébastien Dupouey.) A gravedigger fights a coffin — the coffin of the late King Hamlet, who died under mysterious circumstances — into the ground in a long sequence of daffy physical comedy set to a swelling barrage of percussion, strings and guitar. Gertrude, in a white cropped shirt and white slacks, wears a long white veil and belly dances seductively for her brother-in-law-turned-husband.In other words, the performance has begun.Thomas Bading as Claudius and Jenny König as Gertrude kissing at their wedding table, with Eidinger’s Hamlet capturing the moment, which is projected onto a curtain.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesThis German-language production with supertitles (the German translation is by Marius von Mayenburg) was first staged in 2008 and has toured internationally since then. It takes a Brechtian approach, self-consciously nodding to the performance as a performance. In that way it’s not unlike, say, James Ijames’s thrilling “Fat Ham,” which ran at the Public Theater this spring — shows that push back against both the text and the fourth wall.This “Hamlet,” however, has neither the same poetry nor grace, which isn’t to say it’s unsuccessful. The production exhibits cleverness in its puckishly untamed and untidy circus act, but tips over into excess as it tries to make its spectacle of spit, dirt and trash into a masticated art piece with Shakespeare’s great work as its fodder.The cast of characters is condensed; a six-person ensemble plays 11 parts (everyone except Eidinger takes on two roles). The pairings are cleverly thought through: It makes sense that the actors who play Horatio (Damir Avdic), Hamlet’s closest confidante, and Laertes (Konrad Singer), Hamlet’s peer, also play the prince’s treacherous friends Guildenstern and Rosencrantz, offering opposing views of what Hamlet’s relationships look like. Claudius (Thomas Bading, on this evening) crumbles in a heap on his wedding table, in a drunken stupor, but then rises, as if from the sleep of death, as the late king’s ghost.Robert Beyer takes on two fools: Osric and Polonius. (He delivers an especially fine performance of the inane royal adviser Polonius, not as the clown productions often make him to be, but as a more realistic yet still comical daft uncle who isn’t as wise as he lets on.) Jenny König is left with the play’s troubled women — Queen Gertrude and the ill-fated Ophelia — though they are at least as ill-served in this production as in so many others. The fact that they are conflated here wisely calls to Hamlet’s psychosexual fixation on his mother’s eroticism and Ophelia’s innocence. But these female characters are also reduced to a seductress tongue-wrestling with her dead husband’s brother and a tragic nymphet whose arc is cut even shorter in this adaptation of the story; Ophelia is barely introduced before she is killed off.In the middle of a flurry of action, like a force of nature, is Eidinger, who retches, eats dirt, face-plants into the ground, tumbles, break-dances, twitches, hoots, spasms, shrieks, cross-dresses and wanders into the audience as he pleases. He throws empty drink cans, kicks around plates and flatware, sprays a hose of water across the stage (audience members in the first few rows, beware the splash zone), takes breaks to drop contemporary music references and pop culture jokes in English and to D.J. Though this production relentlessly trims down the text, it’s bloated back up with improv that steers the show to a nearly three-hour running time.König and Robert Beyer as Polonius in the play, which is presented in German and features a muddy graveyard increasingly littered with empty beer cans and other detritus.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAnd what we get is a show stripped of its pathos; Eidinger’s performance is as vibrant as it is off-putting and as aloof and performative as it is fascinating. This “Hamlet” is no longer a classical Greek-style tragedy of vengeance, mortality and fate but rather a tragedy of a man undone by his own solipsism.In “Hamlet” we see a production that sometimes succumbs to one of the frequent pitfalls of experimental takes on classic works: It feels more attuned to inherited ideas about and traditions of the play as opposed to being attuned to the material itself.Ostermeier’s direction is confrontational, from Eidinger’s interactions with the audience to the occasionally piercing, cinematic music (Nils Ostendorf). The lighting design, by Erich Schneider, takes us from horror to comedy, and occasionally targets the audience when Ostermeier starts to lean against the fourth wall. A nimbly choreographed fencing match (choreography by René Lay) so convincingly recalls the casually deadly jabs you’d see from two boxers in a street fight.One of my many favorite lines in the play is when Hamlet tells Rosencrantz and Guildenstern that he sees his country as a prison. Rosencrantz challenges him, suggesting that he is trapped in his own mind. Hamlet replies, “I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself a king of infinite space.” In Ostermeier and Eidinger’s “Hamlet,” the characters, setting and details become less important; the whole world we have is the chaotic space between Hamlet’s ears. Though being trapped in Prince Hamlet’s mind offers us a new perspective that some will find freeing, others will see only bedlam and madness.HamletThrough Nov. 5 at the Harvey Theater, Brooklyn Academy of Music, Brooklyn; bam.org. Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes. More

