Doubt: A Parable @ Le Petit Theater Review by David Lewis When Doubt: A Parable debuted on Broadway in 2005 it immediately won four Tonys and the Pulitzer, which seems like a striking feat for a four-character one-act play about suspected sexual abuse by a Catholic priest. John Patrick Shanley’s examination of a New York catholic school navigating the possible misdeeds of an affable young priest chose for setting and environment an incredibly loaded situation, but the play isn’t entirely “about” the high-stakes situation it tees up, but rather the dire processes behind the internal decisions faced by its four characters. When principal Sister Aloysius, deeply mistrustful of both the secular and the overly informal, fences with Father Brendan Flynn over her suspicions about his conduct, we wonder whether her struggle is actually more with her own faith. Actor Leslie Nipkow finds humor in the character, delivering some of the nun’s most acerbic lines with wicked timing, but also seems to establish herself with the eager and optimistic younger nun Sister James such as to remind you that “grooming” isn’t limited to sinister priests or male abusers. Elizabeth McCoy’s Sister James slowly unravels under the constant accusations and cynicism of her superior, until the shell that’s left is almost identifiable as a younger Aloysius. If there’s a close but reluctant alliance between the two nuns, the distant alliance of actors David Lind and Queen Shereen Macklin is more haunting and complex. Lind plays Father Flynn, the priest accused of abusing the school’s only African American student; Macklin portrays the boy’s mother, Mrs. Muller. Although the two won’t share a scene, they together explore complicity and deniability, two actors giving strangely corresponding performances, both characters with shockingly parallel agency. Macklin’s Mrs. Muller reminds me of the Greek chorus: it’s the most passive role of the four. These things are happening to her and her family, but we’re still never given the option to acquit her. Like the chorus, she in this way provides the most direct bridge to the audience. The dialogue is tense, but director Ashley Santos senses the play’s real tension stems from the unsaid implications in a narrative that coldly withholds resolution. We are forced to assess disparate themes as though they are truly natural contrasts: The tension between redemption and safety; “cancel culture” social reactions and the very real threat of child abuse by trusted adults in ostensibly safe places; the injurious certitude of the blindly faithful and the crippling risk-avoidance of those waiting for someone else to solve the problems. Shanley’s masterpiece is well positioned in our current social moment – and in the theater, you’ll find that the distance between yourself and the players is insufficient insulation from the invariable weakness of your own convictions. Doubt, A Parable plays at Le Petit Théâtre through May 18th. Click here for information and ticketing. Subscribe to our free weekly newsletter for more arts and culture: Nicolas Floc’h: Fleuves-Océan, Mississippi Watershed @ The New Orleans Museum of Art Review by Jamie Chiarello Upon walking up to the stairs of the NOMA, there is no missing the new work by Nicolas Floc'h. Without any further explanation, I would have assumed I was looking at a gigantic value study stretched from floor to ceiling. In some respects that is exactly what it is. Of course, aesthetics are very a personal thing, and I'm sure that many people will find this piece charming and spirited. Personally, it struck me as simple and confusingly large. In an increasingly desensitized and overwhelmed world, large scale works hope to snatch our eyes for a moment. The paragraph on the wall informs us that each color swatch is actually a photo taken at various locations and depths along the Mississippi. The array of colors are influenced by sediment, plant life and various chemical contents. There is implied a sense of revelation here, that water can be red, green, yellow or blue. It encourages us to look beyond our initial assumptions about the world around us, provoking curiosity before leading us further along the journey of the watershed. Moving through the rooms we follow Nicolas on his venture along the river. The color swatches from various locations are interspersed among black and white photos. The photos really had an effect on me that was somewhat the opposite of the color swatches. Vast landscapes with peaks of tired industry give the feeling of aging Americana, of infrastructure quietly fading in the sun. The photos are powerful and beautiful in their own right. It made me wonder what it would have been like to simply witness the photos and feel the sensations stirred without the geography lesson. I imagine if I had encountered this show in a science museum I would have absolutely loved it. The stress on reiterating the importance of water in our lives (particularly in relation to climate change) feels a bit redundant for a place like New Orleans. Between losing homes to hurricanes, clearing catch basins of beads and debris by hand and facing $6000 bills from sewage and water, locals know too well what intense effects water can have on our lives. Overall, though, this show does offer educational insights into how water is optically perceived and the effects of humanity trying to simply exist amongst natural resources. I hope the questions raised by the exhibit are being addressed by engineers, politicians and those with the power to affect how much water affects our lives in coming years. Nicolas Floc’h: Fleuves-Océan, Mississippi Watershed runs at NOMA through February 22nd, 2026. Click here for more information. The Last Showgirl
