Derren Brown: Secret

A-

When I first heard that Atlantic Theater Company was filling a slot in their season with a performance by an Olivier-winning British mentalist rather than with a play, I was annoyed. After seeing Derren Brown in action, I forgive them. The show is not only very entertaining, but a lot more rewarding to sit through than their last play (The Penitent). It’s better crafted too, with a knockout finale that reveals in a delightful way how tightly structured the entire performance has been. It’s hard to say much about it, because the audience has been sworn to secrecy. What I can say is that Brown is a consummate performer who quickly has the audience in the palm of his hand. He establishes trust by sharing a secret from his own life. The often amazing mental feats he performs on audience members range from the simple to the intricate, with one packing quite an emotional wallop. Along the way, Brown also demonstrates a real talent for portraiture. The theme that we limit what we experience because of selective perception is vividly demonstrated. Of course, I wondered how these tricks worked, but explanations are not on the agenda. The seemingly random way he selected audience members made it unlikely that they were “plants.”  If you like to be amazed and delighted, you will have a good time. Just don’t expect a traditional play. My one reservation is that, at 2 3/4 hours including intermission, it is a bit too much of a good thing. Brown’s co-writers Andy Nyman and Andrew O’Connor also directed.

The Penitent

D

I wish I could say that David Mamet’s new play at the Atlantic Theater Company marks his return to greatness. While it’s by no means his worst, it falls far short of his best work. It is about a psychiatrist Charles (Chris Bauer) who suddenly gets religion when a young patient commits a terrible crime. Although he has frequently testified as a mitigating witness for the defense, he refuses to do so in this instance. The boy accuses him of antipathy toward gay people, a charge supported by a newspaper piece misquoting the title of an article he wrote as “Homosexuality as an Aberration” instead of “Homosexuality as an Adaptation.” The bad press leads to worse for Charles. Meanwhile, his wife Kath (Rebecca Pidgeon, Mamet’s wife) does not understand his position. The stilted opening scene between them really gets things off to a bad start. We next see Charles with his friend/lawyer Richard (Jordan Lage), who urges him to relent and testify. The second act begins energetically with a scene between Charles and an attorney (the fine Lawrence Gilliard Jr.) deposing him who knows his way around the Old Testament. In the final scene, we learn the cost of Charles’s allegedly principled stand and, to my great annoyance, find out information that casts everything that preceded it in a new light.Tim Mackabee designed the minimalist set — a table and two chairs and two angled walls. Laura Bauer designed the costumes. Perhaps there was some deep significance I missed in the fact that Kath alternated between jeans with holes in the knees and jeans without holes. Atlantic’s artistic director Neil Pepe (Marie & Rosetta, Hold on to Me Darling) directed. The press, the legal system, psychiatry, religion, marriage and friendship all take a beating. There are no winners here, including the audience. Running time: 85 minutes including intermission.

Hold On to Me Darling ***

It’s good to see Kenneth Lonergan get his playwriting chops back in this new comedy at Atlantic Theater Company, his best work for the stage since Lobby Hero in 2001. Timothy Olyphant (“Damages” and “Justified” on TV) plays Strings McCrane, a 39-year-old comically self-absorbed country western singer and movie star who reexamines his life upon the death of his mother. When he heads back home to rural Tennessee for the funeral, he decides to cast off the trappings of celebrity and try the simple life. It may not turn out well for him, but it certainly pays off for the audience. The satire is broad and the dialogue, frequently hilarious. Jenn Lyon from “The Wayside Motor Inn” plays Nancy, the seemingly good-hearted masseuse he meets at his hotel. Adelaide Clemens is Essie, the second cousin twice removed that he encounters at the funeral. C.J. Wilson is Duke, his big brother, with whom he has a volatile relationship. The rarely unemployed Keith Nobbs (“The Legend of Georgia McBride”) plays Jimmy, his overly devoted, long-suffering personal assistant. Jonathan Hogan is Mitch, a figure from the distant past who suddenly reappears. The actors are uniformly excellent. The play could benefit from some trimming as it’s a bit too slight for its length. The second act loses steam and the final scene does not seem to fit very well. Walt Spangler (“Between Riverside and Crazy”) once again comes up with a terrific revolving set that includes seven distinct locations. The costumes by Suttriat Anne Larlarb help greatly in creating the characters. Neil Pepe’s fluid direction keeps everything moving smoothly. It’s a little too much of a good thing, but I’m not complaining. Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes including intermission.

