When I was mulling over how to pair up the 2025-2026 season movies turned musicals I wanted to write about, I went mostly by vibes. Do Beaches and Dog Day Afternoon, either the original films or their adaptations, have anything in common? Not by any stretch of the imagination, but combining them made as much sense as anything else. This week, however, there is a method to my madness. With the Tony Awards fast approaching, I figured I might as well talk about what I consider to be the two frontrunners for Best Musical. (I’m not an awards prognosticator, and the great Helen Shaw has a different opinion on the top contenders. When in doubt, trust Helen.)

Nevertheless, I’m focusing on The Lost Boys and Schmigadoon!, the latter of which is, of course, based on a TV show and not a movie. Don’t force me to reiterate how loosely I interpret the parameters of this series. I did take some time to think about how many other musicals are based on television, and it’s certainly a much shorter list than musicals based on movies. Setting aside tourist-friendly shows like The Office! A Musical Parody, there’s the SpongeBob SquarePants musical and my dear departed Smash. But did you know there is also an Alfred Hitchcock Presents musical that premiered last year? Now you do.

I digress. Here’s your requisite reminder—

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it.

Schmigadoon!

I will never get over the fact that we were robbed of Schmigadoon! Season 3. The season was fully written! Cinco Paul and his team did 25 new songs for it! It was going to be called Into the Schmoods! And look, the series—a richly detailed and thrillingly specific parody of different eras of the Broadway musical—was always going to be niche, and I’m sure the viewership numbers were nowhere near where they needed to be. But I wanted more Schmigadoon!, damn it, and I was especially intrigued by the prospect of the show satirizing the ‘80s and ‘90s. None of this has anything to do with Schmigadoon! the stage musical, except for the fact that when I first learned the property had been adapted, I hoped that meant we were at last getting the third season.

I’ll go ahead and spoil it right now—that is not what the Broadway production of Schmigadoon! is. The show is, in fact, a fairly straightforward adaptation of the first season of the series, a parody of Golden Age musicals like Oklahoma!, Carousel, Brigadoon, and The Music Man, among others. Not all the songs from the show have made it to the stage, and there’s enough new music to have earned Cinco Paul a Best Score nomination. (I’m a little dubious on that point, but I think Schmigadoon! deserves to be honored widely, so I’ll let it slide.) The story itself is intact, with New Yorkers Josh (Alex Brightman) and Melissa (Sara Chase) wandering into the mystical, musical town of Schmigadoon and cycling through familiar theatrical plots, rediscovering their love for each other in the process.

As much as I still want to see Into the Schmoods—in literally any format, I’m not picky!—I’m really delighted by the version of Schmigadoon! the musical that we got. The original series worked surprisingly well given the difficulties of stretching the story and songs out to a full season of television, but I think the stage iteration might work even better. In a weak season for musicals overall, I was surprisingly charmed by the warm nostalgia of Schmigadoon!, and the way the musical (like the show before it) lets in just enough sincerity. For something based on (forgive me) IP and heavily indebted to the shows it satirizes, it still feels winningly fresh and distinctive. More of this, please. And then, yes, if it’s not too much trouble, Season 3.

TV show or musical: Going into this I wasn’t sure where I’d ultimately land, but I’m gonna give it to the stage musical. Which is not a mark against the TV show, an achievement in its own right. I just think the musical is doing something pretty magical at a time when Broadway desperately needs it.

The Lost Boys

Vampire musicals have traditionally not thrived on Broadway, whether because it’s hard to strike the right tone or because it’s nearly impossible to sing with fangs in. (It’s worth noting that the 1931 Dracula is actually adapted from the stage play, but that’s neither here nor there.) With that in mind, I approached The Lost Boys with some trepidation, while also acknowledging that it makes more sense for a musical than a host of other vampire films. It’s scary but goofy, sincere but camp, timeless but aggressively ‘80s. These are qualities I believe translate well to the stage, even without the involvement of Dianne Wiest.

I’ve loved The Lost Boys since high school. It’s a movie that first came into my life as a reference point for the vampire makeup on Buffy, but that I quickly grew attached to as its own thing. As someone who grew up with Batman Forever and Batman & Robin, it wasn’t my first introduction to Joel Schumacher, but it made an instant impression as horror that was stylish and not-so-subtly queer. Having revisited the movie multiple times as an adult, I can see its flaws, including some wonky pacing and flat characterization. And yet, I appreciate the way it boldly introduced a new vampire mythology and ethos that proved to be massively influential over the next several decades. Also, again, Dianne Wiest.

But how does The Lost Boys work as a musical? Mostly really well! It’s an adaptation that hews closely to the film in more ways than expected—yes, the oiled-up saxophone player is included—with some smart changes. Lucy, played here by Shoshana Bean, is fleshed out and given more to do, an appealing notion for the Lost Boys fans who are no longer teens themselves. The show also pushes the queer subtext into text (even if director Michael Arden has downplayed that a bit). If I’m honest, though, what works best for me about the stage production is the flying. I realize that probably sounds trite, but it’s a feat of staging and aerial choreography, and it provides the exact kind of theatrical experience you can’t get from a movie. Even when you can see the wires, people flying and singing onstage is cool as hell, and frankly, we should be doing more of it.

Movie or musical: My loyalty to Schumacher means I can’t bring myself to choose anything over The Lost Boys the movie. At the same time, I do think the musical is great fun, and a much more thoughtfully conceived and executed movie-to-musical adaptation than the standard fare. See both, if you can!

The dead speak! My feelings about The Rise of Skywalker aside (it’s bad), I do sort of feel like every opening crawl should begin that way. And now, as I continue my ongoing series on movies adapted into musicals—and sometimes plays, and also sometimes, I fudge the details of which came first—I’m including a musical that closed today. Do I feel bad about that? Yes, mostly in the sense that I meant to write this sooner, and also because it’s sad when any show closes and puts a bunch of people out of work. But I wasn’t going to not talk about it and ultimately, I come to bury Beaches, not to praise her.

When last we gathered for this exercise where I compare musicals to the films that inspired them while proclaiming which you should see—and often doing the very Libra thing of saying “both!”—I covered Death Becomes Her (RIP, soon), Real Women Have Curves (RIP, quite a while ago), and Heathers (still going strong!). The 2025-2026 season offered an impressive array of adaptations to discuss this way, so it only made sense to keep going. (Weirdly, only two jukebox shows, and I didn’t even get to see Mamma Mia!, which defies criticism anyway.) Unless I change my mind, which is always possible, I’ll be doing these in batches of two going forward. We’re starting with a pair of shows that have nothing in common. One isn’t a musical at all! You’re welcome for staying on format.

Once again, a reminder—

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it.

Beaches

I think you probably need to grow up with the movie Beaches to get the full effect. I watched it for the first time shortly before seeing the musical. (The musical is actually based on the novel and not the movie, but it has “Wind Beneath My Wings,” and I wasn’t going to read a whole book.) As much as I love a weepie, the film didn’t do a whole lot for me. C.C. and Hillary’s friendship never makes a ton of sense, and they seem to spend more time fighting than bonding. Bette Midler gets much more to do than Barbara Hershey, whose death is so inevitable that it doesn’t carry enough weight. And, as is so often my complaint with everything, it needs more Lainie Kazan. Sure, I squeezed out a single tear (thank you, “Wind Beneath My Wings”), but I was largely unmoved.

At this point, many of you have stopped reading this newsletter, satisfied with the knowledge that I am a monster. I would just suggest that Beaches is a “you had to be there” movie, meaning I completely understand why it has so many fans, even if I’m not among them. Besides, not forming an attachment to the film made me more open to a musical that offers a different take on the material, with a story closer to Iris Rainer Dart’s novel. Indeed, the stage adaptation of Beaches, with a book by Dart and the late Thom Thomas, follows the characters of Cee Cee (note the spelling) and Bertie (not Hillary), and while it is also about friendship and stardom and death, the details will be largely new to those who haven’t read the original. Unfortunately, I’m not sure fealty to the source material is what Beaches needed. Everything about this production feels shockingly dated. At the risk of sounding ageist, perhaps some new voices would have helped here.

As it stands, the book is by an 82-year-old novelist and a playwright who died, over a decade ago, at 80, with music by 93-year-old Mike Stoller. Do you know what Stoller previously wrote? “Hound Dog.” “Yakety Yak.” “Jailhouse Rock.” So yes, it’s not really a surprise that the whole show feels dusty. (Dart’s responsible for the lyrics, and they are hilariously literal.) Nothing about Beaches seems updated for a modern audience, and there’s nothing that makes it more worthwhile than the novel or the movie, not to get ahead of myself. The one exception is Jessica Vosk, whose powerhouse performance as Cee Cee is certainly the best thing about the musical. Sadly, that’s not enough to justify spending two-and-a-half-hours looking at a set that’s a couple piles of plastic sand and projections.

Movie or musical: I subtly tipped my hand to this already, but Beaches the musical is not worth seeing. And that’s a moot point, since it’s now closed. (It’s going on tour, though!) I’ve also made it clear that I don’t think the film is all that good either, but you can’t really argue with Bette Midler or that soundtrack.

Dog Day Afternoon

Wait, they made a Dog Day Afternoon musical? No, they didn’t. But as in the past, I am stretching the confines of this series so I can cover something I want to cover. In this case, that is Stephen Adly Guirgis’ adaptation of the Sidney Lumet classic Dog Day Afternoon. Adapting anything as revered as the 1975 film is a daunting prospect, one that allegedly caused some real behind-the-scenes conflict. It’s not really a movie begging for a new theatrical take, so I’m pretty sure this production exists mostly as an excuse to put Jon Bernthal and Ebon Moss-Bachrach onstage together. Which is a noble pursuit, as far as I’m concerned, even though I have not seen a single episode of the sandwich show.

Part of the drama surrounding this particular adaptation was about the tone, and I can sort of see where the rehearsal room concern was coming from. The play Dog Day Afternoon is notably funnier than the film, and has moments of slapstick, especially early on, that turn it into a broader comedy than I think was intended. At the same time, the movie is also quite funny, and a live theater audience is primed to be more reactive, which means you’re going to hear a fair amount of laughter at basically everything. Critics were hard on the play overall, and not just for the questionable tone. I can acknowledge that most of the changes made to this story are superfluous, and that coming at it from a modern perspective hasn’t done much to update the parts of Dog Day Afternoon that haven’t aged as well. The character of Leon, while played by a trans-nonbinary actor, still reflects an early ‘70s perception of gender identity, without allowing much space for how a 2026 audience can understand her.

