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    ‘No Good Things Dwell in the Flesh’ Review: Seeking a Successor

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    In her new play, Christina Masciotti turns a keen gaze on an immigrant tailor who has woven her business into the fabric of a neighborhood.Inside an unassuming storefront somewhere in Queens is a woman you wouldn’t notice if you saw her on the street. The drape, fit and feel of clothes are her passion and her living, but her own outfit is pallid, frumpy — a kind of camouflage.This is Agata, who at 64 is a self-taught tailor with the skill of an artist and an unforgiving eye. When her apprentice, Janice, shows off a photo of her new fiancé, the unevenness of his pant legs is a flagrant red flag.“If you’re ignorant on pants, you’ll be ignorant on wife,” says Agata, a brusque Russian immigrant who married the same man twice by the time she hit 30, divorced him for good, then built an independent life. “Why you wanna take care of this loser?”In Christina Masciotti’s keen and unflashy new play, “No Good Things Dwell in the Flesh,” Kellie Overbey gives a beautifully supple, subtle performance as Agata — a survivor whose wariness of men and their havoc is a defining stance, like her willingness to reject customers if she disagrees with their requests.In a dozen overworked years, she has had only one vacation. So maybe it’s weariness that makes her hope that the talented but unserious Janice (Carmen Zilles) — a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology who already has a business degree — could be a worthy successor, someone Agata might simply give her thriving business to.Directed by Rory McGregor at A.R.T./New York Theaters in Manhattan — with a bit less atmospheric poeticism than the script aims for — “No Good Things” is interested in what it means to lose a business that has quietly woven itself into the fabric of a neighborhood. That’s a resonant concern these days, as so many urban storefronts sit vacant.Masciotti, who based Agata on a tailor she met in Astoria, Queens, is also characteristically drawn here to the richness of language, Agata’s in particular. As when she tells Janice, “The heart shape is kind of my enemy shape.” Or when she orders Vlad (T. Ryder Smith), the handsome but unstable ex who tracks Agata down: “Stop creating all this situation.”The night I saw the show, much of the audience was so busy enjoying Smith’s performance that they didn’t notice the danger in Vlad — even though he tells Agata, moments into their reunion, that it takes just 30 seconds to knock a woman out. Agata, who cares about him still, wants only to keep her distance from him, and from men in general. Thus, I think, her dowdy get-up, hiding her form. (Costumes are by Johanna Pan.)That’s another thing this play is about, though: the siren song of men and coupledom. Agata has spent her whole adult life trying not to get shipwrecked on those rocks.No Good Things Dwell in the FleshThrough Sept. 23 at A.R.T./New York Theaters, Manhattan; christinamasciotti.com. Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes. More

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      Review: Despite the Primping, ‘The Cotillion’ Is Far From Flawless