Guards at the Taj *

If this is the play that won the 2015 Laurents-Hatcher Foundation Award of $150,000 ($50,000 to playwright Rajiv Joseph, $100,000 for the production), the pickings must have been mighty slim. The best I can say about it is that it provides employment for two excellent actors, Omar Metwally and Arian Moayed. I was happy to learn that a generous donor financed a trip to India for the actors to see the Taj Mahal. With what they have to endure every night at the Atlantic Theater, they earned it. Humayun (Metwally) and Babur (Moayed) are members of the Royal Guard at Agra. Although from very different backgrounds, they have been friends since childhood. Humayun, from a privileged family, is the organization man ready to obediently do whatever he is asked. Babur, of humble origins, has a rebellious streak and is a dreamer, thinking up fanciful inventions like a transportable hole and a palanquin that can fly to the stars. When the play begins, they are on guard just before dawn on the day the Taj will first be revealed after 16 years of construction. When the emperor decides to insure that no one who worked on it will ever be able to build something more beautiful, they must carry out his order. The tone of the play wavers unsteadily between Grand Guignol and black comedy. About two-thirds of the way through the play’s seemingly endless 80 minutes, one of the characters says “There is no point.” I could not have said it better. Timothy R. Maccabee’s set is effective in its simplicity and Bobby Frederick Tilley II’s costumes are evocative. Steppenwolf member Amy Morton (Who’s Afraid of Virginina Woolf, August: Osage County) directed. If you are unlucky enough to already have a ticket, I suggest not dining before the performance. Running time: 80 minutes, no intermission.

Posterity **

I really had high hopes for Doug Wright’s new play at Atlantic Theater Company. I had enjoyed his Pulitzer Prize-winning play “I Am My Own Wife” and thought his book for “Grey Gardens” was well-crafted. The topic of the play — the interplay between recalcitrant subject Henrik Ibsen (the excellent Australian actor John Noble) and reluctant sculptor Gustav Vigeland (Hamish LInklater, fine in a role for which he was not an obvious choice) when Ibsen’s bust was sculpted — sounded promising.  I wish I could say my expectations were met. Things start well with a scene with the sculptor and his nude models, the middle-aged Mrs. Bergstrøm (Dale Soules) and his hunky young apprentice Anfinn (Mickey Theis). They are interrupted by the arrival of the prissy Sophus Larpent (Henry Stram), VIgeland’s solicitor and agent. He tries to induce Vigeland to to do a bust of Ibsen in order to win the backing of a key bureaucrat for the ambitious fountain celebrating humanity that he wants to create for a space in the heart of Oslo. When Ibsen arrives to meet Vigeland, things go badly. Their sparring match goes on for far too long and lacks nuance. Changing circumstances persuade Ibsen to agree to sitting for Vigeland and pouring out his heart to him. There are distracting subplots concerning the apprentice and the absence of usable clay. Very little light is shed on either Ibsen or Vigeland. There are very few peaks or valleys along the way, just lots of talk. We don’t even get to see the bust. Derek McLane’s effective set presents a rustic studio lined with busts covered in cheesecloth. Susan Hilferty’s costumes are apt. Wright also directed, which was probably a mistake. While I admired the playwright’s ambitions, I was quite disappointed with the results. Running time: 2 hours 15 minutes including intermission.