Streaming Veteran Vegas dancer Shelly, in increasingly threadbare garters, wilting feathered headdress and frayed silk wings, radiates a thousand-watt smile as she gears up for one exhausting last lap of the showbiz track. The camera is soft, vaseline-smeared around the edges, framing unsaturated hues of faded glamor. Her job, her life, is performing in ‘The Razzle Dazzle’, a creaking fixture at a resort in transition. Even the name feels out of time. The implied missing word, ‘old’ (as in, “Give ‘em the old razzle dazzle”), hangs limply in the air, like a deflating disco ball. Pamela Anderson stars as the aging optimist, juggling past mistakes with a blinkered positive attitude that gets bolted on every day as she repairs her weathered costumery. The Razzle Dazzle is coming to an end, being replaced by bawdy circuses with ever more lurid acrobatics. 18 punters a night cannot sustain this ungainly throwback - “We were like rockstars, a spectacle!” says Shelly, defending its legacy. But, like the song says, that was thirty years ago, when they used to have a show. It’s a firecracker of a performance by Anderson, the parallels to the injustices and seedy manipulations of her own career presumably weighing on her mind in every take. We could reference Demi Moore in The Substance, or Micky Rourke in The Wrestler, the clinging onto the grubby coattails of an industry with desperate fingertips, a business that has drained them of what was once needed, but which now distances itself from them at light speed. We’re given vignettes rather than real story arks. There’s the emotional wreckage of courting an estranged daughter, and a half-hearted attempt at romance with the socially-awkward, aging stage manager (played with moving empathy by Dave Bautista), but director Gia Coppola keeps us involved enough in this rhinestone-clad existential crisis. Shelley argues with her much younger dancer cohorts (the excellent Kiernan Shipka and Brenda Song) that The Razzle Dazzle has class, honoring a long line of French tradition. “It’s Parisian Lido culture,” she announces to a mostly-bored dressing room. For them, it’s just another softcore nudie gig with a paycheck: “It’s just a job that pays American dollars!” replies Song as she applies the cumbersome upholstery of her trade. At home, Shelly dances along balletically to old 16mm projections. In her mind, she’s a cultured entertainer, the most glamorous artiste in the trailer park, but it’s an increasingly debilitating delusion. She’s not Margot Fonteyn, she’s Tawdry Hepburn. I mean that less cruelley than it reads, because in many ways, she’s admirable, supportive and, as she maintains throughout, just doing the best she can (-can). The most memorable scenes, though, come with the whirlwind support of Jamie Lee Curtis. Her fake-tan-daubed Annette is a hard-as-iron cocktail waitress in a downbeat casino, withered by decades of sulphuric lighting and cigarette smoke, but gamely punching her way through every single shift. Both Curtis and Anderson have euphoric solo dance scenes that let the light shine out of their hearts, if only for one last song. They may be crying every night into their homemade margaritas, but The Old Razzle Dazzle can still sometimes paste on a smile, flip off the world and hold its head high. (PO) Harold and Saint Claude
Review by Dorian Hatchett In theatre, we seek truth. The universal human experience, writ large in lights and choreography. Those of us who spend a lot of time in dark auditoriums, though, we know a secret. The secret is pain. That great equalizer that pulls every successful script together, that unites every frenzied backstage quick-change, or last second lightboard fix is pain. The shoes that don’t quite fit and the rehearsals late into the night on twisted ankles and costumes that pinch. Play through the pain. And if you do it just right, and all those elements coalesce, it’s magic. You get to make the audience feel that pain, too. If the universal human experience is pain, then the exceptional human experience is joy. Across thousands of years of human history, we repeat ourselves, with the same casual cruelties and tragedies big and small. Again and again, the man made horrors persist. We can draw parallels, and translate across cultures, and the pain is all so poignant, and true. But in the periphery of pain lies joy, and the people who are exceptional, who perpetuate it, despite knowing far too much about the flip side of their shiny coins. Harold and Maude, a movie that premiered in 1971, to a loathsome critical response, is a dark comedy about death, and the life that people may choose in spite of it. It rose to cult status several years after its initial debut, where it remains to this day. An exaggerated may-december romance, Harold Chaisson is a very young man who is obsessed with death. Maude is an old woman who has seen death, and has chosen instead to live in every sincere sense of the word. At its root, it’s the story of generation separation from tragedy. Maude is a Holocaust survivor, and