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      Colette Robert’s play takes aim at antiquated rites of passage, and how they can promote classism, colorism and retrograde gender politics.The enterprising president of the Harriet Holland Social Club just wants the cotillion to be successful. The floral centerpieces are in place, a band is onstage, and the draperies are neatly tucked in and tied. The debutantes are primped and primed. By night’s end, she hopes, these young women will set off into their bright futures.Presented by New Georges and the Movement Theater Company at A.R.T./New York Theaters, “The Harriet Holland Social Club Presents the 84th Annual Star-Burst Cotillion in the Grand Ballroom of the Renaissance Hotel,” written and directed by Colette Robert, mimics the proceedings of debutante balls. There’s the introduction of the debutantes, the father-daughter dance and a multicourse dinner, but this cotillion — and the production — is far from flawless.Madam President (Akyiaa Wilson), a 2-D villain, encourages the debutantes (Claire Fort, Caturah Brown, Starr Kirkland, Aigner Mizzelle, Monique St. Cyr, Portland Thomas) to prioritize appearances and wealth, hurling critiques with no regard for them as individuals. The more enlightened vice president (a hilarious Jehan O. Young, with priceless passive-aggressive expressions and line reads) pushes for more substance, like community outreach, and less of the superficial focus on style and status.The script clearly has something to say about these antiquated rites of passage. But Robert doesn’t go beyond the obvious: Instead of being a source of uplift and empowerment, the script says, Black debutante balls often promote classism, colorism and retrograde gender politics, like the objectification of Black women’s bodies. And yet, cotillions aren’t the source of the problem; they’re a symptom of a more nuanced social and cultural infrastructure. The play’s lack of deeper inquiry and character-building leaves us feeling unsated — even as the debutantes begin to question the whole affair.Structurally, the play never finds its footing. It mostly takes place in real time, but sometimes it veers off into a kind of choreopoem, with the girls speaking from the future, posing as if on an auction block or tearing off their dresses. And the uneven direction results in scenes in which the actors’ delivery is stilted — full of anticipatory pauses, not the naturalistic flow of conversation.More graceful is Teresa L. Williams’s set design, transforming the theater into a ballroom, and Stacey Derosier’s snazzy lighting, which creates a party atmosphere. And the fabulous Harriet Holland Social Club singers (Kayla Coleman, Cherrye J. Davis, Cristina Pitter, Montria Walker) give Marvelettes and Ronettes vibes, with their shimmery dresses (fantastic all-around costume design by Mika Eubanks) and choreography (nicHi douglas). The music (Dionne McClain-Freeney) expounds on the show’s themes via clever lyrics and a catchy score, played by the band on piano, upright bass and drums.It seems as if “The Cotillion” is trying to replicate what the writer Jocelyn Bioh did so well in “School Girls; or, the African Mean Girls Play,” which didn’t critique beauty pageants as much as the culture that created them.Robert’s show did inspire me to ask my mother about her cotillion. I was expecting embarrassment. “I enjoyed it,” she said. Her experience didn’t change her life for better or for worse. “The Cotillion” forgets: This is also just a party.The Harriet Holland Social Club Presents the 84th Annual Star-Burst Cotillion in the Grand Ballroom of the Renaissance HotelThrough May 27 at A.R.T./New York Theaters, Manhattan; newgeorges.org. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes. More

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      ‘Memorial’ Review: An American Story, Set in Stone

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      The national controversy surrounding Maya Lin’s design for the Vietnam War Memorial is the subject of Livian Yeh’s nimble, process-driven play.Maya Lin was still a college student when her design for the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was selected through an open-submission process. Built in 1982 on the National Mall in Washington, the memorial features a wide-angle pair of black granite walls engraved with the names of lost soldiers, and it descends below ground like a tomb. Opponents called it a monument to shame and defeat.The controversy surrounding its construction — veterans decrying Lin and her design, the congressional hearings that followed and the addition of a statue nearby depicting three soldiers as a compromise — is the subject of “Memorial,” a nimbly drawn and elegantly executed new play by Livian Yeh that opened on Sunday at the Mezzanine at A.R.T./New York Theaters.The winning design, a scrawl of black pastel that resembles a bat, represents a stark contrast from the Washington and Lincoln Monuments that dominate the National Mall, massive, gleaming-white shrines to America’s founding ideals. When Maya (Angel Lin) shares her proposed memorial with committee members, she describes it as a wound cut into the meadow between the two monuments, one that’s intended to inspire reflection — a fraught idea in those days, given that the subject of contemplation is the Vietnam War.Yeh’s retelling is fictionalized but includes some of the young artist’s real-life supporters as characters: Wolf Von Eckardt (Robert Meksin), an architecture critic who defends her in the press, and Hideo Sasaki (Glenn Kubota), a Japanese American architect, interned during World War II, who becomes a mentor to Maya, particularly after detractors start attacking her race (Ross Perot, a donor on the project, once called Lin an “egg roll”).In “Memorial,” Maya’s opposition takes the form of Colonel Becker (James Patrick Nelson), who spearheads funding for the project but eventually turns against her, and whom Yeh notes is an amalgam of veterans with objections to Lin’s design. Becker asks about Maya’s background upfront, ostensibly to ensure she can withstand national scrutiny. Though she tells him her parents fled Communist China and have no affiliation to the party, her heritage nonetheless becomes a target for racist backlash.Yeh imagines Maya as a headstrong idealist, committed above all to the purity of her design. And Angel Lin’s assured and anchoring performance toes a delicate line, presenting Maya as neither a babe in the woods nor a wunderkind fully prepared for the magnitude of her mission. There’s admirable strength to Maya’s convictions, and philosophical intrigue to her aesthetic arguments. But while the colonel’s side of their conflict is rooted in trauma and memory, Maya’s is purely theoretical. (It’s Maya’s mother, played by a wonderfully flinty Rachel Lu, whose back story illustrates the idea that a memorial ought to feel inclusive, recalling her sister’s — Maya’s aunt’s — design for a shrine to Communist China.)That Maya’s argument for her blueprint is conceptual instead of personal can make her seem as if she’s no more than the sum of her artistic principles, and less sympathetic than the colonel in making her case. Nor is there much talk of the social or political debates over the Vietnam War itself, which might have helped trace a throughline to the present, when U.S. military operations are more often addressed in public discourse with the kind of moral ambiguity Lin’s design confronts. Still, Yeh covers an extraordinary amount of ground in the 95-minute show, and has a draftsman’s keen eye for concision.The director Jeff Liu’s graceful staging, for the Pan Asian Repertory Theater, reflects Yeh’s focus on the rich potential of quietly expressive architecture. The sloped white panels of Sheryl Liu’s set suggest both a venerated graveyard and a row of blank canvases, and serve as a backdrop for evocative projections by Gregory Casparian and lighting by Victor En Yu Tan. The production’s attention to detail, including the impressively subtle 1980s costumes by Karen Boyer and scene-setting sound by Da Xu, lend texture and dimension to the largely process-driven plot.How a country chooses to remember is a clear indication of its values. So what does it say that Lin’s distinctly American success story isn’t more widely known? “Memorial” does for Lin’s legacy what she has striven to do in her work — invite people to consider uncomfortable truths.MemorialThrough Feb. 19 at A.R.T./New York Theaters, Manhattan; panasianrep.org. Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes. More

