Weekly Margin 2025, W46: André De Shields is Tartuffe, The Honey Trap, She Loves Me

11/12/25: André De Shields is Tartuffe

What: The House of the Redeemer hosts an environmental production of Tartuffe starring André De Shields, in a new translation by Ranjit Bolt.

And? Sitting inside the transcontinally-transported wood-paneled library at the House of the Redeemer is already a cool experience on its own. Getting to see an intimate Molière farce starring André De Shields makes it all the tastier. It's a fun translation, for the most part: they've tightened/edited it considerably to bring the show down to 90 minutes (leaving the title character's scenes in their fuller existence to let De Shields to do his thing). My one complaint about the translation is that the rhythm keeps falling off, so the rhymes don't always flow into each other the way I'd like. The cast has a lot of strong players: Alexandra Socha is an adorably dizzy nitwit, with Charlie Lubeck as her equally dizzy paramour, Todd Buonopane as the fast-talking castigating grande dame, and Amber Iman's final performance as the delicious Elmire. But of course the star of the show is the iconic André De Shields as Tartuffe. It would be easy for him to play everything to the vaulted ceiling, but what makes him special as the distinct performer he is, is how understated his work is. We knew this from past performances in Hadestown, Fortress of Solitude, and countless others, but it's especially apparent in such a small space. While obviously Tartuffe himself is prone to histrionics (leading to, among other things, some spry push-ups and De Shields's glorious voice filling the space with song), De Shields manages to cap all of his hammier moments with a slip in Tartuffe's mask: a subtle twitch of his smile, a side-eyed glance. He is a master of the power of a small gesture to tell a larger moment, and he owns the space the moment he enters in all his regalia.

That being said, a lot of the production around him feels a bit slapdash and half-baked. Intimate theater is great, but it's bad practice to charge Broadway prices and give us an underproduced show. The costume design feels community-theater level "what's in your closet?" -- which was confirmed in an interview with De Shields, where he revealed his red robe is from his own collection, and designed by Dede Ayite for Mankind. It's the best costume in the show, and Avite deserves the credit for it, not the billed costume designer. If this were a workshop, that would be one thing. But if this is calling itself a finished production, charging what they're charging, it feels dishonest.

Hannah Beck and André De Shields as Cleante and Tartuffe.
Photo by Joan Marcus.

11/13/25: The Honey Trap

What: Irish Rep presents Leo McGann's play exploring the aftermath of the Troubles in Ireland, through the an oral history project giving us the lens of memories of a woman who was part of a honey trap, and a British soldier whose friend was murdered by the IRA.

And? It has a bit of a slow start--deceptively, it turns out, as the tension begins to ratchet up with each new revelation, each new rewriting of history and memory. Leo McGann's excellent script is an exploration not only an exploration of how trauma and pain can dictate our actions like some toxic backseat driver, but also of how we warp the stories of our lives to fit the person we want to believe ourselves to be. No one here is honest, either with themselves or with others, but the play asks: is it better to have the full truth of a scabbed-over wound, or to try to move forward and let the scar form? What is forgivable and what is not? When is it right to seek revenge? Michael Hayden, in the lead role of Dave, charts this impeccably: equal parts repellant and heart-twistingly sympathetic. In the hands of director Matt Torney, the rest of the cast is equally excellent: everyone is messy, everyone is understandably hurt, everyone has done something horrible. The production as a whole runs very smoothly as well, scenes sliding past each other with easy transitions and overlapping memories. I'm glad this run extended so I was able to see it. The play is so well-crafted it feels like it's written from an earlier era of playwriting, but this is the premier run.

Foreground: Doireann Mac Mahon, Annabelle Zasowski,
and Daniel Marconi as Kirsty, Lisa, and Young Dave.
Rear: Michael Hayden as Dave, watching his memory.
Photo by Carol Rosegg.

Weekly Margin 2025, W45: Oh Happy Day, Bat Boy: The Musical, Broken Images, Masquerade, About Time

11/04;25: Oh Happy Day

What: The Public Theater presents Jordan E. Cooper's new play about a man granted a brief reprieve from death to try to save his estranged family from an oncoming storm of biblical proportions.

