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      Review: In ‘Skeleton Crew,’ Making Quick Work of Hard Labor

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      Dominique Morisseau’s 2016 play, now on Broadway, is a swift, well-crafted look at factory workers trapped in an economic “dumpster fire.”The construction of the joke is perfect: A 60-ish woman in the grungy break room of a metal stamping factory lights a cigarette beneath a sign that says “No Smoking Faye” — the “Faye” part added by hand in big, angry letters.Naturally, as we soon learn, she is Faye.So begins “Skeleton Crew,” a play by Dominique Morisseau that in considering the ways we must sometimes break rules, breaks none itself. It’s so adroitly built and written — and, in the Manhattan Theater Club production that opened on Wednesday, so beautifully staged and acted — that you hardly have time to decide, until its brisk two hours have passed, whether it’s a comedy or a tragedy. Even then, as in life, you may not know for sure.Start with Faye, who has worked at the factory for 29 years; she plans to hang on until, at year 30, her pension bumps up significantly. As played by Phylicia Rashad in a wonderfully ungrand performance, wearing flannel shirts, big jeans, work boots and a look of sour contentment, she would appear to have her life under firm control — and, as union rep and auntie of the break room, her co-workers’ lives as well. Dispensing wisdom and correcting their foolishness, she models candor and self-reliance, even when, as “Skeleton Crew” in good time reveals, the two come into conflict.You might call Faye’s specialty, like the play’s, clarity about moral ambiguity. And in Detroit in 2008, with the national economy a “dumpster fire” (as a TV news snippet tells us) and the auto industry in particular collapsing, there’s plenty of moral ambiguity to go around.For Reggie, the unit foreman and author of the no smoking sign, the pressure is almost too much to bear. Burdened with advance knowledge that the factory will shut down within the year, it falls to him to keep efficiency high as workers are let go. But despite his tie and white collar, his is a blue-collar soul, and the terrific Brandon J. Dirden shows just how close the contradictory pull of job and community comes to strangling him as he tries to protect the skeleton crew that remains.Boone and Adams in Dominique Morisseau’s play. Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAside from Faye, that crew includes Shanita (Chanté Adams) and Dez (Joshua Boone), both under 30 and thus with more (or is it less?) to lose than Faye. Theirs is a classic “B plot,” but the comic and romantic contrast their story provides is more complex than its bald structural purpose suggests.Yes, Dez has a longtime crush on Shanita, who is pregnant by a different man. Sweetly, he walks her to her car every day; tartly, she even lets him. But both have existential worries that interlock with and deepen the play’s larger issues. How can Shanita raise a child alone if the bedrock of her self-confidence — her job — crumbles beneath her? How will Dez survive in a world that sees his labor no less than his existence as expendable? (Though all four characters are Black, racism is more of a given than a theme.)These questions do not seem likely to be answered satisfactorily when, with perfect timing, a gun comes into the picture.In truth, some of the plot devices, the neat parallels and red herrings, are, like Faye, a bit creaky with use. But that doesn’t stop them from working; indeed, it’s a pleasure to surrender to classic craftsmanship. Though you can certainly sense Morisseau’s debt to August Wilson in her dramaturgy — “Skeleton Crew” is part of a trilogy of works set in Detroit, as Wilson had his Pittsburgh Cycle — you also sense the brute efficiency of problem plays by Ibsen and the best television procedurals.Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s staging at the Samuel J. Friedman Theater, improving in many ways on the one he directed for the Atlantic Theater Company in 2016, makes the most of the larger space and the excellent new cast. Michael Carnahan’s set, expanding in grunginess on his earlier version, turns grime into a kind of pulp poetry, from the peeling linoleum to the succulents striving to survive in a barely translucent window. The costumes, by Emilio Sosa, provide both psychology and sociology even in a limited range of sartorial gestures: a “Juicy” sweatshirt for Shanita, a fleece sweater-vest for Reggie.I was less convinced, as was also the case downtown, by the interludes of robotlike popping and waving (choreographed and performed by Adesola Osakalumi) that, along with Nicholas Hussong’s projections, suggest the harsh and repetitive labor taking place beyond the break room. Instead of enhancing our understanding of the characters, these dance moments, however astonishing, seem unrelated and unspecific, detracting from the play’s insistence on valuing workers, not just work.Dirden and Rashad use every tool their years onstage have put at their disposal.