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      For ‘KPOP,’ a Broadway Transfer Is More Like a Reinvention

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      The show’s creative team talks about revamping the immersive Off Broadway hit so that it moves “around the audience” at Circle in the Square Theater.Back in 2017, the musical “KPOP” had the kind of Off Broadway premiere that showbiz dreams are made of. The buzz around the production — which had the rare distinction of being about a specifically Asian pop-music style and having a largely Asian creative team — was so intense that desperate New Yorkers were pleading for tickets to its sold-out run at the small A.R.T./New York Theaters in Midtown Manhattan.Talk of a Broadway transfer started quickly thereafter, but, for a variety of reasons including the pandemic, it took five years for “KPOP” to finally make the jump. Now, at long last, the show is in previews, with an opening night set for Nov. 20.The musical Broadway audiences will see, however, is a very different beast from the one that opened in 2017: This is not so much a transfer as a reinvention.The original Ars Nova production, presented with Ma-Yi Theater Company and Woodshed Collective, was an immersive spectacle in which audience members followed a bunch of artists from room to room on two floors, and discovered how the Korean music industry relentlessly drills its stars (called idols) into poptastic precision.None of the 41 Broadway theaters could accommodate this sort of staging. But at least the one the show finally grabbed, Circle in the Square Theater, has a unique asset: It’s in the round.“I like to say it’s the world’s smallest arena — it’s a postage stamp of Madison Square Garden,” the director, Teddy Bergman, said. “For a show that traffics in pop, that collective energy and that collective effervescence felt like something we could capture like lightning in a bottle.”To preserve the sense that the audience is getting behind-the-scenes insights, the book writer, Jason Kim, altered the framing device: The show is now set up like a mockumentary about an upcoming American tour for a K-pop entertainment company’s roster — the boy band F8, the girl group RTMIS and the solo singer MwE.“At Ars Nova, the audience moved around and in this production we’re very much trying to move the piece around the audience,” Kim said. “I think the spirit of the show has been preserved, although it is a different format, and we are trying to engage the audience in very much a different way. We loved that the new theater casts an extra member, which is the audience.”The show is now set up like a mockumentary about a K-pop label’s roster, which includes the boy band F8, the girl group RTMIS and the solo singer MwEF8.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesKevin Woo, center, in “KPOP,” now in previews at Circle in the Square Theater. There’s a “whole new appreciation and understanding and reception of this music in the States,” the show’s director said.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAnother reason for the transformation is the fact that the moment “KPOP” originally aimed to capture has changed dramatically. In 2017, most Americans had no knowledge of K-pop, save perhaps for the song “Gangnam Style,” by Psy. Nowadays, Korean acts like Stray Kids routinely top the U.S. music charts and in May a K-pop artist, AleXa, won NBC’s “American Song Contest” on behalf of Oklahoma, where she was raised.Over the past five years, Bergman said, “BTS happened and ushered in a whole new appreciation and understanding and reception of this music in the States.”He added: “We wanted to focus on what is the journey, the cost, the joy, the exhilaration, the sacrifice of these pathbreakers who are journeying into new territories and spreading this music. I didn’t have to come from a position of having to explain much, or really anything to the audience. It really freed us up to be able to dig deeper psychologically, emotionally.” (The show’s close relationship with South Korea means the deadly crowd surge in Seoul was deeply felt; the Broadway production made a curtain speech last weekend and had a moment of silence, and posted a statement on social media.)One beneficiary of this change in focus has been the character of MwE, played Off Broadway by Ashley Park and now portrayed by Luna, a South Korea-based actress and former member of the K-pop girl group f(x).