And? Cooper knows how to lull you into the complacency of thinking you know what kind of show you're watching, then wallop you by upending your expectations. While the pacing of this script doesn't yet feel tight enough to keep momentum driving forward (sometimes it's there, sometimes it lags), there's enough sense of stakes and urgency that I think it will get there. At first I was worried I'd feel too estranged by the religious element of the play (as I often do with works whose sense of Christianity overdominate the piece), but the characters end up interrogating what it means to be religious enough--and indeed what God means--that I was drawn in to the conversation. This drawing in is in large part because the actual important relationships that need healing are not between human and God, but between father and son, brother and sister. And this play makes the characters work very hard for that healing, but when it lands, it truly feels like a burden of decades has been lifted.

Jordan E. Cooper, center, as Keyshawn, with Latrice Pace, Sheléa Melody
McDonald, and Tiffany Mann as Glory Divine, Might Divine, and Holy Divine,
repsectively. Photo by Joan Marcus.

11/05/25: Bat Boy: The Musical

What: The gala presentation at Encores! this year is that cult hit musical inspired by the Weekly World News's tabloid star, about the attempt to "civilize" a half-bat/half-human boy found in a cave, and the catastrophes attached to that attempt.

And? I don't think I'd realized how much the show had been revised since its Off-Broadway premiere in 2001. Though, knowing how much O'Keefe has continued to revise his other shows since their premieres, I shouldn't have been that surprised. I do hope we get a cast album out of this, just so I have a record of the new songs (the West End album has some, but not all, of them). I have mixed feelings on the revisions. The new songs are by and large good, catchy and often improving on earlier versions (boy do I not miss "Dance With Me, Darling"), while retaining the best lyrical moments from the removed songs ("I heal real fast"). I did notice the eyebrow arch of some of the lyrics was lowered quite a bit at points, especially in the group songs, but that happened with Heathers, too, so perhaps it's done with regional play in mind. Still, it feels odd to defang a show called Bat Boy.

Regarding the rest of the revisions, I'm realizing that part of what I loved about the original was the sense of ensemble to it (yes, yes, Zelda's favorite thing: a company collaboratively telling a story): with such a small cast, everyone but the core family played many roles each, infusing group scenes with a real joy in the character switches, as well as necessitating strong choices being made for each characterization. This strategy not only allowed the whole ensemble individual moments to shine, but also made all the townspeople feel like individuals and not just a crowd of folk ready to sing, celebrate, or rampage. So I missed that element.

The flip side of that, of course, is that this revision is much more tightly focused on the family, albeit at the expense of the ensemble. Which is probably for the overall good of the show, but oh, my heart longs for "Another Dead Cow." 

The cast is top shelf. Taylor Trensch dives into the physicality of the title role with gusto, nailing the camp comedy of the show, and then belting out his songs to reach us up in the balcony. Christopher Sieber is so consistently good in all his roles over the years, it's tempting to just go "yeah as usual he's brilliant," but that's giving short shrift to the specific and hilarious work he's been doing the past twenty years. His comic timing is perfectly honed, and he's fearless when it comes to being the butt of a joke. Kerry Butler, a hilarious sparkplug Shelley in the original production, returns to play Shelley's mother Meredith, and again here we have a star with a perfectly honed comedic delivery and a honeyed voice able to knock any note out of the park, paying homage to Kaitlin Hopkins's performance while still making the role her own. Gabi Carrubba makes a strong City Center debut as Shelley, balancing angsty teen against the clowning necessary for the camp of this show. And there are a number of strong performers in smaller roles--Marissa Jaret Winokur as Mrs. Taylor, Andrew Durand as Rick, Jacob Ming-Trent as Reverent Hightower, and of course Alex Newell as The God Pan, but I'm still missing a bit of the joy of seeing the same person play Mrs. Taylor as Hightower, and other juxtaposed doublings. But that's a me-issue. Everyone onstage here is great. It's just the rest of the ensemble has less to do.

Kerry Butler, Taylor Trensch, and Christopher Sieber as Meredith, Edgar, and
Dr. Parker. Photo by Joan Marcus.

Margin Notes: Broken Images

Broken Images

Seen on: Friday, 11/07/25.

Neeraja Ramjee as Manjula Nayak. Photo by Kat DuPont Vecchio.