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      Seymour Press, a Behind-the-Scenes Fixture on Broadway, Dies at 98

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      He started playing in Broadway orchestras in 1957, and eventually he began recruiting those orchestras as well.Seymour Press, who for more than 60 years served an important role — though one that went largely unnoticed by audiences — in dozens of Broadway and Off Broadway shows, first as a member of pit orchestras and later as the person who assembled those orchestras, died on Monday at an assisted living facility in Hackettstown, N.J. He was 98.His daughter, Gwynn Press Anidjar, said the cause was advanced myelofibrosis, a bone marrow cancer.Mr. Press, known as Red because he had red hair in his younger days, played multiple instruments, including saxophone; he first sat in a Broadway pit for the 1958 musical “The Body Beautiful,” one of the first shows to feature music by Jerry Bock and lyrics by Sheldon Harnick. In the mid-1970s he began taking on the demanding job of musical coordinator (also called music contractor), although he continued playing in orchestras well into the 2000s.His primary duty as coordinator was hiring orchestras for shows. But he also scheduled rehearsals, made sure musicians were paid, handled issues between their union and management, and ironed out all manner of problems.“The guy who waves his arm is the music,” he said in a 2018 episode of the podcast “Behind the Curtain: Broadway’s Living Legends,” referring to the conductor. “Everything else that has to do with the orchestra is me.”For 28 years, he filled that role for the Encores! revival series at New York City Center; he announced his retirement only this spring. He was also working on Broadway until just a few months ago, receiving the coordinator credit on the current productions of “The Music Man,” “Funny Girl” and “Into the Woods,” all of which opened this year.In 2007, he received a Tony Honor for Excellence in Theater, which recognizes outstanding achievement in theater by those who do not qualify in a traditional Tony Award category.Mr. Press in 2016. He was the music coordinator for the Encores! series at New York City Center for 28 years before announcing his retirement this year.Walter McBride/Getty ImagesSeymour Press was born on Feb. 26, 1924, in the Bronx. His mother, Rose (Guttman) Press, was a homemaker, and his father, Arthur, was a salesman and “a frustrated musician,” as Seymour Press put it in the podcast. His father’s cousin, he said, played the saxophone and introduced him to the instrument; Mr. Press later added flute, clarinet, piccolo and others to his arsenal.Mr. Press graduated from DeWitt Clinton High School in the Bronx. In his second year at what is now the City University of New York, he enlisted in the Army. He had expected to be drafted, he said, so when he saw a poster recruiting for the Army band, he bit.He spent his service playing for troops as they shipped out of Newport News, Va. It was, he said, both a safe assignment and good music training.“I went in an amateur saxophone player,” he said on the podcast. “I came out a professional.”After mustering out in 1946, he toured with various bands, small-time ones at first and eventually those of Tommy Dorsey and Benny Goodman. But by the mid-1950s, big-band music was fading; “the musical style I thought would last my lifetime was gone,” he said. He married Nona Gwynn Holcomb in 1957 and began looking to trade life on the road for something at least somewhat more stable.“The Body Beautiful” didn’t last long, but in 1959, Mr. Press found himself in the pit for a show that did: the original production of “Gypsy.”“Not only was it the first hit show I had,” he said, but it was also “the first time I could look at myself and say, ‘I’m going to be working 52 weeks a year,’ which was a big thing.”Mr. Press’s wife died in 2021. In addition to his daughter, he is survived by a stepson, Edward Finkenberg, and two grandchildren.In his decades as a pit player and musical coordinator, Mr. Press saw lots of change: orchestra sizes and instrumentation varied, the pits moved (often to create more seats), and sound engineering became more sophisticated. He also fielded his share of odd requests. On the podcast, he recalled being asked to recruit a trio for one production: cello, violin, piano. But, the director told him, not just any players would do.“He wanted one to be tall and thin, one to be overweight and one to be very short,” Mr. Press said. “That was a problem.”Mr. Press got an insider’s view of countless shows, but his tastes weren’t infallible. He remembered working on “Annie 2: Miss Hannigan’s Revenge,” a sequel to the 1977 smash “Annie.” He first heard it at a backers’ audition.“I left that and I called my wife and said, ‘It’s going to be a giant hit,’” he said.Audiences at the pre-Broadway tryout in Washington in 1990 disagreed.“I watched them walk out — in throngs, not just four people, not just five people,” he recalled, adding, “We opened in Washington and closed in Washington.” More