“What I’m very excited about in this version is the examination of the female characters,” said Helen Park, who wrote the bilingual score with Max Vernon, and orchestrated and produced it for Broadway. “They all have different ambitions, different journeys, different histories, different characteristics. As an Asian woman, that’s something so special.”While MwE, only in her mid-20s, is already a battle-hardened music-industry vet, the new character of Brad is at the start of his idol career and struggling because he is being shunned by his F8 bandmates. Not only was he the last to join the band, but his being mixed race becomes a factor as well. The role had resonance for the actor playing him, Zachary Noah Piser, who has Chinese and Jewish roots: This spring he became the first Asian American actor to play the title role of “Dear Evan Hansen” full time on Broadway.“Brad’s whole situation is very kind of meta because it was very me — I was a newcomer to the Broadway production of ‘KPOP’ and he is the Asian white boy from Connecticut who gets plucked up and placed in this group,” Piser said in a video chat. Brad acts as an entry point into issues centering on identity — which were already present in the first version, but have since been retooled.“When we first started writing, the main idea behind the show was ‘How could K-pop cross over in America?’ — it’s what these Korean artists have to sacrifice in their authenticity in order to be palatable to an American market,” Vernon said on the phone. “Obviously K-pop crossed over, so we asked different questions, like, ‘What’s going on in these artists’ mental state behind the scenes? What kind of pressure is that exerting on their psyche, on their relationships with other people in their band?’”Luna, who got her start in K-pop before turning to musical theater in South Korea (starring in shows like “Legally Blonde,” for example), pointed out that “KPOP” nails the genre’s emphasis on rigorous training.“There are such detailed scenes that are really rooted in the reality of that world,” Luna said via an interpreter in a video conversation. “I feel that people who are actually K-pop singers or who are trainees will really relate. It also gives a sense of consolation for the immense amount of effort and hard work put into creating K-pop.”From left: Park, Kim, Weber, Bergman and Vernon.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesSUCH AN OVERHAUL of the show’s concept and characters also required a reshaping of the score, which The New York Times’s Ben Brantley described as being “as synthetically sweet and perversely addictive as the real thing” in his review. When asked about the balance between old and new songs, the creative team agreed that it was about half and half — “maybe more new than old,” Park said.She and Vernon also had to reflect the changes in the genre at large: The acts that were popular when they started working on the show, back in 2014, are different from the current ones, and fans were sure to notice dated references.“We were responding to Exo, 2NE1, Girls’ Generation, Psy, Big Bang, but K-pop music changes every three to four years so it would be like doing a show called ‘Pop’ and all the music sounds like Britney rather than Billie Eilish or whatever the great artists are that you’re listening to right now,” Vernon said on the phone. “Sometimes by the time musicals are on Broadway, it feels like they’re lagging 15 years behind the culture — we did not want that.”Similarly, the choreographer Jennifer Weber, who is also handling the Max Martin jukebox musical “& Juliet,” had to work within the specific parameters of K-pop dancing. Key elements are point moves, which are the visual answers to the songs’ hooks (one of the most famous remains Psy’s horse-riding gimmick in “Gangnam Style”).And because members of a group trade vocal lines at a quick pace, careful integration is needed to make the choreography work. “You have to almost break it down mathematically about who’s singing at what time,” Weber said on the phone. “You need to constantly be revealing who’s singing, so that person needs to pop out of the formation for their line — and that line could be as little as two bars.”Another way to assure that the show recreates the wondrous, kinetic excitement the best K-pop acts generate was to hire performers who had spent time in the trenches and could share their experience: In addition to Luna, the cast includes BoHyung, a former member of the girl group Spica; Min, formerly of Miss A; and Kevin Woo, once in U-KISS.“A lot of my questions in the first weeks were like, ‘How do you breathe? How do you execute this incredibly intricate choreography?’” Piser said. “The biggest response I got from the K-pop idols in our show was, ‘You’ve got to be patient, you’ve got to be good to yourself and you’ve got to trust the process.’”With “KPOP” now on Broadway, its creators are aware that the show is not just going up against other musicals but against actual K-pop artists — and this time again, the intimacy of Circle in the Square could come through.“We’re competing with Blackpink and BTS,” Bergman said, laughing, “but I don’t know where else you’re going to see BTS with 600 other people. Unless you’re Jeff Bezos or something.” More