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAt its considerable best, “Skeleton Crew” practices that preachment; its characters are not just building blocks in a moral tale but a pleasure for actors to perform and thus for audiences to experience. Especially in the scenes between Faye and Reggie, when Rashad and Dirden get to use every tool their years onstage have put at their disposal, you can’t look away from the many things they’re doing at once. Collegiality, scorn, fear, affection — and a shared history saved for a late reveal — all come into it. What comes out of it is the richness of great performance.If the play itself is sometimes over-rich, it is not underfed. Real things are at stake for characters who expect a respectable reward for labor and loyalty. That their expectations are so rudely disappointed makes it harder to do the right thing in a world that doesn’t, and tragedy could easily ensue.Perhaps what ultimately tips “Skeleton Crew” in the other direction is the way it abjures cynicism in favor of connection. Though Faye at one point says “I don’t abide by no rules but necessity,” it turns out — in a perfectly turned final surprise — that necessity is sometimes a synonym for love.Skeleton CrewThrough Feb. 20 at the Samuel J. Friedman Theater, Manhattan; manhattantheatreclub.com. Running time: 2 hours. More

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      Review: Edie Falco Shines as an Everywoman in ‘Morning Sun’

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      A new play by Simon Stephens has hearty performances but a nearly undetectable pulse.Making the best of the little you’ve got may or may not be the theme of “Morning Sun,” the pianissimo new play by Simon Stephens that opened Off Broadway on Wednesday. But it’s certainly the problem.Not for Stephens is the big statement. His characters, linked in a maternal chain, are everywomen — or anywomen — positioned equidistantly along a conveyor belt between birth and death. Claudette is the tough one in her 70s, Charley the practical one in her 50s, Tessa the disillusioned one in her 30s. That they are identified by number in the script suggests their merely prototypical status.But unlike the lettered characters (A, B and C) in Edward Albee’s “Three Tall Women,” of which “Morning Sun” sometimes seems a less glittering variation, 1, 2 and 3 have self-consciously ordinary lives. Instead of Albee’s Park Avenue-ish boudoir, Stephens locates three generations of the McBride family in a rent-controlled walk-up in Greenwich Village. And instead of having chic lawyers and live-in caretakers, the McBrides and their companions have pointedly working-class jobs: a hospital receptionist, a museum guard, a janitor at the Y.M.C.A.Generations: from left, Falco, Brown and Marin Ireland.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesThat these three not-so-tall women are played by three excellent stage actors — Blair Brown as Claudette, Edie Falco as Charley, Marin Ireland as Tessa — ensures that their crises come into clear focus. Abuse, affairs, alcoholism and abortion each get a believable turn in Lila Neugebauer’s staging for Manhattan Theater Club. Yet for all the enjoyably detailed work, the play remains stubbornly tiny, as if Stephens, aiming small, overshot.Certainly the effort to valorize unglamorous lives is worthy. The problem comes from trying to dramatize uneventful ones. It can be done; consider “Waiting for Godot,” a play about nothing happening. But “Morning Sun” highlights neither the existential angst of a meaningless world nor the interpersonal conflicts that make so many fictional homes feel dangerous.Instead, it illustrates familiar moments on a family timeline: Claudette moves from Nyack to New York City, marries while pregnant but the baby dies; two years later Charley (actually Charlotte) is born, and 30 years later, Tessa. For two of the women, the search for happiness in love is eventually successful — there’s a reason they’re named McBride. And though Claudette tells Charley she’s a failure as a mother and Charley tells Tessa she’s an irresponsible daughter, everyone is reconciled before they die.