The Motherf**ker with the Hat ****

I've already gone on record as not being partial to plays about drug users and dealers, but I will gladly make an exception for Stephen Adly Guirgis's new play at the Schoenfeld. Unless you are totally averse to profanity, don't let the play's title keep you away. Guirgis is a master of using vivid dialogue to build memorable characters, a bit like early Mamet without the pauses.  Knee-slapping humor leavens the painful and the profound. The cast is superb. Bobby Cannavale as Jackie, a recent parolee with a volatile temperament, is simply riveting and, in my opinion, Tony-worthy. Elizabeth Rodriguez is fierce as his addict girlfriend Veronica. Yul Vazquez, as Cousin Julio, steals every scene he is in. Annabella Sciorra, as the unhappy wife of Jackie's AA sponsor, Ralph D., is touching. In this high-powered company, Chris Rock as Jackie's duplicitous sponsor Ralph D. is slightly disappointing, although his performance improves as the play progresses. The rotating set by Todd Rosenthal nails the milieu perfectly. Anna D. Shapiro's direction could not be better. I'm glad I didn't let the topic or the language deter me from seeing one of the season's best plays.

The Normal Heart ***

This 25th anniversary production of Larry Kramer's ferocious drama about the early years of the health crisis that didn't yet even have a definitive name is actually its Broadway debut. For the occasion, the producers have gathered a powerful cast led by the superb Joe Mantello as Ned Weeks and the excellent Ellen Barkin as Dr. Emma Bruckner. The ensemble includes four stars of present or past TV series -- John Benjamin Hickey as Weeks' lover Felix Turner, Lee Pace as Bruce Niles, Jim Parsons as Tommy Boatwright and Luke Macfarlane in two small roles. All are fine, Hickey especially so. Patrick Breen shines in his big scene as Mickey Marcus,  Richard Topol impresses as two unsympathetic characters -- Hiram Keeler and the Examining Doctor, Wayne Alan Wilcox makes the most of a brief but shocking appearance early in Act One, but Mark Harelik seemed a bit wooden as Ned's brother Ben. The stark scenic design by David Rockwell serves the play well. The use of projections is restrained and effective. Several times, actors not in a particular scene are sitting around the edges of the set unlit; they are both bearing witness and in the dark. Joel Grey and George C. Wolfe share credit for directing. After 25 years, the play's weaknesses seemed diminished and its strengths increased.

P.S. You would be hard put to find a grimmer setting on Broadway than the Golden Theatre. The seats are tight, the decor (if one can call it that) is drab and the lighting is so dim that the ushers can't see the row or seat numbers. I hope the Shuberts will spring for some badly needed improvements!

The Book of Mormon ****

The critical praise heaped upon "The Book of Mormon" was so lavish that I was afraid that my expectations might be too high. I needn't have worried -- it really does live up to all the hype. This clever musical by Trey Parker, Robert Lopez and Matt Stone describes what happens when two mismatched young Mormons (Josh Gad and Andrew Rannells, both outstanding) are sent on a mission to an impoverished, AIDS-ridden village in Uganda. Much has been made about the show's naughty language and ridicule of religion, but its heart is sweet and pure. It is the model of a well-made Broadway musical with hummable songs, terrific production numbers, and a satisfying narrative arc. The ensemble is the best I have seen since "The Scottsboro Boys" and Casey Nicholaw's lively choreography puts them through their paces. Scott Pask's sets and Ann Roth's costumes are excellent. The direction, shared by Nicholaw and Parker, keeps things moving without slack. It's one of the rare shows where the best is yet to come after intermission. All in all, a very satisfying experience.

The People in the Picture *

When the best the critics can say about a play is that it is "well-meaning," take it as a warning that it's not likely to be a great night. Such is the case with this new musical at Roundabout's Studio 54. There is plenty of drama inherent in the story of a Holocaust survivor succumbing to Alzheimer's, but  the book by Iris Rainer Dart is a lumpy mix of soap opera and shtick, punctuated my songs by Mike Stoller & Artie Butler with banal lyrics by Dart. Bad taste dips to a new low with a dance number set in the Warsaw Ghetto. The literal-minded set by Riccardo Hernandez consists of picture frames -- lots of picture frames. Leonard Foglia directed. Star Donna Murphy escapes with her reputation intact, but just barely. The running time is 2 1/2 hours with intermission. It seemed longer.