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      ‘Chushingura — 47 Ronin’ Review: A Sprawling Tale of Loyalty

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      The palace intrigue behind a mythic battle from 18th-century Japan is the subject of this bilingual play in Manhattan.There is no getting around it: This show is far from perfect. Actually, it might be far from a conventional definition of good. The storytelling is erratic, and so is some of the acting; the production values are minimal.Yet during the vast majority of “Chushingura — 47 Ronin,” I was engrossed in the action, eager to see what was going to happen next. It did not even matter that I knew what was in store, having seen three film versions of the basic plot, including the Kenji Mizoguchi classic “The 47 Ronin,” from 1941. More celebrated plays have not exerted that kind of primal pull on me: Sometimes theater can be so elementally simple that it boils down to the basic enjoyment of a good yarn.And this one, about a band of warriors’ vengeful quest, is among the best of all time. The show, at A.R.T./New York Theaters, is a retelling of an event from 18th-century Japan that has spawned an impressively large number of movies (including one surreal misfire from 2013 starring Keanu Reeves) as well as TV series, artworks and comic books. (“Chushingura” is an umbrella term for the works inspired by the so-called Ako incident.)Now it’s the turn of the upstart New York company Amaterasu Za, which produces bilingual works rooted in Japanese sources and art forms. The show’s writer and director, Ako Dachs, also pops up at regular intervals as a narrator in English; the rest of the text is in Japanese, with simultaneous translation projected in supertitles whose synchronization can be haphazard. (The multitasking Dachs also did the period costumes and leads Amaterasu Za.)The tale is set in motion when, as so often happens, someone finally loses patience. Lord Kira (Hiroko Yonekura) is a scoundrel who, on a fateful day at Edo castle, taunts Lord Asano (Yasu Suzuki) one time too many. Asano attacks Kira and wounds him. Nobody dies in the skirmish, but Asano has broken the castle’s rules by “unreasonably” drawing his sword. Not only must he commit ritual suicide, but his estate will also be seized, and his samurai retinue and staff will be dismissed.Back at Asano’s home in Ako, his chancellor, Oishi (Tatsuo Ichikawa), rallies the samurai, now known as ronin because they are without a master, in a campaign to avenge Asano and restore his clan’s honor.While this suggests a lot of action, the vast majority of the show, which takes place on a fairly small stage, is dedicated to chatty palace intrigue, as if we were eavesdropping on conspirators. When there is a possibility that the unseen shogun might reinstate the fallen clan, some of Asano’s followers are bereft at the prospect of losing their excuse to kill Kira. Honor-bound duty has a messy way of turning into personal revenge.Yasu Suzuki, left, who plays Lord Asano, with Hiroko Yonekura.Melinda HallDespite writing that can be confusing — we are not told, for example, how Oishi’s group of 56 ronin ended up just 47, or maybe a supertitle zipped by too quickly — the story moves at a steady clip. And Dachs’s decision to have women play some of the male roles, most prominently Kira, is very effective.Gender-blind casting is, of course, not uncommon in Japanese theater, and Dachs herself is a former member of that country’s all-female Takarazuka Revue company (she is a familiar presence, under the single name Ako, on New York stages, most notably in Leah Nanako Winkler’s “Kentucky” and “God Said This”). That the actors portraying samurai wear headpieces in the traditional “chonmage” style, in which a ponytail is folded back over the top of the head, creates a sense of androgynous uniformity. (Mitsuteru Okuyama did the wigs.)So yes, “Chushingura — 47 Ronin” is far from the best show out there. But right now, this sprawling tale of loyalty to rigid codes certainly is unlike anything else on a New York stage.Chushingura — 47 RoninThrough Nov. 6 at A.R.T./New York, Manhattan; amaterasuza.org. Running time: 2 hours. More