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      Interview: Diving into The Drought

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      Playwright Nina Atesh and Director Chloe Cattin talk about The Drought

      A psychological horror in an original setting with a tight, smart script and performances to match.

      That’s how we described The Drought in our review when it played at King’s Head Theatre. With the play now returning to Old Red Lion Theatre as part of Grimfest, we caught up with its writer Nina Atesh and director Chloe Cattin to talk about life on the seabed.

      Tell us a little about The Drought, what can audiences expect?

      Nina: The Drought is a story set on a Victorian British Navy ship, several months into an unexpected disaster where all the ocean all over the world has disappeared. The crew have left their ship, and the only two people remaining aboard are the Captain and his steward. I would say don’t expect your typical horror story. There are no jump scares – not a lot of graphic gore. What I tried to create with this play is a sense of desperation, a chilling dread in the wake of something terrible and unimaginable happening… and what that does to the human mind. Essentially it is a story about madness – but there are other major themes in there of colonialism, hierarchy and servitude. 

      Chloe: Nina has written a beautiful play – even on the second run of it, it still brings up questions and interpretations in the rehearsal room. I think audiences can be expected to be confronted with their own humanity. The pandemic is still quite recent – our lives were disrupted for a time and we entered into our own modes of survival. That’s where we meet the Captain and his Steward – in survival mode. They cling and claw onto what is familiar in the midst of this unspeakable happening.

      How did you feel the run at King’s Head theatre last month went? Reviews, including ours, were quite positive, you must have been pleased? Have you made (m)any changes for this second run?

      Nina: This is my first ever play – so to have it debut at the King’s Head was just an incredible experience! It’s a really hard time for Fringe theatre at the moment, so the support I had from the theatre and the audiences was so great. The feedback was really positive, I was certainly surprised considering we didn’t have the chance for previews or any R&D’s in the lead up. I just kind of threw the production in at the deep end! But I had faith in the story, and a lot of faith in the performers, who are all incredible – so I think it worked out well for us. As a writer, you’re always thinking of tweaks, or what could be done differently. I watched the show every night, and I knew we had another run coming up in November so I came away sort of buzzing to get back into the script again. There hasn’t been a great deal of time to make too many drastic changes, and you’re always limited by what you can do on a Fringe stage(!) but there are certainly some things I took away from that first run that we’re trying to inject into the upcoming one. 

      Chloe: Alex McCarthy and Nina did such a wonderful job for the run at the King’s Head. Alex – for his beautiful direction and sound design and Nina for her incredible script. It’s exciting to have another chance to work on the play in a different space because every performance is site specific in a way. It’s not a question of transposing the play from one venue to another but looking at what challenges and opportunities the space yields. So whilst the script has had a few tweaks, the staging has changed quite a bit.
      The King’s Head Theatre was laid out in the traverse so the actors could be seen by the audience from all angles – there was nowhere to hide! The two sides of the audience were seeing two sides of the story. We performed on the set of another show as well so had a few elements we had to work with at the last minute.
      In the Old Red Lion, there is a more traditional, end on, configuration and the space is ours for our entire run so we can really settle in! It feels more intimate and confrontational, almost claustrophobic. Walking up the stairs up to the theatre feels like a ship. It feels a bit more immersive.