“It’s just people, just trying to get through stuff,” Falco said in a New York Times article. “There’s something very beautiful about that.”Perhaps, but even Stephens seems to find the approach insufficiently muscly for a contemporary play. As a vitamin supplement, he turns to irony and meta-theatrics, having each woman narrate parts of the story as if reading one another’s résumés aloud and annotating them with sass. At times, Brown and Ireland moonlight as ancillary characters — a boyfriend, a lover, a husband, a pal — to thicken the texture.But these attempts to sketch the women’s lives and the ethos of the eras they live through are unconvincing, laced as they are with hasty anthropology and a whiff of Wikipedia.So when Claudette gets a job in the haberdashery department at Macys in 1947 or Charley attends a Beatles concert in 1965, the specifics seem paradoxically generic. The skipped-over patches necessitated by the play’s chronological format likewise become little more than name-checks: Leonard Bernstein, AIDS, Valerie Solanas, Sept. 11, Jane Jacobs, poor demolished Penn Station.Those last two are a tipoff to what Stephens, whose earlier plays “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” and “Heisenberg” were crackling fun, may be up to here. Rather than adding to the catalog of works in which monsters prevail and little lives go unnoticed, Stephens seems to prefer, in “Morning Sun,” to eulogize the loss of a quieter idea of civic life, and also of theater. The New York City he offers — admittedly from afar; he’s British — feels relentlessly sepia, like 1930s social drama but without the social disruption. It’s a place that can be modest about its grandeur, where work is honored and sadness is part of the light.That Hopperesque quality — “Morning Sun” takes its name from Edward Hopper’s 1952 portrait of a woman staring out a sun-filled window — is the play’s most attractive trait. Neugebauer’s staging doesn’t pick up on it, though; the set, by the design collective called dots, references a painterly spareness but leaves out the beauty part. (It’s just a big, ugly room, less like a fifth-floor walk-up than a basement, with barely any sunlight at all.) And since the women are mostly speaking from different eras, or from some unspecified time beyond time, the home they all occupy comes off less as a real place than as a purgatory.Under these conditions, a lot is asked of the actors; all three deliver. Brown, in her snappish mode, is wonderfully entertaining, and Ireland brings a sparkly, neurotic wit to the weakest material. (Tessa seems to have been reverse engineered from a list of plot necessities.) But Falco, perhaps because she is the only one who plays no other characters, offers the richest portrait; even if you don’t quite believe in Charley, you believe that she does, and that’s often enough.Even when it’s not, the play is no disaster, just strangely becalmed and unresponsive. Only rarely can you detect its pulse, let alone the feeling Stephens describes as “the sadness in your chest.” Claudette, speaking for Charley after the end of a relationship, says of that feeling, “What’s odd is there is no reason that you can understand why people should feel sadness or shame in their actual heart, an organ the primary function of which is to maintain the distribution of blood around the body. But you do.”It’s a beautiful line, but also an unintentional diagnosis. In “Morning Sun” you mostly feel the heartbreak in your head.Tickets Through Dec. 19 at Manhattan Theater Club; manhattantheatreclub.com. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes. More

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      ‘Lackawanna Blues’ Review: A Soulful Master Class in Storytelling