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      ‘Los Otros’ Review: A Slow-Burning Tale of Melancholy

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      Michael John LaChiusa’s delicate new musical starts in Depression-era California and follows two people across six decades.There are musicals that hit you over the head with the instant familiarity of pop songs, or with the thrill of anthems belted to the back of the rear mezzanine. Michael John LaChiusa does not go for any of that, though he came close in 2000 with the jaggedly jazzy, underestimated “The Wild Party,” his most recent Broadway outing as a composer and lyricist.But even for someone who habitually shies away from demonstrative show tunes — or, as his detractors might acidly argue, anything labeled “fun” — the intimate “Los Otros,” opening at A.R.T./New York Theaters, is more an art-song cycle than a musical. It simmers so gently it never reaches a satisfying boil.This sense of a letdown has largely to do with the structure devised by Ellen Fitzhugh (“Grind”), who wrote the book and lyrics: We are led to expect a bigger payoff than the one we end up getting, which is compounded by Noah Himmelstein’s sober direction.The two characters, Carlos (Caesar Samayoa, who was in the original Broadway cast of “Come From Away”) and Lillian (Luba Mason, last seen in “Girl From the North Country”), take turns telling their respective stories, so most of the production consists of short, self-contained solo scenes. When one actor takes center stage, the other waits on the side. Then they switch places in a process repeated a few times over the course of the show, as though they are in a relay race — or rather a relay amble, considering the deliberate pacing.Carlos and Lillian, portrayed with sensitive restraint by Samayoa and Mason, don’t directly interact most of the time, but their tales share some elements: They are set in Southern California and involve the coexistence of the white and Mexican communities. Naturally, we assume these two people are connected in some way — the narrative device would be pointless otherwise — so it’s hard not to ponder, as the show goes on, how Fitzhugh is going to bring them together.Carlos’s story begins in 1933, when he and his mother travel from Mexico to California. We watch as he crosses the decades and discover his sexuality on the way. “One time something happens with Paco and me,” Carlos says. “Then we make it happen many times.” He also becomes an accountant, which, luckily for the audience, does not involve any kind of awakening worth singing about.Most of the life stages Carlos guides us through sync up with big events: a hurricane that hit Mexico during the journey to the United States; the summer of Paco coinciding with the end of World War II; domesticity unfurling with the O.J. Simpson trial in the background in 1995.Lillian’s side of the show, on the other hand, remains tethered to small-cap history, like her making it as a waitress with two daughters. She is often adrift, with failed marriages, an increasing reliance on alcohol and a desperate search for connection — one of them with a teenage boy in a scene that briefly teeters on discomfort before a bittersweet twist. If Lillian’s sections feel more poignant than Carlos’s, it might be because they are loosely drawn from Fitzhugh’s own experience.Mason and Samayoa’s characters take turns telling their respective stories, so most of the production consists of short, self-contained solos.Russ RowlandThe musical has been retooled extensively since it first came to life, as the solo “Tres Niñas,” in the 2008 edition of the Inner Voices series at Premieres, a company that helps develop new musical theater. In the current version, it’s LaChiusa’s score that makes the biggest impression — I would love to hear it with a bigger band than the three-piece here. The composer, as usual, delicately evokes the past without going into full-blown pastiches. Lillian’s first song starts by perfectly evoking the harmonies of its 1952 setting, and Carlos’s reminiscence about picking plums in the 1940s reflects that decade’s swing.In the nearly 30 years since the opening of his first major productions, “First Lady Suite” and “Hello Again,” LaChiusa (who usually writes his own lyrics) has become a musical-theater artist whose modernist style, which has been improperly criticized as not being melodic, has earned more admiration than box-office love.It is an unfair state of affairs — his finest work of the past couple of decades, “Queen of the Mist,” from 2011, was deeply affecting and deserves a greater reputation. At the same time, LaChiusa’s forte is melancholy, which is much harder to monetize than big drama or big comedy. In that regard, “Los Otros” is yet another illustration of his singular talent.Los OtrosThrough Oct. 8 at A.R.T./New York Theaters, Manhattan; premieresnyc.org. Running time: 1 hour 25 minutes. More