      Chloe, you are taking over as director in Old Red Lion, have the cast been welcoming or have you had to stamp your authority down immediately? Tell us a little about first working on the show in King’s Head and now moving to directing it in ORL? 

      They’re such a great group, it’s lovely to be working together again after the first run!

      The creative team made it clear early on that I shouldn’t have a carbon copy of the show at the Old Red Lion but to use the second run as an opportunity to take on the feedback from the first run, and have another iteration of the show. Alex said he wasn’t ‘precious’ about the work but just to make it even better. Which is quite a unique position to be in as an associate director because usually the originating artist is very specific about what they want. 

      As the stage manager for the King’s Head run, I got to know the production on a technical level – doing pre-show checks, writing lists, giving the actors calls, operating sound and lights and generally holding the space for the cast and creative team. Whilst operating the sound and lights, you get a feel for how the piece breathes and moves with the performers. As a director I’ve still got all those elements in my head but I’m now in a position to influence the piece with feedback from the first iteration and my own understanding of the play.

      Nina, take us a step further back in the development of the show: how did Andrew Callaghan, Jack Flammiger and Caleb O’Brien come together to become your naval trio?

      We did group auditions and funnily enough, Andrew, Jack and Caleb all auditioned together. For me it was a thing of just seeing these performers instantly gel, and thinking to myself almost as soon as they walked through the door – oh my god. This is our cast. These are my characters! There was an instant dynamic there, and they brought things to the characters I hadn’t even thought of whilst writing it. I think that’s what you look for in a performer – someone who can see things between the lines. It was a fascinating process for me, someone who’s come from a performance background myself and being on the other side of it was just so thrilling. I remember loving that day – it was such a rewarding part of the process. 

      Listening to our recent podcast where we chatted with Nina and a couple of the cast, it sounded like The Drought became a very collaborative process once the script met the rehearsal room, can you expand a little on that?

      Nina: Yes, it really was. Again it’s that thing of the actors finding so much in these characters, that you don’t want, or even need, to push them back and say – no he wouldn’t do that, or say that – because they understand the story and their characters so well, that it’s easy to make those edits in the rehearsal room because you know they work and make sense. I remember Andrew (who plays the Captain) coming in on one of our first rehearsals with this whole fleshed out background for the character, with a family and a career history and everything! And I just thought wow… this guy knows the character even better than I do!
      What was great about the creative process too, is that the team weren’t afraid to question things in the script, maybe even things about the characters or their intentions that I had overlooked. So it was a really fun process. I think writers can have a tendency to be quite insular – can get stuck away in their own little world and then just shield themselves from the rehearsal room. I’m the complete opposite of that – I want to see it grow and take a shape. I think it makes you realise things about your own writing that you never would’ve thought of before. The Drought is one of those stories with lots of unreliable narrators… there’s a lot of deception – who is telling the truth? So it’s really important for a play like this to be worked through in a way that is collaborative.

      Chloe: And it’s still a very collaborative process going into the Old Red Lion! It’s my favourite way to work as a theatre maker! Everyone takes an active part in the making of the work, the work is never done. The actors know these characters so well and are constantly interrogating the work. Nina’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the Navy is indispensable in staging the work too. It really is a very collaborative process. 

      You are back in rehearsals this week; we imagine it’s a somewhat different process when everyone knows each other already and has at least some familiarity with the script. How has it been going?

      Nina: Honestly I couldn’t wait to get back into rehearsals, not just to get stuck into the play again, but also because I genuinely just enjoy everyone’s company! It sounds cliche – but they really are just a lovely bunch to work with. I think there’s been enough time since the first run that it feels a bit fresh, but not too long that it’s been easy to get back into the swing of it and immerse ourselves back into this world. It’s a different space so it’s interesting to think of the set up of the cabin (which is where the whole play takes place) and think about new things we can do with the set with the extra time we have.
      Chloe: There’s a shorthand not only with the group but with the play itself so we have been able to dive right back in! It’s so rare to get the opportunity to work on a play again, to look at it with all the experience of the first run but with the novelty of a new space. 

      Moving on from The Drought, what is next for you both and for Pither Productions? Is there anything coming up you can tell us about?