Plot and Background

Tea and Pickle Productions LLC presents Girish Karnad's psychological thriller about a newly bestselling novelist introducing a film adaptation of her debut novel, who then suddenly finds herself interrogated by what seems to be an alternate persona wearing her face.

Thoughts:

Play: Manjula Nayak paints a pretty if implausible picture: while up to now her writing has been non-fiction and in her native language, she has chosen for her first fiction venture to write and publish her novel, The River Has No Memories, in English. Being a bestseller, it has of course been subsequently translated, but author Manjula must now contend with the accusation that she cannot tell an authentic Indian story in another--particularly a colonizing--language. Which of her voices is the true voice? Along with this critique she's also running up against the question asked by #OwnVoices: how can she, an able-bodied woman, write the story of a disabled person? She has an answer of course: as caretaker of her disabled sister after the death of their parents, she was able to witness her own sister's struggles leading up to her death.

Having an answer for every challenge, though, does not make the story around the story true. This is what the late playwright Girish Karnad interrogates. What stories are we allowed to tell, what stories do we tell others about ourselves, and what are the stories others tell about us? Without digging too deeply into spoiler territory, as Manjula's onscreen alter-ego prods at the plot holes behind the novel's existence, all of Manjula's facades crumble, her delusion and deceit eventually fall away, leaving a gnarled pit of bitterness resentment and envy.

I don't feel that the play fully executes its intent when it comes to dismantling Manjula, or in any case I don't know that I found any of the revelations that revelatory. While it's well performed, I don't have a true sense of the purpose of the alter-ego or her objective. If she's truly trying to drive Manjula to admit the truth, I'd like to see a more aggressive hounding, such that neither the protagonist nor we can quite get our bearings enough to push back. Still, I do always have a soft spot for explorations of when protagonists and writers are unreliable narrators of what should be their own basic truths.

Weekly Margin 2024, W44: Other, Nothing Can Take You From the Hand of God, The Burning Cauldron of Fiery Fire, Dreadful Episodes, Queens

10/27/25: Other

What: Ari'el Stachel's solo play about navigating his identity as a half-Ashkenazi, half-Yemeni Israeli with his lifelong struggles with anxiety and OCD.

And? He's truly a fantastic storyteller, and it's a gift to see him onstage again. He's unafraid to share some of the worst things he's done while trying to stave off his OCD and fit in with whichever community he's found. It's a story that's both familiar and different. Knowing the backlash that Stachel faced after trying to share his truth as a bridge across Arab and Jewish identities, it was validating to see this with such a full audience of a fairly wide demographic.

Ari'el Stachel. Photo by Ogata.

10/28/25: Nothing Can Take You From the Hand of God

What: Playwrights Horizons presents Jen Tullock's solo play, co-written with Frank Winters, about an ex-vangelical lesbian whose newest memoir incites controversy in her hometown as people dispute their portrayals in her book--including the woman she cites as her first love. 

And? When I saw this was a solo show utilizing some onstage cameras, I thought it might be an attempt to copy (on a downsized level) the recent Broadway run of Dorian Gray. However, the video projections serve a different function here, freezing moments to highlight strange micro-expressions, or show an angle hidden from the audience across the proscenium's fourth wall. Frances's interactions with the people in her life--her literary agent, her brother, her mother, representatives of the church, and the first love in question--are performed against the overhead sound of a book launch interview, underlining moments when the contents of her book contradict what the other characters remember, leaving us wondering who is telling the truth and who is rewriting history. And the truth is that memory is always unreliable, changeable, and one-sided. A moment that can stay forever in someone's memory as an indelible life-changing moment, can for others, as M. Bison memorably said, only be Tuesday. As a performer, Tullock navigates the many characters with deceptive ease, slipping from one to the other with subtle shifts in posture and expression and more pronounce vocal variations. And as a playwright, she and Frank Winters craft a delicate piece: powerful and profound, charting what it is to try to process trauma to find truth, and what gets left behind of yourself when you have to leave. Frances herself, in intense closeup with her eyes wet but not letting the tears fall, reflects that in leaving the church, she escaped abuse but she also lost the joy of God. She lost her community.

Jen Tullock. Photo by Maria Baranova.