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      Review: ‘Bruise & Thorn,’ a Gay Fantasia at a Laundromat

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      Hip-hop, impromptu duckwalks and loving shade fill C. Julian Jiménez’s new play about two cousins dreaming of escaping their day jobs.At a combination Pizza Hut-Taco Bell in Jamaica, Queens, the gender-fluid Thorn works on a rap — hinged on the line “I gotta leave New York City” — that will hopefully lead to an escape by way of an “America’s Got Talent” victory. Because Thorn, a trans woman, is played with irresistible magnetism by the nightlife performer Jae W.B., it’s almost impossible not to back her.“Bruise & Thorn,” an eccentric new play by C. Julian Jiménez now being presented by Pipeline Theater Company at A.R.T./New York Theaters, gives the character a chance to freestyle, vogue and charm her way into the audience’s heart.Never mind that her cousin Bruise (a very appealing Fernando Contreras) has to hold down the fort at the laundromat where they both work while Thorn dreams up her speedy liberation. Saving up for his own aspirations of culinary school, Bruise’s tender gay heart must make room for Old Fart (Lou Liberatore, very funny), the homeless man he allows to rest in the laundromat bathroom, and his demanding boss, Mrs. Gallo (a fiery Zuleyma Guevara), who’s roped him into her cockfighting racket.Hanging outside is Lizard (Carson Fox Harvey), a sketchy figure who dangles his commitment to Thorn on the condition she drop the in-between-ness of her identity — it’s implied she sometimes uses he/him pronouns to appease him — and live as a man. Lizard’s character is not as thoroughly realized as the rest, perhaps by design, to keep him an enigma, but his ratty plaid boxers convey more than enough. (Costumes are by Saawan Tiwari.)On top of its well-realized performances, “Bruise & Thorn” counts a memorable authenticity among its best qualities; the work is very queer, very Latinx, very New York City. Filled with hip-hop, impromptu duckwalks and loving shade, Jiménez’s humor is performed with contagious enthusiasm by his two leads. At the start of the play, when the characters’ personalities are being introduced, it is almost impossible to believe W.B. and Contreras did not compose the material themselves, they inhabit it so naturally.Mixing resourcefulness with playfulness, the production eschews realism for gay fantasia; Sasha Schwartz’s laundromat set looks like a McDonald’s playground designed for the Teletubbies. Multicolored splotches adorn the floors, with washers and dryers and multipurpose cardboard boxes that lend a fitting oddball charm to the final scenes: a series of drag ball competitions representing cockfights (with the birds fabulously played by androgynous dancers) and a climactic argument between the two cousins.Once the balls are introduced, Jiménez’s play becomes even less interested in realism, employing fantasy as a literal way of getting these characters out of their situations. It can feel like a bit of a narrative cop-out — I’m still not sure how, exactly, some of these plot threads are resolved — but the scenes are satisfying enough to wash away most concerns.These flights of fancy are fundamental to the play’s queerness, but Jesse Jou’s unhurried direction drains momentum from the characters’ risky decisions. Whereas the initial hangout scenes let the cast’s whip-smart comic delivery and charisma dictate their pace, the tenser ones later on are allowed too many pauses, too much scoffing and hesitation, as if to telegraph gravity through passivity.Jiménez is smart in not promising more than this lighthearted play can handle when it comes to the ideas of gender, identity and class it evokes. For all their dreaming, “Bruise & Thorn” knows exactly how to stay woke.Bruise & ThornThrough March 27 at Mezzanine Theater at A.R.T./New York Theaters, Manhattan; pipelinetheatre.org. Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes. More