New York

THEATER REVIEW: In The Antipodes, Writing Is—Literally and Figuratively—An Exorcism

There are many wonderful things in Annie Baker’s new play, but it loses its way.

John Guare’s still-wonderful play deserves better than Trip Cullman’s glossy, shallow revival.

This playful take on Agatha Christie’s mystery delivers more chuckles than chills.

I disagree with many of Sam Gold’s directorial ideas—yet I’ve never seen a production that feels so devastatingly right.

Arin Arbus’s gripping, entertaining production misses some of Thornton Wilder’s humanity.

An improbably delightful adaptation of the grimmest of all English-language dramas.

Lots of talk, and ultimately not much heat.

These idiosyncratic, often illuminating productions now at McCarter register in surprising ways.

In an often-dazzling parade of comic shtick, the sentimental side of Neil Simon tends to disappear.

What the diva does in this mixed-bag revival is star-lit and memorable. But is it acting?