Harold is too young to understand what that means. The film coalesces with Maude choosing to embrace death on her own terms, and Harold, horrified, finally understands her lessons completely. In Harold and Saint Claude, we move the settings forward two decades, and to New Orleans, where young, sheltered Harold is still death obsessed, but is struggling with his sexuality in addition to his desire to feel anything at all in a life dominated by his overbearing mother. Doing perfect justice to the original material, director and adaptor Thugsy DaClown honors the struggles of youth and attachment, while shaping the motivations of the characters to a slightly more modern struggle. Saint Claude is an aging drag queen who has seen the worst parts of the rise of the AIDS epidemic, has not remained untouched herself by the virus, and has chosen to live, despite the ticking clock she feels over her own life. Like many people affected by the virus in the time before effective treatment, dying by choice is preferable to wasting away alone at the end, and she must teach Harold how to live before her life ends, on her 66th birthday. Bizzy Barefoot, in the role of Saint Claude, is stunning. She conveys the joy and heartache of aging, the fear and elation of being alive in every moment, in a way that had the audience hanging on her every word and grand gesture. Rose Falvey as Harold is earnest; the folly of youth personified, and the agony of watching them learn these hardest lesson is palpable and uncomfortable. The entire supporting cast is superb, a comic relief beacon in the darkness. As the play reaches its climax, there’s not a dry eye in the house. They were reciting a script, but the audience found the truth inside of themselves, and it spilled out in laughter and tears. It would be a grave error not to comment on the presentation style. The director created an immersive experience, with a live band covering and adapting popular music and an accompanying film reel to add depth and scenery to an already vibrant set. At the end, filing out full of smiles, it can be safely assumed that the audience felt another altogether different universal human experience: wanting more. First Night: Hamilton @ The Saenger Theatre Review by Eileen Daley Suffice to say that a lot of quill ink has been spilt by and about Hamilton - both the man, and the biographical hip-hop musical named for him. Opinions are sharply divided on both subjects. I'm not here to re-litigate the debates that swept Tumblr in the last decade, because quite frankly, neither I nor this website have the bandwidth. It was clear to me, however, as I watched the touring performance stationed at the Saenger Theatre this week, that the viewing experience has changed significantly since it debuted off Broadway in 2015. The humor is a little more ironic, and so is the celebration of immigrants amidst our country's current mass deportation campaign. Perhaps counterintuitively, it made this fairy tale of the nation's founding even more appealing to lose myself in, if only for a night. Another key difference, of course, was the touring cast who made the material and characters their own. Lin Manuel Miranda is a talented songwriter, but his originating of the title role was a perfunctory honor rather than, let's say, perfect casting (in other words, he hasn't got the range). By contrast, it was a real treat to watch Tyler Fauntleroy bring down the house of representatives as the starring lead. The whole supporting cast was fantastic, but I particularly enjoyed the Biggie-like gravitas that A.D. Weaver brought to George Washington. The role of mad King George III is often a scene-stealer, and Justin Matthew Sargent was no exception when he got the whole theatre singing along as his backup vocalists. Beyond the principal cast, the ensemble dancers were flawless, and I was surprised how integral they were to the enjoyment of the whole production. They served as key visual interpretation of the rapid-fire lyrics, dazzling production design against a mostly static backdrop, and were just a whole effing vibe unto themselves. The show's score (and only its score; there's no rhythmless dialogue at all in the show) is incredibly impressive with what it accomplishes. To put the following enthusiasm into context, I've never been a Hamilton girly like that; there were many fans in the audience who had every word memorized, and I'm happy for them (though maybe it's a problem that I could tell that from a distance)! But watching it live for the first time, I was blown away at the complexity of the music. Each character has a distinctive flow, and many have musical motifs that repeat through multiple songs, giving the whole show a satisfying cohesion. This would be a triumph on its own, but the fact that they're rapping about constitutional compromise in a way that's accessible to audiences of all ages is another feat entirely. Alexander Hamilton (the man) and New Orleans (the city) happen to have a lot in common. They are both of Creole descent, and their resilience was tested by a hurricane - or two dozen - in their youth. Most importantly, they put their trust and support in their fellow man, for better or worse. The sense of community in this show and its audience is enough to make you consider that the great experiment of American democracy might stave off its doom after all. Hamilton is playing