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      Ruben Santiago-Hudson brings his tender and vibrant autobiographical show to Broadway, honoring the woman who not only raised him but also kept a cast of misfits in line.It takes a village, the saying goes. But if you’re one member of a motley crew of characters in 1950s Lackawanna, N.Y., well, then, you might say it takes a boardinghouse, and a generous woman, to keep everyone in line.That woman is Nanny, the beating heart of Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s tender and vibrant autobiographical one-man show, “Lackawanna Blues,” which opened on Thursday night in a Manhattan Theater Club production at the Samuel J. Friedman Theater. It proves to be a winsome performer’s master class in storytelling, despite a few flat notes.Santiago-Hudson, who also wrote and directed the production, brings us to Lackawanna, where he grew up under the tutelage of a Ms. Rachel Crosby, the landlord and proprietor of two boardinghouses, whom everyone around town knows as “Nanny.” Don’t let the affectionate moniker fool you, though; she will calmly challenge an abusive husband and threaten to kill an unscrupulous lover for mistreating a child, all while serving up her famous Everything Soup and cornbread. In other words, she’s a tough cookie.Her party of misfits includes Numb Finger Pete, Sweet Tooth Sam, a pampered pet raccoon, and a man who was sentenced to 25 years in jail for a double homicide. In “Lackawanna Blues,” Santiago-Hudson introduces us to each of these figures, some with specific anecdotes; some in passing, as one would mention an acquaintance in a conversation; and some with little framing at all, just whatever monologue that person sees fit to deliver through him. Yet everything comes back to Nanny, easily and patiently tying everyone together.In Santiago-Hudson’s depictions of Lackawanna residents, he treats them with tenderness and empathy, even the brutal ones who did wrong, our critic writes.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesYou might think it would also take a village to animate these characters — at least 25 — for the stage, but Santiago-Hudson manages just fine on his own. Michael Carnahan’s intimate set design — a few stools and chairs and a brick backdrop meant to look like the outside of one of Nanny’s apartment buildings, all framed by a proscenium of faded wooden panels — brings the timeworn homeyness of Lackawanna to the Friedman Theater. When Santiago-Hudson first steps onto the stage, in front of the door of that Lackawanna boardinghouse, an overhead light cloaks his face in shadow; he’s just a silhouette, his rounded shoulders and slouch or straight-backed posture illustrating a rapid-fire series of transformations.This isn’t Santiago-Hudson’s first rodeo. “Lackawanna Blues” premiered Off Broadway at the Public Theater in 2001, and, four years later, was adapted for a star-studded HBO film with S. Epatha Merkerson, Hill Harper, Terrence Howard, Rosie Perez and many others. Still, seeing Santiago-Hudson take command of the Broadway stage is delightful to watch — and listen to. He slips into a slow, self-consciously genteel purr for Small Paul, a piping soprano for Mr. Lucious, and a warble and growl for Freddie Cobbs.The very first instrument we learn to use is the human voice. In “Lackawanna Blues,” Santiago-Hudson shows his expert prowess with his, which he uses to deliver music with his portrayal of the various personalities. He strings together a cadence, tone and rhythm into a piece of work that is equal parts narrative and song.Which isn’t to disregard the actual music in the production, which not only bridges the anecdotes but also maintains the brisk tempo of the show. (A beat too brisk, at times, but at 90 minutes “Lackawanna Blues,” like most of Nanny’s tenants, knows not to overstay its welcome.)The alternatively soulful and upbeat jazz music also serves as a kind of dialogue; sure, the guitarist Junior Mack expertly accompanies the text from his seat on the side of the stage, but he also converses with Santiago-Hudson — and his harmonica — without saying one word. So when Santiago-Hudson pauses to take a sip of water, Mack summons him back with a few low strums. And Santiago-Hudson returns that steady hum with the vigorous trills and whines of his harmonica, which he seems to summon out of thin air, each time creating jouncing rhythms that would make blues greats of the past shimmy in their graves.Santiago-Hudson animates at least 25 characters set against the backdrop of Michael Carnahan’s spare set design.