Where Dog Day Afternoon won me over, however, was the act break, as Sonny gets the crowd assembled outside the bank to chant “Attica!” Watching the audience slowly join in, while also cheering for “fuck the NYPD,” was a genuinely thrilling theatrical moment, and something that can only be achieved through live theater. Was I getting more enjoyment out of it because we were sitting in front of a cop who had been clapping at all the wrong moments through the first act? Absolutely I was, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Schadenfreude is also part of the magic of theater! As much as I can see the faults with Dog Day Afternoon as an adaptation and a standalone production—including the fact that Moss-Bachrach’s Sal is a little too scary to make the ending hit the way it should—the play is delivering something distinctive, and also Jessica Hecht.

Movie or musical: I mean. Movie, obviously. I’ll defend Dog Day Afternoon the play insofar as I liked it more than most critics, but I’m not going to pretend it comes anywhere close to the 1975 film. Still, the performances are good, the act break is dynamic, and again, I’m happiest when Jessica Hecht is employed.

To the surprise of no one, I arrived at Masquerade already in a state. I don’t respond well to dress codes — not out of any resistance to authority, but because I essentially wear the same thing every day, and I don’t have all that many options to choose from. The immersive Phantom of the Opera revival (Sleep No More but make it Andrew Lloyd Webber) requires “formal or cocktail attire,” with black, white, and silver the only acceptable colors. Five minutes before I planned on leaving my apartment, I realized that my dress shirt was actually navy blue, and I spiraled about being turned away at the door — or worse, finding myself draped in a heavy cloak, which is apparently the fate of those who don’t abide by the rules. I cycled through five different shirts before finally settling on something less formal but closer to black, and by the time I arrived at the venue, I was even sweatier and more anxious than usual. The thought of putting on a masquerade mask (another requirement!) filled me with added dread. We were off to a great start!

As I soon learned, Masquerade is a bit more relaxed than they would have you believe, though there were certainly several people in our group who had gone full black tie. My companion and I were among the few who had brought our own masks, and I ended up using the complimentary mask they offered instead, simply because it was easier to wear over my glasses. (It was so tight that it squeezed my glasses into my face and triggered a sinus headache, but compared to the pain the Phantom endured, my suffering is nothing.) I felt calmer once we entered the venue, a combination of seeing how loosely several others had interpreted the dress code and the highly effective AC. Would the Paris Opera House in the 19th century have been as pleasantly chilly inside? Probably not, but I always value comfort over authenticity. I’ve seen Phantom of the Opera and had done a tiny bit of research about Masquerade beforehand — if I’m being honest, I read a several-page document I downloaded from Reddit — so I sort of knew what to expect. Beyond that, my intention was to go with the flow and embrace the experience. Immersive theater works best when you treat it like improv and “yes, and” everything you encounter. Release your inhibitions, feel the rain on your skin, etc.

That was my intention, anyway. Mere minutes into Masquerade, I feared I’d made a huge mistake when Madame Giry started instructing us all on how to sing and dance to the title song. The former wasn’t really a problem — I obviously knew the lyrics already, and I was perfectly willing to lip-sync for my life instead of actually producing sound. But the dancing truly shook me. Just how much coordination would be required over the course of the evening? I watched the very simple steps she demonstrated, studied the people around me who seemed to catch on instantly, and still managed to botch it. I had never had a problem distinguishing right from left until I was suddenly asked to turn in one direction and went the other way around. I can’t stress enough how little any of this matters. It’s dark in there, and no one is paying much attention to the non-actors. But it was hard to shake the feeling that I’d somehow already failed at Masquerade. You better believe I was hiding my face so the world would never find me!

Looking back, I can say with some relief that the beginning of Masquerade — the only real moment of active participation required — was the low point of the experience. (Or at least tied for the low point. “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” takes place in a room without AC, and I was begging Christine to overcome her daddy issues so we could move on to Don Juan Triumphant.) Unlike Sleep No More and other similar shows, which allow a little more audience independence, Masquerade is a mostly linear retelling of The Phantom of the Opera (the musical, but also, bizarrely, the Joel Schumacher movie) that takes you along from scene to scene and song to song. If you were to attend the show more than once, the only real variation you’d likely see would be the cast — there are multiple staggered performances happening concurrently, with the principals changing — and your individual perspective. Depending on where you end up sitting or standing in each room, you can have a substantially different view of the performance. And yes, you might occasionally get handed a letter by the Phantom or receive a kiss on the cheek from Carlotta, but that has no real bearing on the show as a whole.

None of this is meant to be read as criticism! While I’m sure there are those who would love something truly immersive — imagine the thrill of pulling off the Phantom’s mask, or getting crushed by a chandelier — I actually appreciated that Masquerade really is just Phantom of the Opera up close and personal. The parts of the show that worked best for me were the parts that work best on the stage, this time performed mere feet away. We had a particularly good vantage point for “Music of the Night,” and my senses were absolutely abandoning their defenses. It’s a counter-intuitive approach to an ‘80s mega-musical, not to mention the maximalism of the film adaptation, but the newfound intimacy lets you see Phantom as it’s never been seen before. Does it make the show better? I don’t know if I’d go that far. But it certainly makes the show different, and given that the Broadway production ran for 35 years and nearly 14,000 performances, the novelty is welcome.

There are also moments that approach camp in a way I found extremely pleasing. Without giving too much away, these include descending into the Phantom’s lair on an escalator, touring said lair and noting the Halloween Horror Nights-esque decor, and Christine getting caressed by phantom (Phantom?) hands emerging from the bed. And how could I forget the added scene of young Erik being terrorized as a carnival attraction, presented here alongside other freaks? (Their terminology, not mine!) I couldn’t help but notice that the fire eater seemed to have some sort of Jared Leto Joker aesthetic going on, including “HARLEY QUINN” tattooed across his chest. While that may be the sort of thing that would take some audience members out of 1881 Paris, I have never felt more locked in. The same held true for the subsequent scene of Madame Giry comforting baby Phantom by singing “Learn to Be Lonely,” a song written for the Schumacher film so that ALW could get another Oscar (he lost to a song from The Motorcycle Diaries) and Minnie Driver could be allowed to perform in her range instead of being dubbed by a soprano. Masquerade is ultimately very silly, and frankly, so is The Phantom of the Opera. No need to pretend otherwise!

I may never be the target audience for immersive theater. When Daniel Radcliffe wandered the audience looking for willing participants before Every Brilliant Thing, I decided I would pretend I only spoke Italian if approached. (Didn’t come up, and also I could have just politely declined, but such was the state of my anxiety.) When I attended Death of a Salesman and was seated in the front row, right up against the stairs leading to the stage, I became briefly concerned that I would somehow be a part of the action. (Again, a non-issue, though when the family climbed the steps in front of us for — spoiler alert — Willy Loman’s funeral, I was tempted to join them. Attention must be paid!) But I think Masquerade is a genuinely exciting way to experience a show that you’ve likely seen (or at least heard) before. It’s innovative without ever being overwhelming, and it’s the kind of theatrical experience you’ll want to talk about with friends, or even write about for your newsletter. Plus, you can learn from my mistakes and avoid any unnecessary panic over the dress code or the brief bit of singing and dancing at the beginning. I might just advise you to lightly practice turning right or left before attending.

Buy tickets for Masquerade here.

Well, here we are again, if you can believe it—and I think you can. It’s time to close out last season and dip into the next one with a final breakdown of the musicals adapted from films. (Here’s a link to Part 3, just in case you didn’t see me write things about Sunset Boulevard that have lost me friends and subscribers.) Because I’ve been dragging my feet on this a bit, one of the shows in question has already closed. On the plus side, I’m inclined to be slightly more gracious than I would have been otherwise!

In a broader sense, I’ve been thinking a lot about the merits of comparing these musicals to their source material. On the one hand, it’s inevitable, not to mention warranted, given that most of these shows exist because of perceived audience familiarity with the original films. But one of the musicals I’ll be discussing below is a show I love deeply while also recognizing the ways it lacks the edge of the film that inspired it. I’ll get into it when we get there, and thankfully I’ve allowed myself the cop-out answer of “both” when deciding between the movie or musical, but I do want to reiterate that I appreciate the stark differences in these mediums. There is always going to be an act of translation that happens when a film is adapted for the stage, and that may require losing elements that I love about the movie, simply because they’re impossible to pull off in a theatrical context.

I mean, there’s a reason I continue to include this disclaimer on every post in this series—

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it.

Anyway, that’s probably enough preemptive apologizing. Let’s get on with it.

Death Becomes Her

I’ve seen 1992’s Death Becomes Her countless times over the years, but every time I revisit it, I come to the same conclusion: Sometimes a perfect movie can also be deeply flawed. I will always have so much nostalgia for the film, one of my earliest exposures to body horror and diva worship. Watching it objectively as an adult, however, I can acknowledge where it falls short, namely that it’s less a cohesive narrative and more a collection of set pieces that show off some very exciting effects work. Ultimately, I don’t care much. The effects really are exceptional, Isabella Rossellini is iconic, and wonky pacing is actually queer. (This is a theory I’ve been spouting for years now, most recently on my podcast. Just go with it.)

With that in mind, I approached the musical with the expected trepidation. How does a special effects showcase work onstage? The answer, blessedly, is really well, provided the effects are still quite good. Yes, this is live theater, so you can’t turn someone’s head all the way around or put a hole in their stomach in the exact same way. Really all that means is a bit more suspension of disbelief, and part of the fun of Death Becomes Her the musical is seeing how they work around the medium’s constraints. There are some ingenious choices made that rival Zemeckis’ creativity.

But the effects, however impressive, are far from the sole selling point of the show. I was pleasantly surprised by how much Death Becomes Her pulls from the movie while also being its own thing. Marco Pennette’s laugh-out-loud book includes just enough allusions to the original, but is filled to the brim with new jokes. That’s a blessing, especially if you’ve seen several movie-to-musical adaptations that regurgitate the movie script in the hope of easy applause. (Depressingly, it usually works!) Then there’s Julia Mattison and Noel Carey’s score, so often an afterthought in this kind of show, which instead manages to be as biting and distinctive as the book—not to mention catchy enough to inspire multiple TikTok trends.

Movie or musical: Here comes the cop-out! In my defense, this is so clearly a case where both the film and the show succeed on their own merits. I haven’t even mentioned Megan Hilty and Jennifer Simard, both of whom deliver performances that would be enough to justify the musical’s existence. So yeah, see the movie, see the show, be grateful both exist.