at The Saenger Theatre through April 20th - click here for information and ticketing Billy Elliott: The Musical @ JPAS Review by Dorian Hatchett Set in the backdrop of the 1984 Miners’ strike in County Durham, North East England, an eleven year old boy thwarts his blue-collar roots and ignites not only a personal revolution, but joins in a social one too, as he changes the entire town’s outlook on its own patriarchal beliefs. Based on the 2000 British coming of age film of the same name, Billy Elliott: The Musical premiered in London’s West End in 2005, and ran all the way through 2016, amassing a prodigious four Lawrence Olivier Awards, and then ten Tony Awards for the American Production. The score was written by Elton John, with the book and lyrics by Lee Hall. Jefferson Performing Arts presents a brilliant rendition of the show. In a world where gender roles and expectations are nigh incontrovertible, the fight of one young boy to be who he wants to be, despite enormous social pressure, seems impossible. A family of hard bitten coal miners struggles with union strife and constant pressure to do the right thing while young Billy struggles to find his place in the world. Billy (played by the charming and talented Charlie Stover, whose cast bio reads like the IMDB of an actor thrice his age) doesn’t want to be a revolutionary. He wants to simply be and no amount of bullying by adults who don’t understand him will stand in his way. Billy’s father Jackie (played by Louis Dudossat) is a world-weary widower who wants to do right by his family, but is trapped by his own preconceived notions of masculinity. He’s a relatable everyman, driven to the brink by the stress of the union strike and by his own grief. His grandmother (Meredith Long-Dieth) is supportive and loving and seems to be spiraling out into a world of her own memories. Mrs. Wilkinson (Leslie Castay) is the dance teacher who will go toe to toe with the miners to get Billy his day in the sun. The ghost of his dead mother (Candice Moses) shows up to give him guidance when everything seems to be coming apart. His best friend Michael (Parker Portera-Dufrene) is the feckless cohort every child deserves, and his brother Tony (Logan Breaux) rounds out the family with the unending angst of the almost-grown. With fanciful choreography and a dynamic set, it’s hard not to get lost in the story of the boy who defied the odds to make it all the way to the Royal Ballet. Billy Elliott: The Musical Runs through April 6th at the Jefferson Performing Arts Center. Sign up for your free, curated week in arts and culture, delivered to you every Wednesday: Orpheus Descending @ The Marquette Theatre Review by Dorian Hatchett It’s easy to run out of superlatives when you’re writing about the Tennessee Williams Theatre Company. Opening Night of its Tenth season, and I could have been excited to watch these artfully casted actors read the phone book. What I got though, was a performance that left me at times bereft, ashamed, exalted, and with just enough comedic timing to question the intentions of a supposedly just God. Tennessee Williams wrote a direct line to the complex and conflicted soul of man, and with Orpheus Descending, what I saw on stage was a three hour seance; an invocation of the master playwright’s spirit. A reworking of one of his earlier plays, Orpheus Descending premiered on Broadway in 1957. The scene is set in a mercantile in an unnamed southern town. The townsfolk bandy about casual vulgarity, gossiping about each other and the events of their lives both banal and salacious in equal measure. They are small town personified, lacking any kind of empathy for anyone they consider “other” and instead, tallying the traumas in the lives of others as though their witness validates their small-mindedness. Valentine Xavier (played by Benjamin Dougherty) is the force of nature that upsets the delicate balance of two-faced pandering, as the traveling musician takes a job in the town dry goods store. The owner Lady Torrance (Leslie Claverie) is a first generation American who has resigned herself to a life simply survived, and in meeting and getting to know Valentine, gets to feel the discomfort and elation of a mind expanded. The everyday miseries of a loveless marriage and being the focus of the local rumor mill have worn her down to a shell of a person and seeing the potential for a life well lived, she cannot continue in what she recognizes as her past, opting to face a new life and a new future no matter what the cost. In true Greek tragedy fashion, the third act of the play coalesces in cruelty rather than redemption, and the story of Orpheus and Eurydice is complete. Williams consistently writes excellent supporting roles, and Carol Cutrere (Charlie Carr) is no exception. A free-wheeling spirit whose excesses bring shame to her family, she floats in and out of the action, refusing to go where she’s told out of a drive for exploration, or maybe just a contrarian streak. She talks often of New Orleans, and one might posit that she represents the soul of unbound vice that the city reputation carries across the south. Carol’s soliloquy “the Fugitive Kind” closes the show on a note of heartache, interrogating the value of an unexamined life and the questions we choose not to ask ourselves. Orpheus Rising runs through April 13th at the Marquette Theatre at Loyola University.
