No sooner does the 2025-2026 theatrical season end in New York than the 2026-2027 one begins. Not, I should add, on Broadway; there are usually a few shows opening in the warm weather months but the book was abruptly closed the Sunday summer started on the lone one that sneaked onto the schedule at the last minute, a main stem mounting of the gossipy gab fest Celebrity Autobiography. Off Broadway however marches on, fueled by girl power at the Public Theater at two of its venues.
Uptown saw my return to the Delacorte and Shakespeare in the Park for Romeo & Juliet, only the third time it’s been mounted there in its decades-long history. Whatever the weather it’s always a pleasure to visit; it was closed for a year for renovations, then I couldn’t make it over last summer for its reopening. Onstage it’s pretty much the same as always, for better or worse. You get some fine veteran actors (Francis Jue as Friar Lawrence, Deirdre O’Connell as Nurse, LaChanze as Lady Capulet) supporting spirited newcomers in the title roles and some expert lighting (Christopher Akerlind) as night falls…and some not-quite-fully baked sociopolitical asides about immigration and ICE played in front of a wall set, from which should be hung a sign reading “beware of metaphor.” Worse, in terms of overall coherence, is that much of the first act is in Spanish (no, not Italian in this Verona), which will vex many viewers unfamiliar with that language or Shakespeare’s. (Including, perhaps, the noted TV actress seated in front, who left after intermission.) Rather than break down walls director Saheem Ali’s choice throws up barriers. My daughter (an R&J fan) and I rolled with the inspiration through thick and thin, though the audience members who will most remember this production are the ones Jue, a minister, are marrying each performance ends (a sweet touch).
Downtown is hosting a musical…well, make that “play with music,” of Susanna Kaysen’s memoir Girl, Interrupted, which is best known for its 1999 film adaptation, an Oscar winner for supporting actress Angelina Jolie. There’s a good deal of snake pit melodrama in the movie’s tale of institutionalization, which this production largely eschews. Remember the discomfiting scar makeup worn by Elisabeth Moss as inmate Polly, who tried to immolate herself? There’s none on her here–we’re told, and mostly not shown, dramatic events, largely narrated by Susanna (Juliana Canfield), who after a suicide attempt has found herself in dreary McLean, a Boston area hospital for troubled young women. It’s 1967, and there aren’t a lot of therapeutic options for outsiders, non-conformists, or the clinically or just generally depressed or despondent.
Around the spartan turntable set, under cheerless lighting, range the other inmates: live-wire sociopath Lisa (King Princess, making her stage debut in the Jolie part), schizophrenic Grace (Mia Pak), eating-disordered Daisy (Katherine Reis), and the unfortunate Polly (Sally Shaw). Their interactions with each other, their doctor (Emily Skinner), a nurse (Ta’Rea Campbell), and a “male presence” of various untrustworthy dads and mentors (Manoel Felciano) form the story, propelled by Aimee Mann’s songs. The ‘Til Tuesday co-founder and solo artist, notable for the classically moody Magnolia soundtrack among other works, holds up the “music” end of the bargain; she worked on this show for years and has performed some of the songs in concert, and the actors play some of the instruments as well as sing. Her music is the soul and spine of the piece, giving powerful voice to Polly (in her taut number “Burn It Out”) and Susanna and Grace’s plaintive, amusing “Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath,” about the creative and psychological travails of two famed McLean “alums.” (“I hope Sylvia’s family got a refund,” Susanna wryly comments, in a rare humorous moment.)
The “play” side has problems. I appreciate that the show isn’t doing the usual screen-to-stage thing of awkwardly recreating big movie moments, but too often over about two intermission-less hours it’s not doing much at all. The estimable director (Jo Bonney) and playwright (Martyna Majok, of Cost of Living) keep the proceedings intimate and at ground level, with drama at a minimum. It’s protective of these fragile young women and supportive of the community they try to make, an uphill battle as casualties mount (delicately choreographed by Sonya Tayeh). In trying not to define them by their conditions, however, Girl, Interrupted ends up doing just that, as there’s not much else to differentiate their shared storyline as it idles, despite a gallery of fine performances led by Canfield, a Tony nominee for Stereophonic. I hate to say it, but a show focused on mental illness needed more passion, more intensity, more craziness.
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