      Nina: The British Navy and Victorian expeditions really are enveloping my life at the moment! There’s some very very brief and early stage discussions about possibly adapting The Drought for TV but that really is dependent on some higher up the food chain powers that be! For now I’m just really enjoying it being on stage, and would love to take the show on tour next year if we can get the funding for it. But away from dried out earth and hairy sea captains… I’d love to bring more horror on to the stage. I’m really keen to promote more of these chilling, atmospheric tales that can have such an impact in small intimate venues like fringe theatres – and not just for the Halloween season(!) So I plan on spending this winter putting pen to paper again and maybe writing something new. So watch this space… 😉 

      Chloe: I’ve got a busy and varied season of work coming up! After The Drought, I am directing a rehearsed reading of The Prophet of Monto by JP Murphy which we have just cast. Then I’m directing a Christmas show Deck the Stalls, an anti-panto written by Lydia Brickland, for a mini London tour in December. I’m also prepping for Dead Positive by Hannah Kennedy which has a run in February next year. We’ve also just finished casting it so it’s wonderful to have it slowly come together.

      Our thanks to Nina and Chloe for taking a break from rehearsals to chat with us. All photo credits: Bethany Monk-Lane 

      The Drought plays at Old Red Lion Theatre from 1 – 4 November . Tickets and further information can be found here. More

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      ‘Walking With Ghosts’ Review: Gabriel Byrne Roams His Past

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      The Irish actor’s one-man show on Broadway delves into painful and playful memories alike. He even imitates the oddballs of his Dublin boyhood.The Irish actor Gabriel Byrne has a genius for listening. On the HBO show “In Treatment,” playing a psychologist wrestling with his own internal conflicts, he spent minutes at a time in silence, as tides of concern and compassion flowed and ebbed across his handsome, craggy face. But “Walking With Ghosts,” his autobiographical one-man show at the Music Box Theater, directed by Lonny Price, finds him alone onstage, within a series of retreating golden frames. And so Byrne, with no one to listen to, kindles into speech.The show is drawn, often verbatim, from Byrne’s recent memoir of the same name. Slipping back and forth in time, the book traces the 72-year-old actor’s life from boyhood on the rural outskirts of Dublin to his eventual success. The wispy show, by contrast, follows a strict chronology, but even here Byrne favors association over causality, image over argument — offering a slide show of the mind, with little relation between and among the anecdotes. He claims to feel like “an intruder in my own past. Emigrant, immigrant, exile.” Yet his recollections are vivid and immediate. At times the form echoes Wordsworth’s “The Prelude,” a catalog of experiences that will go on to shape the mature artist’s mind and soul.“Walking With Ghosts” has the texture of a vanity project. Nearly every autobiographical show does. And during a preview performance, the audience — “In Treatment” fans, perhaps, or devotees of Byrne’s 1995 film “The Usual Suspects” — rewarded that vanity, laughing at jokes before Byrne delivered the punch lines, sighing sympathetically at the sad parts. But Byrne is a serious writer, rendering memory and image in the energetic vernacular of his childhood: “slingeing along,” “stravaging,” “gobdaw.” And he is a serious actor, too, which eases the self-indulgence. The script, while often mournful, allows him to show a playful side and a gift, neglected in Hollywood, for physical comedy. In one sequence, he imitates the oddballs