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FIRST NIGHT REVIEW: JOE & MARILYN: A LOVE STORY @ WESTWEGO PERFORMING ARTS CENTER
Review by Todd Perley Of Marilyn Monroe’s three marriages and affairs, her liaison with Joe DiMaggio had the longest run, and perhaps the strongest connection. Joe & Marilyn follows the relationship between the Yankee Clipper and the Blonde Bombshell from the night they met, through their marriage, their divorce, and up until her death a decade after it all began (I assume that’s not a spoiler?). It was DiMaggio who came to her aid, post-divorce, when she was briefly institutionalized, and he organized her funeral, and kept it small and intimate. The play even alleges they were flirting with the idea of getting remarried (because that works well, as Taylor and Burton demonstrated some years later...). DiMaggio’s career when he met Marilyn was on the wane. Recently retired from baseball, he was still wildly famous as being the MVP of...sheesh, all time, right? And while Monroe’s career had already begun its trajectory when they met, her star was on the rise, as his was relegated to publicity shots and appearances. This must have tweaked his 1950s nose in a decade which frowned upon the wife being the main breadwinner, and his frustration and jealousy is hinted at, and physical abuse briefly alluded to. Mid-century sex roles, compounded with hounding public scrutiny of every move of the hyper-famous couple likely played a role in turning the marriage into a doomed crucible. Speaking of crucibles, her subsequent marriage to playwright Arthur Miller fared even worse. Through Willard Manus’s writing, Janet Shea’s direction, the standout performances of Jonathan Mares and Sarah Colbert Cutrer dive deep and lovingly into the character. Joe & Marilyn does not read as a tragedy, despite its ending with Marilyn’s overdose. Mares and Cutrer have undeniable chemistry in this two-hander - they bear up extremely well, carrying the heavy load of a decade-plus recap of a tumultuous, but mutually caring, and beautiful relationship. Mares conveys equal amounts of tenderness and frustration, while Cutrer is as sexy, intelligent, and layered as Monroe’s own performances. Our heroes are definitely batting a thousand here. Joe & Marilyn plays the Westwego Performing Arts Theatre through 23 March - click here for information and ticketing. Sign up for your free, weekly, curated guide to arts and culture in New Orleans: Die me a river: Murder on the Nile @ JPAS Review by Todd Perley I have a soft spot for the cozy murder mystery, driven by plot and characters, usually isolated in whatever setting, over the violence of murder itself. Agatha Christie, of course, was the Queen of the Cozies, and her 1937 novel Death on the Nile remains one of her pinnacle pieces. The 1978 film with Peter Ustinov playing Hercule Poirot to perfection follows the book closely, and the stellar cast and location shooting throughout Egypt cements the film as a classic. In 1940, Christie wrote a stage adaptation, changing the title by one word, which isn’t a big deal, but also wrote Poirot out of the plot. Huh? Director Kristopher Shaw tells us, “… by the time she had adapted the novel, she had grown weary of Hercule Poirot. Instead of including him, she created a new character, Canon Pennefather, as an amalgamation of several characters from the book.” This had me concerned, being a fanboy of Poirot for pretty much my whole life, but I was also eager and curious about this new Poirot-less version. The action takes place in the late 1930s in the salon of the paddle steamer “Lotus”, cruising down the Nile, and the set is an eye-feast. It’s a period piece not written from nostalgia, but actually written in the time it is set. Which makes a difference somehow, I’ve always found. Act I introduces us to our suspects, fleshing out their backstories, motivations, and grievances. Simon Mostyn (Jonathan Mares) recently married up into the rich and opulent world of Kay Ridgeway-Mostyn (Kendall Berry), jilting his former fiancée Jacqueline (Gabriella Santalla), who