Between Riverside and Crazy ****

With his new play now in previews at the Atlantic Theater Company, Stephen Adly Guirgis proves once again that he is one of our most entertaining playwrights. Walter “Pops” Washington (the superb Stephen McKinley Henderson) is a black former cop whose career was ended by a hail of bullets in a dicey bar 8 years before the play opens. He has been recently widowed, his son Junior (Ray Anthony Thomas) has been in and out of jail and consorts with criminals such as Oswaldo (Victor Almanzar) who has moved in with them. Their household is completed by Lulu (Rosal Colon), Junior’s girlfriend, who has more curves than brains. We also meet Walter’s former partner Detective O’Connor (Elizabeth Canavan) and her fiance Lieutenant Caro (Michael Rispoli), an ambitious, politically well-connected cop. Last but not least is the Church Lady (Liza Colon-Zayas), a visitor who is not what she seems. Walter’s landlord is out to evict him from his rent-controlled apartment on Riverside Drive. Lt. Caro is determined to do whatever it takes to get Walter to sign a settlement with the city that he has been fighting for 8 years to remove loose ends in an election year and enhance his career. What makes the play so exciting is Guirgis’s dialogue. The language is rough, but the humor is wonderful. The play opens with a discussion of nutrition unlike any you are likely to hear again. Guirgis skillfully softens up the audience with humor so that when he turns serious, the impact is twice as strong. The first scene of the second act features the most bizarre sex scene I have seen on a stage — and there’s no nudity involved. The remainder of the second act was less successful and I found the ending weak. Nevertheless, everything else was so enjoyable that these defects barely diminished my pleasure. Walt Spangler’s revolving set captures the look of a grand apartment that had seen better days. Alexis Forte’s costumes suit their characters well. Austin Pendelton’s direction is assured. If you enjoyed “The Motherf**ker with The Hat,” you will love this one; if you didn’t, you probably won’t. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes including intermission.

The Threepenny Opera **

Literally from the very first note, I felt that something was amiss with the new Atlantic Theater production of this Brecht-Weill classic. Although the seven musicians were visible onstage, the sound was coming from a spot somewhere over my head. The decision to amplify the music in a theater ot this size seems both unnecessary and wrongheaded. It creates an artificial gap between the musicians and the actors and diminishes any sense of intimacy. Furthermore, the production lacks both a clear unifying vision and a strong sense of time and place. It rarely engaged me at any level. In the past, I have not been a fan of Martha Clarke and her direction and choreography here do nothing to change my mind. On the plus side,  there are abundant vocal treats; both Laura Osnes as Polly and Sally Murphy as Jenny sing beautifully. It's a pleasure to see and hear Mary Beth Peil as Mrs. Peachum and Michael Park is a fine Macheath. F. Murray Abraham is adequate as Mr. Peachum. Robert Israel's set is dark and dreary. Donna Zakowska's costumes fared better. The whole came across to me as considerably less than the sum of its parts. In the long production annals of the show, this production will be remembered, if at all, as the one that featured an English bulldog in a key role. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes including intermission.

The Night Alive ***

The Atlantic Theater Company continues its role as New York home of contemporary Irish playwrights Martin McDonagh and Conor McPherson (The Beauty Queen of Leenane, The Lieutenant of Inishmore and The Cripple of Inishmaan by the former; Port Authority and Dublin Carol by the latter) with this production of McPherson's latest play, imported from London's Donmar Warehouse and directed by the playwright. We meet five marginal Dubliners -- Tommy (Ciaran Hinds), a man-with-van, divorced and alienated from his children; his needy sidekick Doc (Michael McElhatton), who may be a bit slow; Tommy's disapproving uncle Maurice (Jim Norton), in whose house Tommy rents a room; Aimee (Caoilfhionn Dunne), the prostitute Tommy brings home after rescuing her from a beating; and Kenneth (Brian Gleeseon), her ex-boyfriend/pimp with anger issues. At a very leisurely pace, we are introduced to the first four characters, whose banter is often very funny. We are jolted to attention when the play takes a sudden violent turn with the arrival of Kenneth. Complications arise. The combination of humor, pathos, dread, violence and possible redemption did not blend easily for me. Tommy, Doc and Maurice come across as well-developed characters, but Aimee is underwritten and Kenneth is an enigma. The actors are simply superb; in lesser hands, their roles would be reduced to cliches. Soutra Gilmour's set and costumes are very effective. McPherson seems to be that exceptional playwright who is the best possible director of his own work. The play has much to admire, but I wish it ended one scene sooner. The ending seemed sentimental and unearned. Running time: one hour, 45 minutes; no intermission.

Women or Nothing **

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Whether or not you will enjoy Ethan Coen's new comedy for the Atlantic Theater Company depends largely on how much disbelief you are willing to suspend for some snappy dialogue and a few laughs. For me, accepting the premise of a pair of affluent sophisticated lesbians hatching a lame plot to trick a man into supplying the sperm for the child they want was too much of a stretch. Their plan makes little sense and is divorced from anything remotely resembling reality. On the plus side, the four actors (Halley Feiffer, Susan Pourfar, Robert Beitzel and Deborah Rush) play well together and two of the four scenes work quite well. Unfortunately, the final scene is a letdown. David Cromer's direction gets the most out of the script. Michele Spadaro's lavish set design of a Manhattan apartment incorporates a strange mixture of styles. Sarah Laux's costumes are apt. The play shows progress over Coen's recent one-act efforts, but still lacks the off-kilter inventiveness of a Coen screenplay. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes including intermission. NOTE: Avoid Row B at Atlantic's Linda Gross Theater -- there is no rake between Rows A and B and the seats are not staggered.