Real Women Have Curves

The movie Real Women Have Curves will always have a special place in my heart, both because it’s really good and because it’s the first movie I reviewed for my high school paper. (Not to get too in the weeds here, but our adviser wouldn’t let us do movie reviews unless there was a local connection, and Ana goes to my high school at the start of the movie, which turned out to be enough.) When I watched it recently, I found that it still holds up quite well, thanks in large part to the performances from America Ferrera and Lupe Ontiveros, and a surprisingly thorny script that avoids the kind of easy resolution you might expect to find in this kind of coming-of-age movie.

Obviously I want to be a little more delicate than usual when talking about the musical adaptation, because it closed in June after coming up empty-handed at the Tonys. (Justice for the perpetually underrated Justina Machado!) On the surface, I understood why the show was happening—this is not a movie that was necessarily crying out to be musicalized, but it makes sense when you consider how much of the film is about characters struggling to express themselves and be heard. No better way to do that than through song! The show’s creative team opted to reconceive it as a period piece, not of the early 2000s when the movie is set, but instead of 1987. Though not inherently a bad choice, it’s a little odd given how much the musical wants to focus on the plight of undocumented immigrants. While it’s a good reminder of how cruel and carceral this country has always been, I wonder if the bravery to do something set in the present day would have added a sense of urgency that Real Women Have Curves the musical lacked.

To me, the biggest problem of the show is one that is sort of inherent to adapting films to the stage—at least if you’re going for mainstream success. (I’ll get into this more below.) The musical sands down the edges of the movie, so that while it does add more on the harsh reality of the textile factory’s undocumented workers, it also flattens the dynamic between Ana and her mother, Carmen. Even as Carmen takes digs at her daughter’s weight, the character gets softened, so that (spoiler alert) she gives her blessing to Ana at the end, and the two embrace. I completely understand why the musical didn’t want to mimic the film on this front, but the lack of resolution in the movie makes for a bittersweet ending that’s one of the most interesting things about it.

Movie or musical: Well, one is currently streaming and the other has closed, so the choice has already been made for you. Look, there was a lot to like about the musical, and I wish it had held on for a little longer, but the more Broadway-friendly treatment of the story and the forgettable score were not enough to match what the film offers.

Heathers

I’m not going to keep you in suspense here: I love Heathers the movie and I love Heathers the musical. But as I’ve been weaving throughout this post, the adaptation does speak to the way there are necessary sacrifices to be made when bringing a film to the stage—and that’s particularly true when the film in question is a pitch-black comedy and distinctly of its time. It’s not that Heathers hasn’t aged well, because it’s as biting and funny now as it was in 1988. It’s that the culture has changed, often in unfortunate ways, so a movie about teens killing each other feels much less like the heightened reality that writer Daniel Waters and director Michael Lehmann were going for. (See also: the perpetually troubled Heathers TV show, which had episodes pulled, delayed, and recut amid repeated real-life incidents of teenage violence.)

The musical, to its credit, does not sanitize everything. In adapting the source material, Laurence O’Keefe and Kevin Murphy can’t avoid the basic plot points of the story, even if J.D. now reads more school shooter than in the movie. It still has an undercurrent of nastiness, and some of the film’s slurs even survive intact. But yes, this is a musical, and though there are certainly plenty of examples of musicals with unhappy endings, audiences generally prefer to go out on a high note, or at least with a glimmer of hope. (Can a bummer show like Floyd Collins, for example, ever be a true hit?) And so, Heathers the musical not only gives us Veronica reconciling with Martha, but also embracing the remaining Heathers and ostensibly ending high school bullying with the cheerful “Seventeen (Reprise).” It’s a safer ending, and for fans of the movie, it shouldn’t work. And yet!

There is so much to love about Heathers onstage that you can forgive the way it goes a little easier on its characters and opts for a moment of grace in the end. For me, the score is far and away the reason this show works. These songs are so infectious, so funny, and so indebted to the satirical edge of the film that it’s impossible not to fall for the musical. The New World Stages production is my third time seeing Heathers (I saw the original production back in 2014, and the U.K. production in 2022), and despite some song differences over the years, it’s the same delightful show as always. That’s not to sell short the current cast, who are all really good, but rather to acknowledge that Heathers is fantastic and solidly entertaining in all its iterations, and should probably always be running off-Broadway.

Movie or musical: You already know the answer is both. I will say that while I think everyone should see Heathers the movie, the musical might be a better entry point for more sensitive preteens. (Given the age of the audience when I attended, I’m apparently not alone in that assessment.) But both are, in their own way, essential.

Will we ever exit the age of the jukebox musical? Probably not. There are several successful jukebox shows from seasons past still running on Broadway: & Juliet, Moulin Rouge!, MJ, Hell’s Kitchen. Familiar IP is familiar IP—it’s the reason why the even bigger trend these days is musicals (and plays) adapted from movies. Thankfully, the two jukebox shows from this past season that are still running are both ones I can recommend unreservedly. Perhaps this subgenre is simply getting better! Or maybe we just lucked out when it comes to the last 2024-2025 Broadway season jukebox musicals still standing.

Before I refresh you on my patented (not actually patented, but don’t steal) scoring rubric, a word on two shows that closed. It didn’t feel fair to break them down here, mostly because they’re long gone and I have… mixed things to say. (Here’s where I’d insert the Simpsons “stop, stop, he’s already dead!” GIF if I knew how to do that on Substack.) At the same time, I think they’re worth mentioning.

So, in brief and sans rubric, A Wonderful World - The Louis Armstrong Musical mostly felt as overstuffed to me as its title. What made it worth seeing was the lead performance by James Monroe Iglehart, well deserving of the show’s sole Tony nomination. The musical biopic has been done to death at this point, and there was nothing new about the take here, but I’m glad I got to see Iglehart do it. Then there’s Swept Away, a show I admired more than I enjoyed. The Avett Brothers score was lovely, and I appreciated how dark the book got—I am always here for an ethical debate on cannibalism in a musical—but it never quite cohered for me. I wish it had found an audience, in large part because I want more weird and challenging shows. Also, in a season with far too many screens for my liking, I do have to shout out the gorgeous set design.

But on to the main (albeit abbreviated) event, the scoring of the two jukebox shows from last season you can still see. As a reminder, here’s how the rubric works—

Originality of story: Is there something that feels fresh about this story, or is it just telling an artist’s story and falling back on all the most familiar tropes? (X/10)

Preponderance of bops: I don’t think this needs any explanation. How many bops are there? Are they of a high quality? It’s subjective, but I’m right. (X/10)

Integration of music: Are the songs entirely diegetic, and if so, do they still work to move the story forward? If people are breaking into song, does it feel labored? (X/10)

Musical self-awareness: The worst jukebox musicals take themselves (and the artists they’re celebrating) way too seriously. Are we having any fun with the material? Are tongues firmly planted in cheeks? (X/10)

Audience self-awareness: Does the audience know they are seeing a live performance? The more they sing along, the lower this score is. Whether or not it’s fair to blame that on the show, I’m going to. (X/10)

Total score: X/50

Buena Vista Social Club

Originality of story: Although the show is based on the album of the same name (and might owe a bit of inspiration to the 1999 Wim Wenders documentary), the story is entirely original. It’s also weighed down with predictable tropes, so I can only give partial credit here. (6/10)

Preponderance of bops: The impeccably performed score of Buena Vista Social Club is by far the best thing about it. The second time I went, I largely ignored the book and just paid attention to the songs, and that was a much better experience. “Candela” goes so hard. (9/10)

Integration of music: This is a tough one to score, because the songs are all diegetic, and I wouldn’t say they really move the story forward (with some exceptions). I’m still inclined to be generous, though, given how much the music is the centerpiece of the experience. (8/10)

Musical self-awareness: Yes, the show takes itself very seriously, but it’s with a level of respect that feels appropriate given the subject matter. And there is at least an acknowledgment that the bulk of the story is completely made up, which counts as self-awareness to me. (7/10)

Audience self-awareness: I didn’t hear anyone singing along, but I did see several audience members giving themselves over to the music and having the time of their lives. What more can you ask for, really? (9/10)

Total score: 39/50

Buena Vista Social Club is running at the Schoenfeld Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Just in Time

Originality of story: I was worried that Just in Time would follow the typical structure of the bio-musical, so I was delighted when the show started and Jonathan Groff was playing himself. It’s a smart deconstruction of the format, even if it does eventually end up in familiar terrain. (7/10)

Preponderance of bops: Did you know I love Bobby Darin? Why was I the last person to find out? But really, there are so many songs that absolutely crush, including the biggies like “Splish Splash” and “Mack the Knife.” Gracie Lawrence doing “Who’s Sorry Now” is also a highlight. (9/10)

Integration of music: Many of the songs are diegetic, but they do move the story along, with the aforementioned “Who’s Sorry Now” punctuating Connie Francis and Bobby Darin’s breakup, for example. The non-diegetic numbers are a little less successful. (7/10)

Musical self-awareness: I think we’ve all grown somewhat fatigued by shows going meta, but the reason this one works as well as it does is that it’s commenting on the jukebox genre while also embracing sincerity. To me, it’s the perfect blend. (9/10)

Audience self-awareness: Another thing many of us would like to move on from? Immersive entertainment. And yet, Alex Timbers continue to strike the right balance. The audience is part of the show here, but never in a way that feels intrusive—or encourages them to loudly sing along. (9/10)

Total score: 41/50

Just in Time is running at the Circle in the Square Theatre. Buy tickets here.

I’m making a prediction here: The two towering diva performances of Audra McDonald in Gypsy and Nicole Scherzinger in Sunset Boulevard will cancel each other out, as will Megan Hilty and Jennifer Simard in Death Becomes Her, and Jasmine Amy Rogers will take home the Tony Award for Best Actress in Musical. How confident am I in this take? Not very—it’s more wishful thinking than anything else, but if I’m wrong, I’ll at least be wrong quickly. To be clear, all of these women are worthy in their own way. This was a great season for actresses acting, and Audra in particular is doing something extraordinary as Mama Rose. And yet! I want this for Jasmine Amy Rogers. I feel like she deserves it. And I really think she could win.

Boop! The Musical is a show I went into with ample uncertainty given my less-than-positive feelings about IP-driven musicals (even if the IP in this case is a 95-year-old animated character who has faded from the public consciousness over the last few decades). I’d heard very mixed things, though I will say that the people I trust the most insisted it’s secretly great. I figured that if I did end up liking it, it would take a while to get on its wavelength. Imagine my surprise when I fell in love pretty instantly—and much of that credit goes to Jasmine Amy Rogers, who is so instantly winning that it’s kind of impossible not to embrace the entire endeavor.