plauges the newlyweds with her surprise presence wherever they go. Other passengers include Mrs. Ffoliot-Ffoulkes (not a typo) played by Janet Shea, a crotchety old woman traveling with her amenable niece Christina (Sarah Colbert), Dr. Ludwig Bessner (Adriel Aviles) whom Mrs. Ffoliot-Ffoulkes refers to with derision as “foreign.” (But so is she, being English in Egypt.) William Smith (Leon Contavesprie) is the sarcastic bohemian, and the aforementioned Canon Pennefather (Jimmy Murphy) stands in for Poirot. Getting to know our shipmates is not rushed. It is both necessary to the plot to know these people well, and also a delight. Act II presents our cozy little murder and the sleuthing begins with Christie’s trademark misdirection and cleverness steering the plot. The direction is zippy. Constant movement, rat-a-tat dialogue, people coming and going, the energy stays high and engaging. While I did miss Poirot, Dame Agatha’s new amateur detective is well-written and believable, so I consider the omission of her supersleuth to be justified, and an interesting twist to a story I was well-acquainted with. If well-constructed murder mysteries are your happy place, as they are mine, treat yourself to Maestro Christie’s classic whodunnit, told with pep and vim by an exceptional cast. As Christie wrote, “The impossible cannot have happened; therefore, the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances.” Murder on the Nile plays at Jefferson Performing Arts Center through 23 February - click here for more information and ticketing. Mamma Mia! @ The Saenger Theatre
Review by Eileen Daley My finite life can be divided into two categories: days when I am the most rapt and credulous audience member to ever enjoy a musical, and days where I’d rather be anywhere else. This varies by show, of course, but the attitude I bring into the theater can color my entire experience. And what with the news being what it is, my life doing what it does, and The Big Game taking over town this past weekend, I wasn’t sure I was in the aisle-dancing mood. Luckily, the touring production of MAMMA MIA! at the Saenger theater was ready to show me how wrong I was. I don't know about you, but to me, it feels like MAMMA MIA! (and its giant Times Square billboard) has been around my whole life - at least as long as CATS and Les Mis have played on Broadway. But it actually had its New York premiere in October of 2001. Certainly those crowds would have found it even harder to suspend their disbelief and let a cheery ABBA dance party sweep them off their feet. Not only that, but its jukebox musical concept—while not completely novel—was unproven with modern audiences before MAMMA MIA! basically resurrected the genre. Jersey Boys, Rock of Ages and Jagged Little Pill would soon follow, but none achieved the success of the original, which is still the ninth-longest running Broadway show in history. And as true in 2025 as it was in 2001, the crowd loved it. Back then, after one of the performances in that first month, a certain small-time actress by the name of Meryl Streep wrote a note to the cast and director Phyllida Lloyd “to basically say: ‘Thank You For The Music and for the injection of joy that was so needful at that moment.’” I couldn’t put it better myself. The outrageous costumes, the expressionist vaporwave set design, and the slightly muppet-y deliveries all come together to form a lovely sort of dream scored by the world’s foremost Swedish pop quartet. Standouts included Madison Deadman as Sophie, and Stephanie Genito as Tanya. Seven years after that note, Phyllida Lloyd took a chance (took a chance, took a took a chance chance) on a complete unknown and cast Ms. Streep as the lead in the motion picture adaptation of her celebrated musical. Unfortunately, that’s not standard practice in showing appreciation for glowing reviews anymore. Shame! If you change your mind…you know where to find me. Mamma Mia! plays at The Saenger Theatre through Feb 16th - click here for showtimes and ticketing information |
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