A Minister's Wife **

The four new musicals that I have seen at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater over the last several years (the other three being "A Man of No Importance," "The Glorious Ones" and "Happiness") shared one thing in common:  they were just good enough that I wished they were better. The current one, in my opinion the least interesting of the four, is a musicalization of Shaw's "Candida.." It is a modest effort with five actors (the character of Candida's father has been dropped) and four musicians in one 95-minute act. The music and lyrics are by Joshua Schmidt and Jan Levy Tranen, respectively, and the book is by Austin Pendelton. Michael Halberstam is listed as conceiver/director. Marc Kudisch plays Morell and Bobby Steggert is Marchbanks. While I have enjoyed both in the past, I did not think they excelled here. Kate Fry impressed as Candida. Liz Baltes was lively as Morell's secretary, but Drew Gehling was not as the curate. I liked the Victorian clutter of Allen Moyer's set. My major complaint is that the music too rarely carried the emotional weight of the play, and when it did, I didn't find it very pleasant to listen to.

Picked **

Christopher Shinn is a playwright whose popularity has always puzzled me. Once again, as with four earlier plays, I left the theater with the same feeling of disappointment that I get after eating a meal that looked great but turned out to be both undercooked and underseasoned. In Picked, now at the Vineyard Theatre, Shinn describes what happens to Kevin (Michael Stahl-David), a sensitive young actor who is plucked from obscurity by a major Hollywood director (Mark Blum) to star in a "project" that should launch his career. The overcomplicated set-up of the first act spells out how he must bare his soul to the writer/director for six months while wired up to a machine that scans his brain activity. The original intention is for him to play both the hero and the villain (a robot), but another actor, Nick (Tom Lipinski) is brought in to play the villain because Kevin's ability to differentiate the two roles doesn't satisfy the director. Meanwhile Kevin's relationship with his girlfriend Jen (Liz Stauber), an actress/waitress who can't get "picked," becomes increasingly strained. At the end of filming, Nick leaves without saying goodbye and doesn't return calls. What little tension there is fizzles out in the second act. After the film's release, it gradually becomes apparent that what was supposed to be Kevin's breakout role turns out to be a dead end. Stahl-David captures Kevin's introspective passivity well. Lipinski is a lively presence, but Stauber seemed rather flat. Blum shines as the bigshot director who can be sympathetic, menacing, foolish and astute all at once. Donna Hanover is adequate in two small generic roles. Rachel Hauck's sleek unit set is both beautiful and effective. Director Michael Wilson makes the most of what he has to work with.

Jerusalem *

Lured by the prospect of seeing Mark Rylance in another prize-winning performance, I attended the final preview of the London import Jerusalem at the Music Box. Three things that I have a very low tolerance for are plays about trailer dwellers, plays about heavy drug users and/or drunks, and plays that resort to blasting my eardrums with loud rock music to get my attention. Within 30 seconds, it was clear that I had hit the trifecta and was in for a long (3 hours and 5 minutes, to be exact) tough slog. Rylance plays Johnny "Rooster" Byron, a modern Pied Piper, whose drugs and booze attract a sorry lot of hangers-on to his trailer in the woods on the edge of a Wiltshire town. The action takes place on St. George's Day, on the eve of Rooster's threatened eviction by the local town council to make way for a housing estate. Much drinking, snorting and using the "c" word ensue. Perhaps playwright Jez Butterworth's goal was to bemoan the sterility of life in present-day England and lament the loss of any connection to ancient English folk traditions. The hymn Jerusalem from a poem by Blake is sung at the beginning of Acts I and II, but the significance of the words was lost on me because they were either inaudible or unintelligible. The only bright spots of the evening were the tall tales Rooster tells with such great flair. Rylance's performance is indeed a tour de force, but not sufficient reason to endure a tedious evening. For me to enjoy a play, there must be at least a character or two that I care for or want to know more about; in this case there were none. The play was enthusiastically received in London. Maybe you have to be English to fully appreciate it. Fairness requires that I report that many people around me seemed to be enjoying the evening. Ian Rickson directed the mostly British cast.