I’ll get back to her in a minute. I do want to offer some praise to Boop as a whole, because I feel like pinning all of the show’s success on Rogers isn’t fair to the other great things about it. The Barbie-coded approach of bringing Betty Boop to the 21st century is a clever one, and it’s something the musical does well, without getting overly mired in predictable fish-out-of-water mishaps. The score—music by Foster and lyrics by Susan Birkenhead—doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but its catchy, throwback style is better than it’s been given credit for. It’s also well matched to Jerry Mitchell’s Tony-nominated choreography. (With all due respect to Buena Vista Social Club, he should win.) Speaking of nominations, Gregg Barnes should also pick up the Tony for costume design, if only for the Act Two opener “Where Is Betty?” and the costumes that are in vibrant color on one side and black-and-white on the other.

Much of Boop is broad, yes, but it’s deliberate and self-aware—and not in that grating meta way where you lose any semblance of sincerity. This is obviously a very sincere show, one that takes itself the right amount of seriously. It’s a credit to Mitchell’s direction and the entire cast that Boop maintains just the right tone throughout. There’s a real emotional core to Betty’s desire for self-actualization, but Boop never forgets that it’s based on cartoons. Songs like “Sunlight” and “My Hero” give the show enough pathos to take these characters seriously, and then we can go back to the silly stuff and Pudgy the dog. (Pudgy is not nominated for a Tony, nor is his puppeteer Phillip Huber. Where is justice?)

But OK: Jasmine Amy Rogers, my Best Actress in a Musical winner and the reason I felt compelled to write this in the first place. She is far and away the best thing about Boop—a show I, again, really like!—and this is the kind of star-making performance that deserves to be recognized. Everything about her portrayal of the title character is perfectly pitched. She’s believably straight out of a cartoon, but never one-note. She manages to evoke the distinctive sound of Betty’s voice in a way that’s somehow never grating. There are so many ways this could have gone wrong, and instead Rogers is the glue that holds it all together. It’s a towering achievement, and while I’m confident she will have a long career with ample opportunities for Tonys down the line, I’d love to see her awarded now. And I say that as someone who generally prefers to see legends showered with trophies over newcomers, which is not me being ageist and more me still recovering from Mikey Madison getting the Oscar over Demi Moore.

I want Rogers to win because I think she deserves to win, but also because I think it could give Boop the boost that it needs to stay open. Right now, it’s fighting an uphill battle. I’ve checked the Broadway grosses, and the only show with a lower average ticket price is Real Women Have Curves. (Give the always wonderful Justina Machado a Tony, and keep that open, too!) Real Women Have Curves, however, will be performing at the ceremony, while Boop will not. We need people to get a sense of what Boop has to offer, and I’m not sure Hannah Solow’s incredible viral TikTok is enough—maybe a Rogers win would do it. There is real theater magic and joy in this show, which is so much better than the thoughtless brand extension it could have been. I’d just love for audiences to have many more chances to see that.

Boop! The Musical is at the Broadhurst Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Here’s the thing: I never intended for this to be an ongoing series. But if Broadway is going to keep translating films to stage, I am going to feel inspired—nay, obligated—to keep breaking down the options this way. (Also, just for a peek behind the curtain, since theater outlets don’t generally want to pay me to write reviews, I’ve been focusing on freelance work that helps me afford my out-of-pocket health insurance, so this is a great way to cover more of a season I’ve been neglecting.)

Perhaps I’ve softened a bit in my old age (I was a whole year younger when I last did this), but I feel a little less reflexively opposed to the idea of adapting movies into plays and musicals now. In part, that’s because there’s been some more thought put into it this season: bigger swings, more nuanced productions, scores that don’t feel like ChatGPT was asked to write songs for a musical adaptation of The Sixth Sense. (I would 1000 percent see that. Picture Caissie Levy as Lynn, earning a Tony for her breathtaking 11 o’clock number “Do I Make Her Proud?”) I certainly don’t like all the adaptations on Broadway this season, but I can at least appreciate that an attempt was made, and I’ve tried to judge them accordingly.

For this installment (spoiler alert: not my last), I’m broadening my parameters for inclusion, because it was impossible to ignore the big movie-turned-play this season. Also I decided to add another play that started as a play but that has a well known movie, which would only be cheating if I weren’t the one making the rules. You have to be flexible sometimes, like when you’re trying to cover a lot of material based on your own silly rubrics. Thank you for your understanding, and for not unsubscribing. But also this is a free newsletter with very infrequent updates, so truly, go with god.

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it. (This is the same note I include every time, and I always mean it!)

Sunset Boulevard

I first saw Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Sunset Boulevard when Glenn Close did it for the second time (or I guess third, if you count LA, and we all know Patti does). I thought it was pretty terrible! I enjoy ALW shows, particularly when they’re frozen in the ‘80s like Phantom of the Opera or thrillingly reinterpreted like Cats: The Jellicle Ball. But Sunset Boulevard takes a quite literally perfect film and adds utterly forgettable songs—minus two of his best, “With One Look” and “As If We Never Said Goodbye,” and I guess also the title song, though in my head the lyrics remain, “Sunset Boulevard, schmunset schmoulevard,” which I don’t think is right.

The current and much-lauded production on Broadway is not Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Sunset Boulevard, however. This is Jamie Lloyd’s Sunset Boulevard, a bold new interpretation of the material that audiences went apeshit for in London and that seemed at one point guaranteed to earn star Nicole Scherzinger a Tony once the show transferred to Broadway. (I think Audra has the momentum now, and not because Scherzy asked Russell Brand where to get a “MAKE JESUS FIRST AGAIN” hat.) This Sunset is severe and stripped down, with a Norma who is less fading silent film star and more fallen pop diva. There is a lot of blood at the end (Daniel Fish’s Oklahoma! should sue). And there are screens everywhere, with cameras following cast members onstage and off—Tom Francis sings “Sunset Boulevard” on the street outside, which is mostly fun for the way looky-loo tourists are inevitably shoved—and Scherzinger getting close-up after close-up, long before the arrival of Mr. DeMille.

Unfortunately, I hate screens. I hate them for the way they have supplanted traditional Broadway sets, but I hate them more for the way they often look like shit. Most of all, I hate the way they make me feel like the director should have just made a movie, and that’s truer than ever in Sunset Boulevard, which was famously already a movie. The production includes film-style credits, something that offends me to my core. I could look past my internal biases if I felt like this Sunset amounted to anything, but I find it hollow, a collection of ideas (some of them good!) that are too dramaturgically muddled to cohere. Even Scherzinger, who is objectively strong in the role, can’t overcome characterization that lacks the clarity of Billy Wilder’s vision. The musical has never been for me, so perhaps it’s not surprising that even a radical new approach would be unappealing. Still, I wish I saw what others do here.

Movie or musical: It’s not a fair fight, as far as I’m concerned. One of the most remarkable things about the movie Sunset Boulevard is that it’s 75 years old and still feels startlingly modern. You have to have a really good reason for adapting and updating it, and I simply don’t see one in the current iteration of the musical.

Good Night, and Good Luck

It took me 20 years to watch the movie Good Night, and Good Luck, which I finally rented in advance of seeing the play. I was so impressed by David Strathairn’s performance, George Clooney and Grant Heslov’s script, Robert Elswit’s stunning black-and-white cinematography—and even more dubious about the necessity of putting it onstage. These very literal film-to-play adaptations have irked me ever since I saw Ivo van Hove’s wildly overrated Network. In many ways, it goes back to my feelings about an overuse of screens. If you want to make a movie, make a movie. Let films be films!

Here’s the thing, though: I loved the play version of Good Night, and Good Luck, which doesn’t do anything radically different from the movie in terms of content. The staging, however, is innovative and immersive. As much as I love the look of the movie, I realized there was something meaningful about seeing this story in color. Black-and-white can be distancing—it’s an aesthetic we associate with the past for obvious reasons, and when it is used now, it’s almost always to evoke a different era. In full color, the play wants us to see its story as something impossibly current. Anyone paying even passing attention to the news can see the way the story of HUAC, government censorship, and media complicity remains painfully relevant, but telling that story in color and live onstage drives it home with more urgency.

And look, does Good Night, and Good Luck need to make that even more obvious with a montage of decades of news coverage since Murrow’s death, culminating in Elon Musk’s fascist salute? Maybe not, but there’s a real catharsis in hearing an entire theater audience boo that shit. Even if Clooney’s performance isn’t as polished as Strathairn’s, he’s the exact person I want so-called liberal cringe from right now. Broadway prides itself on being progressive, but a look at the political donations of some top producers muddles that somewhat. I’m always glad to see a piece of work that’s as focused and righteously angry as this play is—that more than justifies its existence.

Movie or play: This is so clearly a “both” situation for me, and a great reminder of what these different mediums can bring to the table. I can’t promise to not be a hater about movie-to-play adaptations going forward, but I’ll try to keep a slightly more open mind.

Glengarry Glen Ross

I know, I know. But I warned you that I was bending the rules here. Yes, Glengarry Glen Ross began its life as a David Mamet play, with the original Broadway production earning Joe Mantegna a Tony for his performance as Ricky Roma. I’d just argue that people are probably more familiar with the 1992 film, which added the scene for Alec Baldwin that gave us “coffee’s for closers.” Arguably the line most associated with Glengarry Glen Ross, and it’s not in the play at all! The movie also got Al Pacino a well-deserved Oscar nod for playing Roma, and Jack Lemmon’s indelible performance as Shelley Levene inspired two characters on The Simpsons. Now that’s impact.

I was looking forward to the play because the movie is good enough to overcome my feelings about David Mamet, and the cast of the current Broadway production is a murderer’s row of guys I like, including Kieran Culkin, Bob Odenkirk, Bill Burr, and Michael McKean. Now having seen it, my hot take is that it’s pretty good. The play is a tight and effective piece of work, and with a strong cast, it’s hard to fuck up. I haven’t seen any other productions, so I can’t say for certain that this one doesn’t do anything different, but it’s quite straightforward. And that’s fine—I don’t think Glengarry Glen Ross needs to be high-concept.

All that being said, there are reasons it never moves past pretty good. Chief among them is a miscast Culkin, whom I really do love, but who reads as too young for the part. He’s not too young! I’m pretty sure he’s the exact same age as Cannavale was during the last production. But especially in the context of this cast, he feels out of place, and he’s never all that convincing as the ruthless smooth talker Roma is supposed to be. This is a role that has netted two Tony Awards and an Oscar nod, and Culkin notably wasn’t even nommed. Beyond that, the direction is maybe too tight—the conclusion feels rushed in a way that undercuts the gut punch of its final moments, leaving me a little cold.

