This heartfelt play about mental health is both too little and way, way too much.
This puzzling evening celebrated an adored institution even as it raised questions.
Abe Koogler’s play moves almost imperceptibly between realism and a poetic alternate reality.
J. T. Rogers’ complex play demands to be seen—but who can afford to produce it?
At the Met, Carsen and company reduce metaphor to melodrama.
Hamish Linklater’s bumpy, overwritten play never finds an anchor.
Revisiting Annie Baker’s new play confirmed some of my impressions and changed others.
Martin Sherman’s play is both a sweet romance—and a platform for Harvey Fierstein to shine.
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.