3 Kinds of Exile **

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John Guare's strange hodgepodge for the Atlantic Theater Company throws together three pieces loosely connected by the theme of exile. The first piece "Karel" is an extended anecdote about a man with a seemingly incurable rash, who, at the age of 12, had been sent to England with the Kindertransport and had remained there. Martin Moran tells the slight but interesting tale well.

The second piece "Elzbieta Erased" is a reworking of a one-act play Guare wrote for Atlantic's 25x10 series a few years ago about famous Polish actress Elzbieta Czyzewska. The author, playing himself, and charismatic actor Omar Sangare, portraying several characters including the actress, give us the highlights of her life -- a successful career in Poland, following by expulsion after her marriage to David Halberstam and her years in America, repeatedly dogged by bad luck. Her story is fascinating, but the telling is a bit too long.

If only there were an intermission at this point, one could escape "Funiage," a biographical sketch about absurdist novelist and playwright Witold Gombrowicz, who spent much of his adult life in Argentinian exile. Guare has chosen to emulate his subject's style with an absurdist approach incorporating Brechtian touches. It's hard to sit through. Against all odds, David Pittu as Gombrowicz acquits himself honorably. The rest of the ensemble shall remain nameless. Neil Pepe directed. The talent the playwright once exhibited with House of Blue Leaves, Six Degrees of Separation and Lydie Breeze is not apparent here. Running time: 90 minutes, no intermission.

What Rhymes with America *

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When I saw Melissa James Gibson's play This at Playwrights Horizons three years ago, I thought she demonstrated great promise. Alas, she has not delivered on that promise in her new play, now in previews at Atlantic Theater. Hank (Chris Bauer) is an unemployed economist who is trying to win back his estranged wife after spending her retirement savings. He tries to recruit his 16-year-old daughter Marlene (Aimee Carrero) as a go-between. At the hospital where Marlene volunteers, Hank meets Lydia (Seana Kofoed), a 40-ish virgin with issues. The fourth character, who basically steals the show, is Sheryl (Da'vine Joy Randolph), an unsuccessful actress who, along with Hank, works as a super at the Met to earn some money. She gets two big scenes -- recreating her audition for Lady Macbeth and reciting a patter list of characters from Wagner operas. Unfortunately, neither of these scenes has much to do with the central plot of the play, assuming there is one. Gibson clearly has a love of language, but she has not used it to build a coherent play. Laura Jellinek's monochromatic grey set is appropriately bleak. Emily Rebholz's costumes for the supers from the Ring and Aida are amusing. Director Daniel Aukin did not succeed in making a silk purse. There was much grumbling in the audience at play's end. Running time: 80 minutes without intermission.

Storefront Church ***

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The final installment of John Patrick Shanley's Church and State trilogy, now in previews at the newly reopened Atlantic Theater mainstage, is quite different from the other two plays, first of all in length. It has two leisurely acts over two hours as compared to their economical 90 minutes. Although not as good as Doubt (not many plays are), it is much better than Defiance. Actors must love Shanley; he certainly can write a juicy part. All six actors get a chance to shine here. Tonya Pinkins, who made such a strong impression in both Milk Like Sugar and Hurt Village earlier this season, gets to use a Spanish accent and show off her beautiful singing voice. Poor Zach Grenier has to keep his face grotesquely contorted throughout the play. The role of Pinkins's Jewish husband fits Bob Dishy like a glove. Ron Cephas Jones, who also impressed in Hurt Village, portrays a pentecostal minister who is spiritually blocked. Jordan Lage is both amusing and convincing as a bank CEO. The central character is Giancarlo Esposito, as the Bronx borough president. The action takes place at the intersection of politics, religion and commerce. It is loosely based on the controversy over redeveloping the Kingsbridge Armory in the Bronx (which still sits empty today), as well as the current mortgage crisis. The play has its flaws -- it rambles a bit, some of the motivations are unclear (particular those of Pinkins' character), some of the themes are underdeveloped and the final scene doesn't pack as much punch as I hoped it would. The sets by Takeshi Kata are bland, perhaps deliberately so, but the costumes by Alejo Vietti are perfect. Shanley's direction is assured. and full of grace notes.  Although far from perfect, it is consistently entertaining. I urge you to see it.