Movie or play: I don’t regret seeing the current Broadway production, mostly for Odenkirk and Burr, who are both so good. At the same time, the movie is the better version in almost every way, and significantly less expensive to rent than snagging a ticket to the play.

Has there ever been a more devastating read than Roy Cohn’s summation of Cats in Angels in America? “It’s about cats.” Well, probably. The line echoes Andrew Lloyd Webber’s explanation to Harold Prince (“Hal, this is just about cats”), and he probably didn’t intend for that to be a dismissal. Still, the Tony Kushner quote has long been my association with the musical, a reminder to never try to find any real meaning in the show. It’s just not that deep.

Generally speaking, this is helpful guidance when seeing Cats. You can focus on the dancing. You can focus on the silly names (T.S. Eliot kind of snapped with Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer). You can focus on whichever beltress has been tasked with singing “Memory.” For me, the notorious 2019 film adaptation—a movie which you can’t prove did not cause the pandemic—was really the turning point on Cats. It was so stupid and ugly that I was forced to imprint on it. It made me feel certain that the best this show can be is a glorious mess, and truthfully, there are few things I love more.

Then I saw Cats: The Jellicle Ball, and something shifted. Cats was suddenly… good. Urgent, alive, imbued with a profundity I could never have expected. The high-concept approach was not gimmicky but essential. And all memories of Ian McKellen lapping up milk, the infamous “Butthole Cut,” and James Corden were instantly wiped from my mind. It took over 40 years, but this is the way Cats was always meant to be seen.

Co-directed by Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch, PAC NYC’s production of the ALW musical moves the story from London alleyways to a New York drag ball, with the titular felines voguing their way down the runway as they vie for 10’s across the board (and a trip to the Heaviside Layer). It’s such a seamless adaptation that it makes you wonder why no one had thought of it before. Of course, it’s quite possible that others had, when you consider the unfortunate reality that mainstream theater has generally been more welcoming to anthropomorphized cats than to Black and brown queer people.

Cats: The Jellicle Ball doesn’t merely feature queer people; it overwhelms the audience with queer joy, something that few shows even tap into. The vibes are impeccable, and the crowd responds accordingly. Theatergoers encouraged to be reactive still tend to hold back, and you can feel a bit of that hesitation as the production ramps up. By the second act, though, the audience is punctuating their cheers with clacking fans and leaping to their feet after a perfectly executed death drop. The Jellicle Ball has an inescapable pull, and letting yourself fall into it is pure theatrical bliss.

But the queer joy of the production isn’t what surprised me—it’s the way this Cats is suddenly about something. By giving a silly show a very real cultural context, the adapters have created something profoundly moving.

After a series of projections introducing the audience to the Founding House Mothers, we meet Gus the Theatre Cat. He’s played by Junior LaBeija, a member of the House of LaBeija for over 50 years. Suddenly his song is imbued with history—real history, not cat history—and the respect and reverence from the younger performers feel earned. I think there are plenty of reasons to appreciate Cats when it’s just about cats, but it’s hard to argue that it doesn’t hit harder when it has meaning.

The casting across the board—which includes performers of all genders, many of whom have a background in ballroom—speaks to the authenticity that makes this Cats such an achievement. You could say the same for the choreography by Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons, who also come from the scene, and who say in their program note, “We accepted the opportunity to choreograph this reimagination of Cats to center Ballroom culture.” This attention to detail and care sets a new standard for high-concept productions—and yes, for Cats itself.

For those of us who do appreciate trash, rest assured that there’s room for all interpretations of the material, even if The Jellicle Ball has instantly established itself as the best one. We still have Rebel Wilson’s Jennyanydots, and no one can take that away from us. But don’t miss your opportunity to see a fabulous, stirring, and completely transformative production of one of the most successful musicals of all time—and maybe keep your fingers crossed for a “now and forever” Broadway transfer.

Cats: The Jellicle Ball runs through August 11 at PAC NYC. Buy tickets here.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there were kind of a lot of Broadway shows this past year. Some people—not me, obviously, people who are much ruder—might say it was a season of quantity over quality. Yes, there were a fair number of semi-forgettable plays and musicals that came and went, but there were certainly some standouts. And in the shows that weren’t quite worthy of commendation, there were often performances that elevated the material.

Even in an overstuffed year, many of these actors were nominated for Tonys. But not all! There are seven nominees for Best Featured Actress in a Musical, and I’d argue that still isn’t enough. With that in mind, I’ve decided to take a moment to shout out some of the performances I’m still thinking about that didn’t earn nominations. This isn’t me making a case for swapping out any of the actual nominees—it’s just an excuse to celebrate a handful of actors I want to celebrate.

And yes, one of the actors on my list is Tony nominated for a different performance, and was not eligible for the one I’m singling out, but this is my list and, frankly, I can do what I want.

1. Ricky Ubeda, Illinoise

I’m grateful to be an Outer Critics Circle member for many reasons, including the fact that we nominated Ricky Ubeda for his stunning work in Illinoise. So You Think You Can Dance fans know that his dancing is undeniable, but Ubeda’s performance in Illinoise goes beyond his effortless movements—so much of it is carried in his face, which conveys joy, love, grief, and painful longing without him ever uttering a word.

2. Brent Comer, The Outsiders

The cast recording of The Outsiders has solidified something for me: The Darry songs are the best ones in the show. That’s in large part thanks to Brent Comer, who, yes, sounds incredible, but also beautifully captures his character’s precarious position as a young man suddenly thrust into a parenting role he wasn’t ready for. There’s so much exhaustion and frustration, but also a tenderness that radiates between all three Curtis brothers.

3. and 4. Chris Stack and Andrew R. Butler, Stereophonic

We are so overdue for a Best Ensemble Tony, because as much as I’m delighted that five of the seven actors in Stereophonic got Tony noms, the remaining two should be there, too. (Maybe just a separate category for Best Performance in Stereophonic, not that I could pick.) Chris Stack has a less showy part, but his restraint makes those moments where Simon is pushed past his breaking point resonate harder. And Andrew R. Butler’s comic timing and idiosyncrasies break up the play’s tension for a much-needed release.

5. Arielle Jacobs, Here Lies Love

The trick of Here Lies Love is in the way it lures the audience into compassion for Imelda Marcos before twisting the knife. In the Broadway production, the show’s success in doing so had much to do with the performance of Arielle Jacobs, who finds the humanity in a young Imelda without sacrificing her edge. That makes her transformation into ruthlessness both emotionally affecting and completely inevitable.

6. Krystal Joy Brown, Merrily We Roll Along

There’s been endless (justified!) celebration of the core trio of Merrily We Roll Along—Jonathan Groff, Daniel Radcliffe, and Linsday Mendez, all Tony-nominated—that the production’s other actors haven’t gotten nearly enough attention. Among them, Krystal Joy Brown, who gives Gussie so much nuance beyond diva with a nasty streak. Tracking the way she changes as the show moves backwards in time is one of this Merrily’s subtler pleasures.

7. Corey Cott, The Heart of Rock and Roll

I refuse to apologize for how much I love this very silly Huey Lewis musical, which went completely ignored by the Tonys. I get it, and yet I would have thrown a little love Corey Cott’s way. He really is a powerhouse on that stage: funny, sexy, vocally insane. And yes, it helps that The Heart of Rock and Roll keeps him sleeveless more often than not. (Best Featured Actor in a Musical for Corey Cott’s Arms.)

8. Susan Pourfar, Mary Jane

I saw Mary Jane Off-Broadway years ago, with the always exceptional Carrie Coon in the title role. Rachel McAdams is also excellent and would be my pick for Best Actress this year. But the performance that has stuck with me across both productions is Susan Pourfar’s, who plays two different overwhelmed mothers who connect with Mary Jane. Her two scenes might be my favorites in the play.

9. Justin Guarini, Once Upon a One More Time

How lucky are we that Justin Guarini has taken his considerable talents to theater? His performance of “Circus” in Once Upon a One More Time is something I still think about, maybe more often than is normal. But it was just that good! Guarini is always so funny, so charming, so thoroughly committed that he can sell just about anything. And while I really enjoyed the Britney Spears jukebox musical, that’s the kind of actor you need to make the material work.

10. William Jackson Harper, Primary Trust*

Yes, with an asterisk. I know, I know. Not a play eligible for Tonys, and William Jackson Harper was nominated this year for Uncle Vanya. And yet! I will always take an opportunity to extol the virtues of Primary Trust, a play I have written about before and that has since won a well-deserved Pulitzer. Harper is truly one of my favorite working actors, and his work in Primary Trust was revelatory—complicated, vulnerable, heartbreaking. I’d like to think his Vanya nom is at least a little bit for his performance as Kenneth.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve made my way through several of this season’s shows by looking at the musicals adapted from movies—or adapted from books that were also adapted into movies, work with me here—but there’s another IP-forward genre I haven’t yet touched on: the jukebox musical.

I’ve not been particularly kind to the jukebox musical in the past—and calling it “IP-forward” isn’t exactly generous. But it’s true! Like musicals based on popular films, these shows are designed to appeal to an audience that is already familiar with the material (and therefore more likely to spend $200 on a ticket). When I wrote about last season’s jukebox musicals, I compared the two genres and noted that jukebox shows were a “tougher pill to swallow for me”: “While I’ve seen plenty of terrible musical adaptations of movies, they at least mostly have original scores.” This season, however, I have to be honest: The jukebox shows are superior.

Not all of them, of course, but on the whole, yes, I’ve had a better time at the musicals featuring songs I already knew (or not, given that Huey Lewis was almost entirely brand new to me) than at the adaptations with sadly forgettable original scores. To actually break down why that is—or, more specifically, why I liked what I liked—I’m returning to one of my beloved (by me) rubrics and scoring these shows in five key categories.

Here’s how that works—

Originality of story: Is there something that feels fresh about this story, or is it just telling an artist’s story and falling back on all the most familiar tropes? (X/10)

Preponderance of bops: I don’t think this needs any explanation. How many bops are there? Are they of a high quality? It’s subjective, but I’m right. (X/10)

Integration of music: Are the songs entirely diegetic, and if so, do they still work to move the story forward? If people are breaking into song, does it feel labored? (X/10)

Musical self-awareness: The worst jukebox musicals take themselves (and the artists they’re celebrating) way too seriously. Are we having any fun with the material? Are tongues firmly planted in cheeks? (X/10)

Audience self-awareness: Does the audience know they are seeing a live performance? The more they sing along, the lower this score is. Whether or not it’s fair to blame that on the show, I’m going to. (X/10)

Total score: X/10

I’ll be going through three shows that are still running (two of which are nominated for Best Musical at the Tonys), and one that should still be running, but has been closed for almost eight months at this point. And no nomination for Justin Guarini. How come, Chief Willoughby?