of his boyhood. In another, he shows how the various actors in the amateur theater troupe he joined take their bows. Who wouldn’t want to spend a clinical hour with this man? Or two, plus intermission.And yet, the transition from page to stage feels undermotivated, incomplete. The lively language shifts easily enough from prose to monologue, and Byrne — with his wide, serious face, his bright, worried eyes, his voice like the growl of a polite bear — is compulsively watchable. What the show lacks (and this is true of the memoir, as well) is a sense of why he’s examining his life now. In public. Why would a man lay himself bare like this, on Broadway? It’s hard to discern because the show all but ignores the latter part of his life and acting career.“Walking With Ghosts” never provides satisfying answers, even as it keeps the focus relentlessly on Byrne, with little to distract from his performance. He wears the same clothes throughout — blue shirt, blue vest, blue blazer, gray slacks — and he sketches characters sparingly, with accents and funny voices kept to a minimum. Byrne, who last visited Broadway in 2016 with “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” appears at ease on the stage, bestriding it as easily as another man might stroll his own patio.Minimal set and lighting design, by Sinéad McKenna, keeps the focus on Byrne’s performance.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesFor better or worse, Price’s direction is mostly unfelt. Price has him move backward, beyond another arch or two, as he reaches into the past and forward as he nears the present day, finally sitting at the lip of the stage as he discusses his alcoholism and the sobriety he ultimately achieved, twentysome years ago. Otherwise the interventions are few.The design can also feel less than intentional, slapdash almost. As imagined by Sinéad McKenna, the set’s back wall is a mirror, riven with cracks. Apt enough. But the way in which the lights (McKenna) play against it turns Byrne’s shadow upside down, so that it lurks behind him, like a vampire bat. The sound and music, by Sinéad Diskin, come and go, sometimes offering a sense of place, at other times leaving place ambiguous, universal.Byrne unearths embarrassing memories and painful ones, like the death of a boyhood friend and an incident of predation by a priest at the seminary he attended for a few years. Later, he finds that the priest doesn’t remember him. Byrne, though he has blacked out some of what occurred, can’t forget it. But in general, he seems to have had that rare thing for an artist — a happy childhood, loved by parents who loved each other. He is elegiac in recalling a celebration at the Guinness brewery, his grandmother’s love of the movies.Whether discussing good memories or bad ones, the show rarely draws connections — the kinds a clinician might encourage — between the boy Byrne was and the actor he became. In fairness, neither does “The Prelude.” At times, Byrne suggests some internal restlessness and malleability, an inability to settle himself to any particular practice or trade, which may have fitted him for acting. (With the priesthood barred, he rapidly cycled through stints as a plumber, a dishwasher and a toilet attendant.) But aside from one comic story about scenery chewing — and scenery breaking — on an early television play, he never discusses his practice or art. The boy and the professional man seem to exist separately, not continuously.The show seems to conclude with a kind of resignation and acceptance, that if the people of his past are dead now, they persist within him. How those ghosts have made him and shape him and haunt his work still? That remains unspoken.Walking With GhostsThrough Dec. 30 at the Music Box Theater, Manhattan; gabrielbyrneonbroadway.com. Running time: 2 hours 15 minutes. More