CQ/CX **

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First, the title: it's a newsroom symbol for "fact verified" and "fact corrected." Not exactly a grabber.
Alas, neither is this new play, by former Times news assistant Gabe McKinley, now in an Atlantic Theater Company production at the Peter Norton Space. The Atlantic is billing it as a "docudrama," which is a very tricky genre. What is the value of reanimating a decade-old scandal, unless it is to provide new insight, clarify the context and motivation or make it more coherent dramatically? Alas, CQ/CX does not really succeed at any of these things. It presents real-life identifiable New York Times figures under slightly altered names, along with characters who may or may not be fictionalized. The imagined conversations and monologues of Times honchos as played by David Pittu, Arliss Howard, Peter Jay Fernandez and Tim Hopper deliberately include several remarks that, colored by the wisdom of hindsight, now sound either foolish or ironic and allow the audience to feel superior. The relations among the three interns in the Times diversity program - a black man, an Hispanic woman and a Jew, respectively played by Kobi Libii, Sheila Tapia and Steve Rosen -- are ploddingly depicted. The old editor played by Larry Bryggman adds a note of pathos, but has little to do with the main action. The biggest flaw is the version of Jayson Blair written by McKinley and played by Libii. Either the role is poorly written or his acting is not up to snuff or both. We leave the theater with no deeper understanding of why he did what he did, which makes the whole proceeding rather pointless. David Levaux directed. The production values are all first-rate, but for me that only emphasized that the play isn't. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes including an intermission.

Happy Hour **

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Ethan Coen's trio of one-act plays is the third evening of short works he has done for the Atlantic Theater. I wasn't much impressed with the other two -- and even less so with his lame contribution to "Relatively Speaking" -- so I went with low expectations. To say that this is the best of his three programs for Atlantic is not saying a lot, but it's not nothing. It begins well with "End Days," in which a depressive barfly (the excellent Gordon MacDonald)  rants about the evils of the digital age. His rants alternate with short scenes of his home life. As is so often the case with Coen, he doesn't know when to stop: the play would work better if it ended after the first scene. In "City Lights," Ted, a dyspeptic musician (Joey Slotnick) tries to track down a cabbie (Rock Kohli), in whose taxi he may have left a demo tape. Ted meets an idealistic schoolteacher (Aya Cash), who takes a liking to him, and her friend (Cassie Beck), who does not. Although he retrieves his demo tape, things do not end well. This being the play in which Coen is most closely channeling Mamet, using the C word at least once is obligatory. In the final play, "Wayfarer's Inn," two road warriors forced to stay at a third-rate hotel are planning their evening. The cynical one (Clark Gregg), unhampered by guilt over adultery, is lining up a double date for himself and his depressed traveling companion (Lenny Venito), who decides not to go. A scene at an "authentic" Japanese restaurant introduces us to the two dates, one bodacious and carefree (Ana Reeder), the other (Amanda Quaid), not so much, and also the stern waitress (Susan Hyon). There's a long story about a man and a fish which each of them interprets differently. Back at the hotel, things have taken a bad turn. I was left with a feeling of frustration: Coen knows how to write a good scene, but he still hasn't figured out how to combine scenes into a cohesive whole. I wish his screenwriting skills were more in evidence. The set by Riccardo Hernandez is a bit generic. Sarah Edwards' costumes are fine. Neil Pepe directed. Running time: 2 hours including intermission.