Once Upon a One More Time

Originality of story: OK, look, a feminist subversion of fairy tales is not that original at this point. On the other hand, Cinderella’s self-actualization being directly inspired by Betty Friedan is legitimately creative, as are the mechanics of the world the show builds. (7/10)

Preponderance of bops: Gives you basically every Britney song you could ask for, from the biggest hits to slightly deeper cuts, and ends with a life-changing “...Baby One More Time”/“Gimme More”/“Till the World Ends” megamix. Slight deduction for clumsy changed lyrics. (9/10)

Integration of music: The songs work surprisingly well in context, though as referenced above, that sometimes involves altering the lyrics more than is ideal. Ultimately, you’re so happy to hear all your Britney faves that it doesn’t really matter. (7/10)

Musical self-awareness: Because it’s a jukebox musical that isn’t about the artist’s life (blessedly true of three of these shows!), it really gets to lean into the satire. As with the broader Max Martin jukebox show & Juliet, it still takes the importance of its message a bit too seriously. (8/10)

Audience self-awareness: Unfortunately, I did sit across from a woman singing at the top of her lungs the entire time. That having been said, if more Britney diehards had paid full price for those orchestra seats, the show would still be open. (6/10)

Total score: 37/50

Hell’s Kitchen

Originality of story: Alas, the Alicia Keys jukebox musical falls into the trap of being about Alicia Keys—though it’s really just inspired by the artist’s life and mostly fictionalized. That might be more interesting if the original story allowed for any meaningful conflict. (4/10)

Preponderance of bops: You will hear every Alicia Keys song that you know and a handful that you don’t unless you’re a superfan. (Even then, there’s original music here, too.) Some of the weaker new arrangements do take things down a bit. (7/10)

Integration of music: A mixed bag, really. The book does a decent job of making the songs fit the story, but you kind of wish it wouldn’t give so many of the biggest hits to characters who aren’t Ali. Thankfully, all is forgiven once “Empire State of Mind” closes the show. (6/10)

Musical self-awareness: While it’s sort of about Alicia Keys, it’s not hagiography, so points there. At the same time, it’s often overly sincere, despite not really being about anything. It keeps hinting at bigger, more challenging themes, and then quietly dropping them. (6/10)

Audience self-awareness: Kudos to this audience for resisting the urge to try to match the cast’s stellar voices. A few people joined in on “Empire State of Mind,” but as with “Sweet Caroline” in A Beautiful Noise, how can you not? (8/10)

Total score: 31/50

Hell’s Kitchen is running at the Shubert Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Illinoise

Originality of story: A gay boy falling in love with and losing his straight best friend—and having a lot of feelings about that—is not something most of us haven’t seen and/or experienced. But the show does take interesting (and appropriately heartbreaking) diversions along the way. (8/10)

Preponderance of bops: Does Sufjan write bops? That’s probably not the most accurate descriptor. Nevertheless, we’re talking about songs from a perfect album, reshuffled and sung by very talented artists with gorgeous new arrangements. No complaints here. (10/10)

Integration of music: Without any dialogue, the songs and the dancing do all the heavy lifting, and they do so effortlessly. Knocking off a couple points for the overly literal depiction of some of the lyrics, which probably could have stayed metaphor. (8/10)

Musical self-awareness: Hard to score this one! In most cases when I’m looking at a jukebox show, I’m considering how tongue-in-cheek it is, but there is nothing more sincere than Illinoise. In this case, however, that’s what we need. This show knows exactly what it is. (9/10)

Audience self-awareness: No one is singing along, they’re too busy having gay feelings and suppressing sobs. (10/10)

Total score: 45/50

Illinoise is running at the St. James Theatre. Buy tickets here.

The Heart of Rock and Roll

Originality of story: Do you know what The Heart of Rock and Roll is about? Not Huey Lewis, I can tell you that much! No, this is the story of a man who works for a cardboard box manufacturer but has dreams of rock stardom. More importantly, it’s about the power of love/Corey Cott’s arms. (7/10)

Preponderance of bops: There are definitely bops to be had, but as someone whose only familiarity with Huey Lewis was “The Power of Love” and “Hip to Be Square,” I found the songs to be pretty samey. Nevertheless, the vibes are immaculate. (7/10)

Integration of music: Even though the lead character wants to be a rock star, the vast majority of music isn’t diegetic, which is a pleasant surprise. Does that mean all the songs make sense in context? Absolutely not! (7/10)

Musical self-awareness: What makes this show simply irresistible (that’s a Robert Palmer song, different guy) is how much fun it’s having being a silly ‘80s jukebox musical. It’s also self-aware enough to keep Corey Cott shirtless and/or sleeveless for almost the whole show. (9/10)

Audience self-awareness: I’m sure there are diehard Huey Lewis fans out there, but if there were any in my audience, they were very polite. Everyone also cheered the cardboard box dance number the right amount. (9/10)

Total score: 39/50

The Heart of Rock and Roll is running at the James Earl Jones Theatre. Buy tickets here.

We did it—we made it through the 2023-2024 Broadway season. I saw a staggering number of shows over the last several weeks, and while I have arrived on the other side, I’m reminded of the tagline on the Texas Chain Saw Massacre poster: “Who will survive and what will be left of them?” What I’m saying is that I have been changed, and maybe not for good.

I’ve been so busy, in fact, that I haven’t been able to share my thoughts on most of what I saw. And it’s important for me to do that in a semi-formal way, because right now when someone asks me what I’ve enjoyed this season, I draw a complete blank. Not because I didn’t like anything, but because it’s all a bit of a blur until I untangle it. (Were several of the shows this season especially forgettable? Yes, but that’s only part of the problem.)

So I’m returning to the “movie or musical?” question with three more shows, all of which are kind of based on books but at least a little based on movies. In Part 1 (which you can read here), I covered Back to the Future, Teeth, and Tommy. Now, I’m moving on to three spring shows, including two nominated for Best Musical. And one of them is what I think is probably the frontrunner, based almost entirely on vibes, personal taste, and my desire to bring Angelina Jolie closer to EGOT status.

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it. (This is the same note I included last time, and I still mean it!)

The Notebook

Here is where I confess that I have never liked the film The Notebook, which is typical Nicholas Sparks treacle ever-so-slightly elevated by the undeniable chemistry between Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams. Before going to see the musical adaptation, I decided to revisit the movie, wondering if two decades of life might have shifted my perspective. No, it’s still maudlin nonsense with a hacky voiceover and a deeply offensive portrayal of dementia. (The MTV Movie Award for Best Kiss, however, was well deserved.)

Regretfully, I have to say that the musical takes everything I’ve always disliked about The Notebook and makes it worse. The biggest problem is that in an apparent attempt to make the story more palatable to the widest audience possible, Bekah Brunstetter’s book softens everything to a ludicrous extent. Noah doesn’t pressure Allie into going out with him, and they don’t have a dramatic break-up where she physically attacks him. Allie’s mom goes from stone cold to a little unkind. And while the show claims that it depicts a real interracial relationship in the ‘60s and ‘70s, there is not a single mention or acknowledgment of race.

The rough edges of The Notebook are sanded down into nothingness, resulting in something instantly forgettable and frankly a slog. Sadly, the score doesn’t do much to help with that. Despite being a talented singer-songwriter, Ingrid Michaelson has written something that—much like the musical’s book—could best be described as inoffensive. There’s nothing particularly wrong with the songs, but there’s nothing right about them either. However well performed they are, not a single one stands out.

Movie or musical: I already admitted that I’m a Notebook hater in any form, but I understand why people like the movie. You’re much better off watching the film, which offers more meaningful conflict and the thrill of seeing two movie stars falling in love on camera.

Water for Elephants

I remember reading and loving Water for Elephants in 2006, but I somehow missed the movie. Turns out it’s pretty awful! For those who haven’t experienced either: Water for Elephants tells the story of Jacob Jankowski, a veterinary student who quits school and runs away with the circus after his parents are killed. Like you do. He ends up having a clandestine affair with professional horse girl Marlena, who is married to abusive ringmaster August. There’s also an elephant named Rosie.

What seemed very romantic and compelling to me at 20 now feels a bit silly, but Water for Elephants onstage makes a little more sense than Water for Elephants onscreen. The film wants to keep things grounded, which is not an easy fit, especially when it arrives at the deus ex elephant ending. The musical leans into the theatricality, giving us the ol’ razzle dazzle in the form of acrobats and aerial artists. Any time the show drags, someone does a series of impressive flips.

Of course, those flips can’t entirely distract from Water for Elephants’ many shortcomings. To name two big ones: the score is just as flimsy as The Notebook’s, and the elephant puppet feels quite lacking in a post-Lion King world. (I would kill to see Julie Taymor’s Water for Elephants, if anyone wants to make that happen.) When the musical focuses on the circus itself, it’s passably entertaining, but once it slows down for the big Act II love duet, you long for the sweet release of a stampede.

Movie or musical: Both the movie and the musical have that thing where no one even seems to be trying to make it feel like the 1930s. That’s just more forgivable onstage, as is the conceit of an elephant (spoiler alert) doing a murder. And while I can’t quite recommend Water for Elephants the musical, it’s at least a better way to spend your time than with a severely miscast Robert Pattinson and Reese Witherspoon.

The Outsiders

I decided to save the best for last, while recognizing that many of you already stopped reading thanks to my rampant negativity. I promise I do actually enjoy things, and The Outsiders—a show I have been evangelizing to anyone who will listen over the last month—is one of those things! Despite not having grown up with The Outsiders (book or movie), I was completely won over by the musical adaptation, which pulls from S. E. Hinton’s novel and Francis Ford Coppola’s film to create something really special.

When I found out the musical was at least in part inspired by the movie, I was worried it might try too hard to be “cinematic.” And yes, there are filmed moments, but it never feels excessive like Ivo van Hove’s Network or West Side Story. (If you want to make a movie so bad, make a movie!) Part of what I appreciated about this iteration of The Outsiders is that it is distinctly theatrical. The climactic rumble is something that could only exist onstage, and also happens to feature the most stunning fight choreography I’ve ever seen.

At a very basic level, The Outsiders showcases talented performers singing some beautiful songs, and sometimes that’s all I need! While that sounds like a low bar, it’s one that many of the seasons new musicals have not cleared for me. And though it’s not the best score of the season—that honor belongs to the peerless Stereophonic—composers Jonathan Clay and Zach Chance’s “Stay Gold” easily clears Stevie Wonder’s “Stay Gold” from the film soundtrack.