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      In a Marathon of One-Act Plays, Boundaries Are Pushed and Pulled

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      Ensemble Studio Theater’s 38th Marathon of One-Act Plays showcases what can be accomplished in short-form productions, and how, in some cases, they hem ideas in.In Harron Atkins’s multigenerational saga “Still…,” artistic ambitions rub up against personal relationships. Careers wax and wane. A couple forms, bickers, ends — and may or may not be reborn on different terms. We even hear exquisite renditions of “Doo Wop (That Thing)” and “Valerie.”All of this in only 40 minutes.The scope and length of “Still…” make it an outlier not just in Ensemble Studio Theater’s 38th Marathon of One-Act Plays, but in short-form theater in general, which tends to focus on economical vignettes and snapshots. Not here: Atkins follows Noah and Jeremy, starting with their meet-cute as tweens, then tracking them as young adults uploading songs on social media before they eventually make moves in the music industry, and going all the way to their reminiscing — but also looking ahead — when they are in their 60s. Much of the time is spent with the young-adult versions of Jeremy (Eric R. Williams) and Noah (Deandre Sevon) as their friendship morphs into love, which in turn becomes strained when Noah’s career takes off while Jeremy’s stalls.At times it feels as if we are watching a live pitch for a movie or television series, a connection Atkins does not shy away from with a joke about the TV show “Empire.” (Referring to a character played by Taraji P. Henson, Jeremy asks Noah, “Did you think I was about to roll in there causing a scene like Cookie Lyon?”) But “Still…,” directed by Cameron Knight, also functions on its own terms and has a genuine breadth that works within the boundaries of its current format.Atkins’s piece closes Series A, part one of this year’s two-part marathon, which is resuming for the first time since 2019. The theater marathon features a lineup of 11 plays — 10 in person and an extra one, presented with Perseverance Theater out of Juneau, Alaska, available via streaming — by artists who are Black, Indigenous or people of color. The playwright Mike Lew (“Teenage Dick”) and the writer-director Colette Robert (“Behind the Sheet”) curated the project, and their efforts pay off most in Series A, which is not only superior to Series B but also to the other Ensemble Studio Theater marathons I have attended in the past. (This year’s marathon runs through Nov. 13.)At their best, the works in the first series introduce distinctive writers who make me crave more. One of them is Dominic Colón, whose “Prospect Ave or the Miseducation of Juni Rodriguez” had already been performed, beginning in 2020, as part of “The M.T.A. Radio Plays,” an audio anthology from Rattlestick Theater. It’s a pleasure to revisit the lovely chance meeting of Juni (Justin Rodriguez) and Macho (Ed Ventura) on a 2 train, when an overheard phone conversation leads to something more direct and, maybe, more real. Bonus points for an excellent Foot Locker joke and the apropos use of McDonald’s takeout.From left, Brenda Crawley, Cristina Pitter and Denise Manning in Vivian J.O. Barnes’s “Intro To.” Carol Rosegg“Intro To,” by Vivian J.O. Barnes (“Duchess! Duchess! Duchess!”), also boasts a superb use of language — florid, funny, and suggestive in every sense of the word — which is especially fitting for a piece set during a class where erotic writing is being taught. With the instructor delayed, Kara (the Off Off Broadway darling Cristina Pitter) takes charge and leads the participants in readings of their stories. The shy Shanice (Denise Manning), a biology student, has come up with a surprisingly evocative tale, but it’s when the older Mary (Brenda Crawley) steps up that the play takes a turn for the weird — halfway between heavy-breathing sensuality and body horror.Another pleasure to be found in “Intro To,” which is directed by Keenan Tyler Oliphant, is Manning’s terrific comic performance, driven by precision timing and constant inventiveness. She makes the most of the material, then fills the silences with a hilariously fidgety presence. Other superlative turns can be found in the Series B closer, “blooms,” by a.k. payne. This evocative slice of life about a pair of lovers, played with rare warmth by Alisha Espinosa and Kai Heath, takes place in the 10 minutes before the grocery store that employs them opens. Decisions must be made, and payne sketches the situation with tenderness and sympathetic humor.Fernando Gonzalez, left, and Will Dagger in Keiko Green’s “Prepared.”Carol RoseggAnother fine performance lurks in Series B’s “Prepared,” by Keiko Green, in which Will Dagger portrays a Boy Scout trying to survive the apocalypse with what’s left of his troop. Unfortunately, unlike the aforementioned cast members, Dagger must make the most of a rickety piece that tries way too hard for whimsy and is burdened by the tiresome monologues that the Scoutmaster (Fernando Gonzalez) delivers on a radio. As short as it is, the play feels padded, a problem that also afflicts Bleu Beckford-Burrell’s “Tr@k Grls (pt1),” which runs in circles. Since the play is about two teenagers training for the track team, this might be pushing form and function a little too far.Goldie E. Patrick’s “Breath of Life: a Choreoplay of Black Love,” directed by Jonathan McCrory and also featured in Series B, is trickier to appraise. It begins with a suspenseful urgency suffused by pervasive, realistic dread. It’s 2020 and the asthmatic Drew (Biko Eisen-Martin) finds himself in the middle of a Black Lives Matter demonstration; his partner, Toni (Ashley Bufkin), is becoming increasingly panicky because she can’t reach him. Patrick skillfully builds tension as Drew, fearing both police violence and catching Covid, works his way through the throngs. About two-thirds of the way through, the piece’s four actors start switching roles: for example, Margaret Odette portrays Drew after having played his friend Ayo — meaning that Toni and Drew are now both women. As the story continues, more permutations follow that might suggest that love is love is love. As for the “Choreoplay” subtitle, that remains confounding since there is no dancing.Dance does, however, play a big role in Vera Starbard’s streaming piece “Yan Tután,” set during a rehearsal by an Indigenous group in Alaska. The piece moves in a fairly herky-jerky manner until Ernestine Hayes enters and takes command as the elder Auntie Dolly, who recounts a harrowing story of cultural erasure with a happy epilogue. In a flash, we see all that was lost but also all that might be gained, and Starbard builds to an emotional finish that feels entirely earned. More