Dreams of Flying, Dreams of Falling *

What's Adam Rapp's new play about? About 90 minutes. That's all I can say with certainty about his absurdist comedy now in an Atlantic Theater Company production at CSC. The cast is led by two wonderful actors (Christine Lahti and Reed Birney). The set (by Andrew Boyce & Takeshi Kata) and costumes (by Theresa Squire) perfectly establish the gracious milieu of privileged Connecticut WASPs. Two families, the Cabots and their guests, the Von Stofenburgs, are about to sit down to dinner. Things soon spin out of control. Mrs. Cabot tries to persuade Von Stofenburg (Cotter Smith), whose reputation has been tarnished by a Madoff-like affair,  to poison her husband so they can run off together. The Cabot daughter (Katherine Waterston), who likes to pluck the hairs out of men's arms for an art project, maintains that there is a she lion in the basement. The Von Stofenburg son (Shane McRae), just returned from two years in a clinic after believing his stuffed animals when they told him he could fly, is in correspondence with a young Iraqi insurgent whom he is helping to acquire "materials." The two young adults have vigorous sex all around the dining room. The black maid (Quincy Tyler Bernstine), is learning French and likes to recite Shakespeare. Mrs. Von Stofenburg (Betsy Aidem) is so bland that her presence barely registers. Wild geese crash against the house, the sky turns strange colors, the murder plots goes awry.... and so forth. While some of the plot lines might have been interesting if developed more fully, here they just seem part of a mishmash. While there were some entertaining moments along the way, there was no sense of unity. Neil Pepe directed.

Bluebird **

Don't be brokenhearted if you weren't able to get tickets to see Simon Russell Beale in Simon Stephens' 1998 play, now in a sold-out run at Atlantic Stage 2. While Beale is fine as Jimmy, a taxi driver to whom fares seem compelled to unburden themselves, the play itself is a mixed blessing. Some of the passengers' stories are involving, but others misfire. A long scene between Jimmy and his estranged wife Clare (the excellent Mary McCann) is a bit contrived and unconvincing. The cast also includes Kate Blumberg, Michael Countryman, Mara Measor, Charlotte Parry, Tobias Segal, John Sharian and Todd Weeks. The pokey direction by Gaye Taylor Upchurch has more pregnant pauses than a Pinter play. The lighting by Ben Stanton attempts to suggest movement through traffic at night, but the flickering was a distraction. Incidentally, the title comes from the name of a small car popular as a London minicab. Running time: 110 minutes without intermission.

10x25 - Series C ***

Atlantic Theater Company's Festival of 10-Minute Plays came to a lively close with this evening of nine short works. Six plays involved some aspect of parenthood: Bekah Brunstetter's Run, about a father trying to bond with his overweight teenage daughter; David Auburn's Two Dads, about two men confiding their problems with their children; Peter Parnell's Dada Woof Papa Hot, about two men navigating the uncharted waters of gay fatherhood; Tom Donaghy's I Need a Quote, a hilarious telephone conversation between a single mother and a home insurance salesman; Kate Robin's Inside Play, about a father trying to pick up a woman at a playground; and Kevin Heelan's As Himself, about a father/actor who confuses acting and real life. Moira Buffini's Sold is about a fundraiser in which souls are auctioned to the highest bidder, The low point of the evening was Sam Shepard's Evanescence/Shakespeare in the Alley, which involved a long, rambling monologue, exploding watermelons and a little person dressed as Shakespeare dragging a body bag across the stage. The evening ended with In Which I Tender My Resignation, a tongue-in-cheek piece by Jeff Whitty in which he attempts to explain to two Atlantic Theater subscribers the great debt that straight people owe to gays. The cast included Anthony Arkin, Kate Blumberg, Eddie Cahill, Michael Countryman, Marcia DeBonis, Kathryn Erbe, Kate Gersten, Zach Grenier, Brad Heberlee, Rick Holmes, T.R. Knight, Ilana Levine, Sydney Matthews, Chris Myers, Kari Nicolle, Nic Novicki, Ray Anthony Thomas and Jeff Whitty.