Movie or musical: That’s not the only thing about The Outsiders the musical that clears The Outsiders the movie. I’m sure this is sacrilege to those who grew up with the Coppola film, but it’s really only OK. Even without the presence of the Brat Pack, the musical is richer and more emotionally resonant than the movie.

To call this theater season crowded would be a massive understatement. By my count, 300 new shows have opened this month alone (I didn’t fact-check this), and that’s on top of the many plays and musicals that came and went over the past year. While I don’t generally write traditional reviews, there’s a lot I’ve wanted to cover—and at the same time, I’ve felt daunted by the scope of the season and unsure of where to begin.

But as a person pathologically committed to lists, rankings, and other forms of categorizations, it occurred to me that one of the best ways to work through this season (at least in part) would be to organize it into trends. And the first thing that came to mind as I found myself at my fourth show of the week: movies adapted into musicals.

This is not a new trend, of course. Recent years have brought us a wide range of shows based on movies: Some Like It Hot, Almost Famous, Groundhog Day, Mrs. Doubtfire, The Band’s Visit, Mr. Saturday Night, Moulin Rouge, Mean Girls, Beetlejuice… I could go on. But there are so many this year that I actually couldn’t combine them all into one post. So, here are the first three for which I decided to pose the question, movie or musical? The category is “genre,” roughly, although try not to think about it too deeply.

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it.

Back to the Future: The Musical

I first saw Back to the Future: The Musical when I was in London, because I was morbidly curious and tickets are way more affordable there. I’ve never been a big fan of the original trilogy—or rather, I respect it from a distance, because time travel stresses me out. But I thought having no attachment to the source material might actually help, since I wouldn’t be comparing the stage show to the film.

As it turns out, the musical only really works if you love the movie and want to see a shockingly similar copy with a handful of forgettable songs peppered throughout (along with a few good ones, straight from the film). And the Broadway production is essentially identical to what I saw in London, except that the New York audience was more inclined to say lines along with the actors and interject “it’s just like the movie!” comments throughout. (When you’re right, you’re right!)

Aside from Roger Bart, who is sort of doing his own thing as Doc Brown, the rest of the cast are doing impressions of the movie actors that border on the uncanny valley. Casey Likes and Hugh Coles are both talented, but their performances are so indebted to Michael J. Fox and Crispin Glover, respectively, that it’s hard not to feel like the whole exercise is superfluous.

Movie or musical: While the flying DeLorean is admittedly fun, I can’t say it’s worth the price of admission. Stick to the movie, and if you want to see “The Power of Love” performed on a Broadway stage, check out The Heart of Rock and Roll.

Teeth

As a fan of the movie Teeth and a person who is always advocating for more bloodshed onstage (revive American Psycho, you cowards), Teeth was one of my most anticipated shows of the season. It took me a while to finally see it, but it was very much worth the wait—and it’s also the only show on this list with a closing date (April 28!), so if you can manage to snag a ticket in the next week, you should absolutely do that.

I sort of assumed that Back to the Future didn’t necessitate a plot description, but Teeth is a deeper cut (although if you’re following me, maybe less so). So, briefly: Teeth follows Dawn, a devout Christian teen who preaches abstinence, while repressing her sexual urges. When her boyfriend Tobey pressures her into sex and then assaults her, she discovers that her vagina is equipped with razor-sharp teeth. (Tobey also discovers this, the hard way.)

Anna K. Jacobs’ and Michael R. Jackson’s show expands on the original film in a number of interesting ways, including deepening its thematic exploration of purity culture, and expanding its conception of toxic masculinity with incels and religious patriarchy. The songs are bitingly funny (sorry) and appropriately vicious, the kind of musical theater storytelling that answers the question, did this really need to be a musical? As a fan of Carrie the musical, that’s not something I find myself asking often, but I understand it’s sort of intrinsic to this exercise.

Movie or musical: Both versions of Teeth are very much worth your time. I do think the musical is a fascinating escalation of the film, and the rage and agency it gives Dawn feel more relevant to a 2024 audience. But the movie has some astoundingly gnarly gore and a great performance from the perpetually underappreciated Jess Weixler, so don’t miss that either.

The Who’s Tommy

Yeah, this one is a cheat: The Who’s Tommy is not based on the 1975 Ken Russell movie, but on the 1969 rock opera album. The film is, of course, also based on the album, and both adaptations tell the story a little bit differently. This is a post comparing movies to musicals, however, so you’re just going to have to work with me here. (I guess I could have done a separate post about musicals based on albums. Thank you, Illinoise!)

I had never listened to Tommy or watched Tommy or seen The Who’s Tommy, so I rented the movie before attending the stage show. I’m going to be honest, I kind of assumed there was more of a plot, or at least something slightly grounded in reality, but no matter. Tommy is much more about the music and the vibes than about anything that actually happens. I don’t know that I was ever entirely on the film’s wavelength, but Ann-Margret is an icon, and few things bring me more joy than watching Elton John perform “Pinball Wizard.”

The musical does not have Elton John or Ann-Margret, but it does have “Pinball Wizard,” and that goes a long way. The cast is strong and the numbers are propulsive—even if you don’t know (or don’t care about) what’s going on, the production is thrilling where it needs to be. At the same time, there’s so little to latch onto that it’s easy to see where it’s lacking. Like, for example: I understand minimalist sets are what we’re doing now, but would it kill them to invest in an actual pinball machine?

Movie or musical: Neither is exactly my thing. If you like The Who, you can’t really go wrong either way. I will simply point out that only the movie features a sequence in which Ann-Margret rolls around in baked beans, so use that information as you will.

I’ve been trying to write a newsletter post for weeks, and have been repeatedly thwarted. I wanted to review Once Upon a One More Time, but I had to move my tickets, first for dental work and second for covid. I thought I could reflect on Here Lies Love, but covid ruined those plans, too, and then the sickness of someone in the cast postponed my makeup date. I did see one new play, and found it to be pretty awful in a not terribly interesting way, so I nixed writing about that one.

While I’m sure this glimpse into my newsletter process is fascinating, I mostly offer it as context before reflecting on some shows that I should have written about a long time ago. I decided that I could do a couple capsule reviews of plays that I think people might enjoy—particularly those that are closing soon. In putting this together, however, I discovered a common theme, and figured I should score them accordingly. So here are some belated recommendations, rated by how bad they made me feel about not being a better Jew.

Just for Us

Lately I’ve lamented the laziness of certain Broadway sets: doorframes instead of doors, chairs that double as every other piece of furniture, and so, so many projections. But the stripped-down nature of Just for Us works both because it heightens the intimacy of Alex Edelman’s storytelling, and because it’s a one-man show, what else did you expect. It really doesn’t ever feel sparse—even after transferring from a much smaller off-Broadway house—because Edelman is a commanding stage presence, adept at connecting with his audience.

Just for Us has Edelman sharing the story of the time he infiltrated a Nazi gathering (“infiltrated” in the loosest sense of the word), but it’s not nearly as harrowing as that sounds. And of course it’s not just that, as Edelman finds endless tangents to explore, delving deeper into his Orthodox upbringing, his shifting understanding of his privilege, and his attempt to empathize with those around him—at least to a point. It’s very funny, and also a little bleak, but only if you spend too much time thinking about the larger cultural context.

How bad it made me feel about not being a better Jew (out of 10): 7. I got all of the culturally specific jokes, but Just for Us had me thinking about the Jewish values I’ve almost entirely abandoned. Edelman talks about his father worrying that his son is not living a proper Jewish life—I can only imagine how horrified he’d be by my whole deal.

Just for Us runs through August 19 at the Hudson Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Funny Girl

Is Funny Girl a good show? I wouldn’t go that far. Does it at least have a good score? No, but there are some obvious bangers. Is Funny Girl starring Lea Michele a cultural event that cannot be missed? Absolutely. Unless, of course, you’re boycotting Lea Michele, in which case, go with God.

It’s tough to deny that Fanny Brice is the role Lea Michele—never “Michele,” and “Lea” alone feels too informal, so you have to say her whole name every time, like a summoning spell—was born to play. She had, of course, been auditioning for it since the Glee days, and watching her finally do it on Broadway is something of a religious experience. It’s not just that she can sing it, though of course she can, but also the way she mines comedy from a largely lackluster book, and how she taps into Fanny’s dogged determination—the same indefatigable drive that propelled Lea Michele into the part, at long last.

I do think it’s something that should be witnessed, the kind of performance that would catapult a person to stardom if she weren’t already (in)famous. And if it delayed a Lea Michele-led Glee reboot, dayenu.

How bad it made me feel about not being a better Jew (out of 10): 8. The show itself didn’t really trigger any uncomfortable feelings about my Jewishness, but then I called seeing Lea Michele a “religious experience,” without ever reckoning with the fact that she’s not even Jewish. A true shanda.

Funny Girl runs through September 3 at the August Wilson Theatre. Buy tickets here.

And a couple more quick hits, rated by how bad they made me feel about not being a better Jew—

Good Night, Oscar: 2. I’m culturally Jewish and can thus appreciate the humor of Oscar Levant, and that’s really all that matters. At the same time, I didn’t know much of anything about notable Jewish pianist and TV personality Oscar Levant before seeing this, and therefore should feel at least a little guilty.

A Beautiful Noise: 5. This one is complicated, because while the show itself didn’t make me feel bad about not being a better Jew, it took me back to the time at Jewish day school when we were learning the song “America,” and I laughed inappropriately. I got in trouble for “disrespecting Neil Diamond,” and was forced to write down the lyrics over and over again. If I had been a better Jew, this never would have happened.

The war is over and the jukebox musicals have won. At least, for the time being. Whatever dream I had of a Broadway season featuring exclusively original scores now feels hopelessly naive. As the theater industry continues to recover from the pandemic, the producers willing to take chances on wholly new material are fewer and farther between. And while there are still exciting and innovative musicals on Broadway (I love you Kimberly Akimbo), theater has become increasingly reliant on IP.

It’s depressing when you put it that way, but it makes sense. Most shows don’t recoup, and producers would rather not risk trying something completely different when they could be putting their money behind an adaptation of a beloved movie—or a show with hit songs they know tourists love. The jukebox musical has been a tougher pill to swallow for me, in many ways. While I’ve seen plenty of terrible musical adaptations of movies, they at least mostly have original scores. Jukebox musicals have a tendency toward sameyness, both because I’ve heard all the songs before, and because they lean so heavily on the biomusical format that it borders on parody.