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      ‘Chekhov’s First Play’ Review: A Play-by-Play of the Play Within the Play

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      At Irish Arts Center, a wry, experimental iteration doesn’t do much to untangle the playwright’s unwieldy early work.If Anton Chekhov gave a name to the early play that surfaced years after his death, we don’t know what it was. This is part of the lore around that script, a relished detail in the story of its discovery: The title page was missing.The text is a mammoth, unwieldy beast, as playwrights’ juvenilia often is. Written when Chekhov was 18, or 19, or 20 — that fact is uncertain, too — it’s a stylistic mishmash that would run five or six hours, staged whole. But dramatists are drawn to it, in part because its elements are recognizable from his later work: the grand old estate, the money woes, the crowd of characters living restless, listless lives. And, of course, the gun.So adapters dive in, gather what they like and leave the rest. Michael Frayn called his rendition “Wild Honey.” David Hare’s is “Platonov,” which is the usual title for the play in English. And if you remember the amusing spectacle of Cate Blanchett, on Broadway nearly six years ago, removing her bra without taking off her dress — well, then you’ve seen the version known as “The Present,” by Andrew Upton.“Chekhov’s First Play,” at the Irish Arts Center in Hell’s Kitchen, is Bush Moukarzel and Ben Kidd’s wry, experimental iteration. Directed by the pair for Dead Centre — their Dublin company, familiar to New York audiences for the shows “Lippy” and “Hamnet” — it whittles Chekhov’s script down to a bare 70 minutes. That includes time for the location to shift from the late 19th-century Russian countryside to early 21st-century Dublin, and for a wrecking ball and a pneumatic drill to do some damage to Andrew Clancy’s scenery.Languor escalates into havoc for the characters — among them Anna (Ali White), the financially indebted owner of a house she can’t afford; her friend Triletsky (Paul Reid), who, like Chekhov, is a doctor with tuberculosis that he fails to diagnose; and Platonov, who arrives quite late, played by an audience member. Not that you are likely to care much about the characters, let alone the plot, as story is not exactly at the forefront here. The performance we watch is, in a sense, the play within the play.The whole experience is framed by Moukarzel’s running commentary, spoken into audience members’ ears via the headphones we wear throughout. (Sound design is by Jimmy Eadie and Kevin Gleeson.) It’s funny and often snarky; in one slightly crude line, Moukarzel sounds like a sports broadcaster giving a play-by-play of a rare Chekhov move. But Moukarzel also expounds on the themes of the play — like private property and the ravenousness of the rich — and laments that he cut so many characters from Chekhov’s script.“It was hard to decide what matters,” he says, “and who you can just throw away.”This, really, is the nub of “Chekhov’s First Play,” which had its premiere in 2015. That’s also when Irish artists were sifting through the human wreckage of the Celtic Tiger, an economic boom that collapsed into painful recession and left Ireland littered with abandoned housing developments.When these characters talk of cancer, it’s a metaphor for harmful, unchecked growth; their scorn for banks is rooted in reckless lending that ruined lives. Even Moukarzel and Kidd’s decision not to give the Chekhov play a proper title is significant — because of that other meaning of title: legal ownership. Historically, one name for the found Chekhov text has been “Play Without a Title.”Trouble is, the Celtic Tiger is so many crises removed from the present that it’s a little obscure, even at the Irish Arts Center, which co-commissioned the play.Similarly, the headphones would have been novel in 2015 — the year that downtown theatergoers experienced Anne Washburn’s “10 out of 12” that way, and the year before Simon McBurney’s “The Encounter” gobsmacked headphone-wearing Broadway audiences with its binaural sound design. Now, as a tool, they’re underwhelming.“Chekhov’s First Play” surely felt much bolder and fresher when it was new. But if you ask the question “Why this show now?” the answer seems to be that it was in the wings.Chekhov’s First PlayThrough Nov. 6 at the Irish Arts Center, Manhattan; irishartscenter.org. Running time: 1 hour 10 minutes. More