10x25 - Series B ***

After the middling record of Series A, I wasn't exactly bursting with enthusiasm to see the second evening of the Atlantic Theater's 25th Anniversary Festival of 10-Minute Plays. What a pleasant surprise it was. All eight plays were enjoyable and a couple of them were really quite good. Annie Baker's "Practice" led off the evening with an amusing but slight glimpse at a yoga class. "The New Paradigm" presents Keith Reddin's clever take on a meeting of Bush's minions discussing a memo justifying "enhanced interrogation." "The Naked Eye" by Jez Butterworth is a monologue affectionately recalling the night the family stayed up to watch Halley's Comet. Tina Howe's "Caution, This Bus Kneels. Stand Clear" puts assorted New Yorkers on a bus headed for Lincoln Center on a stormy night, with hilarious results. Craig Lucas' "The Sell" is a funny interchange between a prospective art buyer and a painter whose work tends toward brutalism. Edwin Sanchez's "Smiling" is a sketch about a man so eager to appear "with it" that his face freezes in a smile. Leslie Ayvazian's "There You Are" brings together two friends with a complicated past who have not seen each other in 30 years. Finally there is Bill Wrubel's "This Backstage Life," a very funny look at the chaos behind the scenes on opening night. The cast of 19 were all fine, Mary Beth Peil and Larry Bryggman especially so. Tania Balsam, Reed Birney, Kate Blumberg, Michael Chernus, Nick Choksi, John Early, David Fonteno, Rick Holmes, Zosia Mamet, Mary McCann, Rod McLachlan, Matthew Montelongo, Stephen Park, Susan Pourfar, Danielle Slavick, Joey Slotnick and Maria Tucci rounded out the cast. The evening's directors were Leslie Ayvazian, Annie Baker, Jaime Castaneda, Christian Parker, Neal Pepe and Todd Weeks. I hope Series C will be equally enjoyable.

10x25 - Series A **

10x25 is the Atlantic Theater Company's 25th Anniversary Festival of 10-Minute Plays. Series A presents the first eight plays. As is so often the case in projects like this, the results vary widely in quality. First off was Ethan Coen's "The Redeemers," about patricidal brothers out West, in which a gurgling Mr. Coffee has the best part. Next was the evening's low point, "Posh Pill" by Kia Corthron, a clumsy harangue about health care disguised as a play, that seemed to drag on much longer than 10 minutes. David Mamet's "In a Linguistic Class," about a professor and student negotiating a grade for the student's poem, was the shortest and, to me, most amusing offering. Kate Moira Ryan's "Master Class with Cassiopeia O'Hara" is a monologue for the always entertaining Kristen Johnston as a has-been (or never-was) actress passing her "wisdom" on to a new generation. It was over the top, but fun. For me, the most interesting play was John Guare's "Elzbieta," a biographical sketch about a famous Polish actress, that blended narration and impersonation. Stephen Belber's "Various Rigors," about a very strange physical examination, seemed weird and pointless. Lucy Thurber's "Marriage," a dinner conversation for a long-married couple, their unhappy daughter and her husband, was lively and well-made. David Pittu is lyricist, star and director of "Jacob Sterling, Distinguished Alumnus," during which the hapless alum returns to his alma mater, S.P.A.S.M. (South Palo Alto School of Music) for an interview with excerpts from his music for unproduced musicals. Randy Redd wrote the music. Amusing on its own, the play is even funnier for those who saw Pittu's earlier turn as Sterling in "What's That Smell?" Among the 16 actors I have not mentioned, Tim Blake Nelson, Kristin Griffith, Peter Maloney, Glenn Fitzgerald and Mikaela Feely-Lehmann stood out.
Series B and C are coming up in June with playwrights including Tina Howe, Craig Lucas, Keith Reddin, David Auburn, Peter Parnell and Sam Shepard.

The Collection & A Kind of Alaska **

Lovers of the pregnant pause, rejoice! Pinter's back in town with two quite different one-act plays at the Atlantic Theater. The Collection, from 1961, follows the repercussions of an adulterous act which may or may not have taken place. Bill (Matt McGrath), a dress designer who was saved from the slums by his older roommate Harry (Larry Bryggman), may have had a one-night fling with Stella (Rebecca Henderson), James' wife. James (Darren Pattie) menaces Bill to find out the truth and Harry visits Stella to hear her version. There is a sensual undercurrent between James and Bill and class tension between Harry and everyone else. The stylish split set is very effective and the costumes, especially Bill's over-the-top wardrobe, go a long way to create the characters. The dialogue is wittily absurd. It's a pleasant hour with no pretense of profundity. A Kind of Alaska, inspired by Oliver Sacks' book Awakenings, describes what happens when a teenage girl awakens from a 29-year coma. Lisa Emery stunningly captures the anguish of the confused girl/woman. Bryggman and Henderson as her doctor and sister don't have much chance to shine. While I was moved by Emery's big scene, I thought the rest of the play was rather flat. Karen Kohlhaas directed both plays.