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAnd after the dark times of the past year and a half, we’re overdue for some laughter. Santiago-Hudson, a merciless charmer, gamely supplies many funny moments: whether he’s recounting a prime-time-worthy brawl between Numb Finger Pete and Mr. Lemuel Taylor or speaking in the mangled vocabulary of Ol’ Po’ Carl, who praises the sights of New York, including “da Statue Delivery” and “the Entire State Building.”Though even in those moments when he emulates these Lackawanna folks — many of whom, he notes, are poor and uneducated — he doesn’t do so cruelly; he treats them with tenderness and empathy, even the brutal ones who did wrong.There are also instances of sorrow, which Santiago-Hudson fails to attack as nimbly. He pushes too hard on the emotional notes, like a scene in which a woman comes to Nanny’s in the middle of the night with her kids and bloody wounds. And by the end, he awkwardly circles around an ending that must inevitably tackle dear Nanny’s death.It always comes back to Nanny, with her stiff back and neatly folded arms; Santiago-Hudson’s rendering evokes a Cicely Tyson type, a strong Black matriarch not to be trifled with. His narrative performance is impressive for many reasons, but one of the most nuanced is the way Santiago-Hudson sees it all, as a child eavesdropping and peeking through doorways, with curious and affectionate eyes.He grounds us in the details, which brings not just these characters, but also a whole town to life: the way a woman pops her hips, the way a man coughs, even the particular tint of the Lackawanna snow. After all, people may think the blues are about heartbreak, but to get to heartbreak, you first have to pass through love.Lackawanna BluesThrough Oct. 31 at Manhattan Theater Club; 212-239-6200, manhattantheatreclub.com. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes. More

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      Bill C. Davis, Who Had a Hit Play With ‘Mass Appeal,’ Dies at 69

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }The Coronavirus OutbreakliveLatest UpdatesMaps and CasesRisk Near YouVaccine RolloutNew Variants TrackerAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyThose We’ve LostBill C. Davis, Who Had a Hit Play With ‘Mass Appeal,’ Dies at 69He was an unknown playwright in his 20s when his comic drama about a priest and a seminarian drew raves off and on Broadway. It was turned into a movie.Bill C. Davis in an undated photo. His play “Mass Appeal” was a “moving and very funny comedy about the nature of friendship, courage and all kinds of love,” Frank Rich wrote.Credit…via Davis familyMarch 5, 2021Updated 6:07 p.m. ETBill C. Davis, whose play “Mass Appeal” was a hit both off and on Broadway in the early 1980s and has been performed countless times since, died on Feb. 26 in Torrington, Conn. He was 69.His sister, Patricia Marks, said the cause was complications of Covid-19.Mr. Davis was virtually unknown in theater circles and still in his 20s when he wrote “Mass Appeal,” a two-character comic drama in which a middle-aged Roman Catholic priest finds his complacency challenged by an outspoken young seminarian. A friend — a priest, in fact — sent the play to the actress Geraldine Fitzgerald, who in turn brought it to Lynne Meadow, the artistic director of the Manhattan Theater Club.Ms. Meadow, in a telephone interview, recalled first reading the play.“I put it down and I had this feeling of lucidity,” she said. “It was crystal clear what he was trying to talk about.”The play, directed by Ms. Fitzgerald, opened at Manhattan Theater Club in spring 1980 to rave reviews. “There are few more invigorating theatrical experiences than hearing the voice of a gifted writer for the first time,” Frank Rich’s review in The New York Times began.“Though ‘Mass Appeal’ starts out as a debate between two men on the opposite sides of a generational-theological gap,” Mr. Rich wrote, “it quickly deepens into a wise, moving and very funny comedy about the nature of friendship, courage and all kinds of love.”The play, starring Milo O’Shea as the older man and Eric Roberts as the younger one, enjoyed an extended run at Ms. Meadow’s theater before moving to Broadway, where Michael O’Keefe replaced Mr. Roberts. It ran for 212 performances at the Booth Theater, earning Tony Award nominations for Ms. Fitzgerald and Mr. O’Shea.Mr. Davis adapted the play for a 1984 film version that starred Jack Lemmon as the priest and Zeljko Ivanek as the younger man.Mr. Davis’s subsequent plays were performed Off Broadway and in regional theaters (one, “Dancing in the End Zone,” about the tribulations of a college football star, had a brief Broadway run in 1985), but none approached the success of “Mass Appeal,” which was beloved by both audiences and actors. A 1982 production in Colorado starred Charles Durning and John Travolta.For Ms. Meadow, “Mass Appeal” led to an enduring friendship with Mr. Davis.“He was a person who loved the theater and loved ideas,” she said. “He was innocent and wise at the same time.”The Coronavirus Outbreak More