
One Night Only Is Not a Show. It's a Promise.
Carmen: A one-night-only event is either the most honest thing Broadway does or the most cynical.
The sound that comes out of Zola Echeverría's mouth in the second act of "Perihelion" is not singing.

I've seen every revival twice — and I will tell you exactly which one to skip.

If there's a twenty-foot LED wall and a diva in a crystal bodysuit, I am THERE and I have THOUGHTS.

I found it in a black box on a Tuesday. By the time it transfers, I'll have moved on.

Carmen: A one-night-only event is either the most honest thing Broadway does or the most cynical.

Okay, so. The thing about Broadway and activist biography is that everybody argues about whether it deserves the big treatment.

The Foundling Stage filmed "The Inventory of Damage" over three performances last winter, and the announcement that the stage film will debut on Clearview next month means that Celeste

Camille Dorset is going to win something for this. I don't know which award and I don't care which award, but the performance she delivers in "Maravilla" at the Brennan Theatre is the kind that gets

Okay, so. When Whitmore & Cross Theatrical announced last week that they were bringing Yolanda Birch onto their theatrical roster, about forty-seven people in the broader dance-theater world sent me

The full cast for Yemisi Adade's "The Silt Beneath" is set, and the ensemble director Marguerite Fontenot has assembled for the October Off-Broadway premiere looks like it was chosen by someone who

Mija, I retired the vinyl talk — not every devotion needs a turntable, some just need you walking down the street in tonal green and pink like the citywide truce it always should've been. Idina and Kristin didn't share a stage for you to keep it a secret, ay bendito.
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Mija, sometimes you don't need eleven tracks of belting to make the point — you need Elphaba and Glinda staring down from your wall reminding you why you fell for this business in the first place. Hang it where you'll see it before you write a single word, ay bendito.
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Patti LuPone doesn't do diplomacy, and her memoir doesn't either — it's sharp, petty, gloriously honest, and reads like she's sitting across from you at a dive bar telling war stories from Evita and Les Mis. Que mujer.
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My playbill collection goes back to 1987 and I will not apologize for a single one — this acid-free binder keeps them flat and pristine so they survive longer than most marriages. The real receipts of a Broadway life.
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