But what I’ve learned—and it probably goes without saying—is that not all jukebox musicals are created equal. I can’t personally finance a Broadway season of entirely original scores, so I’m now just trying to distinguish the lazy trash from the surprisingly creative within the jukebox genre. To do that, I created a simple scoring rubric that can easily be applied to any one of these shows that I see. Ultimately, it feels like a fairer way to analyze musicals that I have an innate (but healthy) disdain for.

Here’s what it looks like—

Originality of story: Is there something that feels fresh about this story, or is it just telling an artist’s story and falling back on all the most familiar tropes? (X/10)
Preponderance of bops: I don’t think this needs any explanation. How many bops are there? Are they of a high quality? It’s subjective, but I’m right. (X/10)
Integration of music: Are the songs entirely diegetic, and if so, do they still work to move the story forward? If people are breaking into song, does it feel labored? (X/10)
Musical self-awareness: The worst jukebox musicals take themselves (and the artists they’re celebrating) way too seriously. Are we having any fun with the material? Are tongues firmly planted in cheeks? (X/10)
Audience self-awareness: Does the audience know they are seeing a live performance? The more they sing along, the lower this score is. Whether or not it’s fair to blame that on the show, I’m going to. (X/10)

Total score: X/50

I figured the best way to show my rubric in action would be to score a few of the currently running jukebox musicals. But first, let’s test it on one of the actual best jukebox musicals, just to show that I’m not a perpetual hater.

Head Over Heels

Originality of story: Yes, it’s an adaptation of existing material—specifically The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia. But that’s not exactly something you see often, and it certainly doesn’t have anything to do with the story of The Go-Go’s. (8/10)
Preponderance of bops: “Vacation,” “We Got the Beat,” “Our Lips Are Sealed,” “Heaven Is a Place on Earth.” It’s an embarrassment of riches, and even the relatively deeper cuts are pretty fantastic. (9/10)
Integration of music: All of the songs are non-diegetic, and they almost never feel like they’ve been forced to fit the plot. Except maybe “Vacation,” and even then you can’t be mad about it. (9/10)
Musical self-awareness: Often surprisingly sincere, but not in an annoying way. What the show takes seriously—self-love, sexual and gender identity, having the beat—deserves to be taken seriously. We’re having fun here. (10/10)
Audience self-awareness: Saw it several times, and never once heard anyone sing along. Everyone got it. (10/10)

Total score: 46/50

See, the system works! OK, onward to three of the currently running Broadway jukebox shows (even though Head Over Heels should still be running, and maybe needs to be revived immediately with the original cast).

A Beautiful Noise

Originality of story: It’s a Neil Diamond origin story, so no real surprises here—except for the fact that the frame narrative is a therapy session and Neil is not doing well. Given how much these shows tend to be hagiographies, it’s a fun twist. (4/10)
Preponderance of bops: I once saw a Neil Diamond impersonator open for an ABBA cover band, and he said, “Never let anyone tell you that Neil Diamond doesn’t rock.” He wasn’t wrong, but nothing comes close to “Sweet Caroline.” (7/10)
Integration of music: A mix of diegetic and not that basically works. There are some creative moments, like when the show becomes Ragtime as “America” scores an influx of Jewish immigrants. It’s very literal, but still pretty stirring. (6/10)
Musical self-awareness: Are we meant to sincerely believe that “Sweet Caroline” was the result of divine intervention? Unclear! But the show seems to be having a little fun with the mythos of Neil Diamond, while not being afraid to take him down a peg or two. (6/10)
Audience self-awareness: They will sing, because it’s physically impossible to not do the “bah bah bah.” Also, the show encourages it, so you can’t really be bothered. (5/10)

Total score: 28/50

A Beautiful Noise is running at the Broadhurst Theatre. Buy tickets here.

& Juliet

Originality of story: It’s a feminist reimagining of Romeo & Juliet in which William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway (his wife, not the actor) are also characters. Fun! At the same time, it’s 2023 and a feminist reimagining of Romeo & Juliet isn’t that original. (7/10)
Preponderance of bops: The Max Martin song choices are pretty unimpeachable. For those of us who grew up in the era of bubblegum pop and ‘90s boy bands, there are so many choice cuts, but there are also plenty of 2000s pop classics. (10/10)
Integration of music: It’s very Moulin Rouge-y in that every time a song starts, you internally cheer or groan. Often it’s a combination of the two. But it’s a Max Martin jukebox musical, honey, let’s get a little silly with it! (7/10)
Musical self-awareness: This is a tough one. On the one hand, & Juliet is here for a good time (and ideally also a long time). On the other, it has a few too many moments where it maybe thinks it’s more important than it is. Mostly, it’s good, self-aware fun. (8/10)
Audience self-awareness: The audience basically brings the right energy to this show, though it’s possible that I lucked out by not sitting close to anyone singing along. Given the karaoke power of these songs, that’s extra impressive! (8/10)

Total score: 40/50

& Juliet is running at the Stephen Sondheim Theatre. Buy tickets here.

MJ the Musical

Originality of story: How to score this… Like, yes, it’s creative that the book (by Lynn Nottage!) takes place as Michael Jackson prepares for the 1992 Dangerous World Tour. But you quickly realize that frame is just a vehicle for predictable flashbacks. (3/10)
Preponderance of bops: There are over 25 Michael Jackson hits in this, and they’re all incredible, why lie. (10/10)
Integration of music: Whenever they try to do a non-diegetic number, it’s extremely embarrassing. When they do a diegetic one, it’s usually just an impersonation of the real thing. But the dancing is great! (5/10)
Musical self-awareness: Yeah, no. (2/10)
Audience self-awareness: They will sing along! They will also boo the documentary filmmaker pointing out that Michael’s addiction to painkillers is a problem, even though that is what ultimately killed him! Anyway, I hope they had fun. (2/10)

Total score: 22/50

MJ the Musical is running at the Neil Simon Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Feel free to use this rubric to score any jukebox shows you see, or modify it to your liking. Or feel free to shun the jukebox genre entirely—but if you do that, make sure you’re also supporting the shows with original scores that aren’t based on existing property, because those often need a little extra love!

When I say that I contain multitudes, I mean that I’m a horror fan who gets scared very easily. And it’s more challenging than you know. I have to mentally prepare for any jump scare lest I react too strongly. I pull up Wikipedia plot summaries in case I get too stressed out watching something at home and want to spoil myself. I struggle to answer the people who say “but wait, I thought you loved horror” every time I confess that I’m spooked so consistently. No one understands my struggle.

Obviously I’m not going to stop consuming horror, which is objectively the best genre, but here we are. It wasn’t always this way! I grew up skittish and terrified of most scary movies, despite being horror-curious. I began experimenting in college (tale as old as time), and quickly became obsessed with the genre, spending the next 15 years of my life consuming as much horror as I could, and writing about it incessantly. And then 2020 happened, and the dread crept back in.

Maybe it was the very real threat of the pandemic, or spending a year inside, or the rebound anxiety from being perpetually medicated for those first few months, but the end result is that I no longer have the tolerance for suspense, unease, unpleasantness, and gore that I once did.

To be clear, I’ve never liked being startled, and there were always certain depictions of violence that I couldn’t stomach, but I can no longer deny that something shifted over the last few years, and I’m assuming at this point that it won’t shift back. It’s been genuinely hard to accept this, and honestly a little shameful to admit. I haven’t given up on horror—I’m still doing my best of list every December; see 2022’s here—but it takes a lot more energy than it used to.

This is all my very long preamble to saying that I approached Grey House with a fair amount of apprehension.

The play starts with a classic horror conceit: Max and Henry (played in this production by Tatiana Maslany and Paul Sparks, respectively) are driving in a blizzard when they crash their car. With Henry’s leg broken, they find their way to a nearby cabin, occupied by a matriarch named Raleigh (Broadway scream queen Laurie Metcalf) and teenage girls of various ages and improbable names. Along with Marlow, Bernie, A1656, and Squirrel, there is also a boy who mostly doesn’t speak and an Ancient One, who only appears after Henry has (maybe) started hallucinating. Yes, as Henry recovers from the accident with moonshine as his only medication, he starts seeing things, and you can—at least to some extent—guess where this is going.

Real horror on Broadway is exceedingly rare these days, and Grey House promised to be more than just spooky. As friends who had seen it let me know in advance (not necessarily a warning, though it functioned that way), Grey House also has jump scares and some shocking gore. I did what I could to prep (read reviews, including Jackson McHenry’s at Vulture, which has just the right amount of spoilers), and warned the friend I was going with that I would probably embarrass myself at some point over the course of the show’s 100 minutes.

Then came Grey House’s most shocking twist: It didn’t freak me out. I never jumped. I never considered casually fleeing the theater to avoid a panic attack. There is one effectively deployed jump scare that might have gotten me if I hadn’t seen it coming (thank you, Jackson), and the rest feel a little predictable. The gore is there, but nowhere near as alarming as I’d been led to believe. It’s a cool effect, just not an entirely effective one. I’ve seen far bloodier tableaus in Martin McDonagh shows.

After all the nervousness I’d let build up ahead of seeing Grey House slowly dissipated, and I realized the play wasn’t going to get under my skin (or get me out of my seat), I felt a familiar rush of relief. And then—a little disappointment!

I don’t want to be scared, but I also don’t want to be not scared. It’s the constant push-and-pull of being a person who loves horror and sometimes, for reasons of self-preservation, has to keep it at a distance. It’s sort of like knowing that I’m sensitive to very spicy food and still feeling let down when something with two chili peppers next to it on the menu turns out to be bizarrely mild. I was staving myself for unpleasantness! Instead, I was left unmoved.

And that’s the larger issue with Grey House. It doesn’t move you with scares or with anything else, for that matter. The themes and tropes it traffics in are nothing I haven’t seen over and over again—your mileage may vary, depending on how much horror you consume. But as someone who watches an awful lot of midrange overpraised indies (sorry!), I’ve seen plenty of explorations of trauma through the genre. That same conceit has crept into mainstream studio offerings, too. Without something new to say, all Grey House really has going for it is the way that it’s packaged, and despite some clever moments, the best comparison I can offer is “lesser Shudder Original” (if you know you know).

I do kind of hope it ushers in a new era of horror on Broadway—in part because I’m a masochist, and in part because I think the genre is uniquely suited to theater. The combination of the darkness, the way you can feel the reactions around you, and the lack of distance between the audience and the performers makes seeing a scary play that much more nerve-wracking than seeing a scary movie. I’m thinking not of Grey House, but of two Lucas Hnath plays that did fuck me up: The Thin Place and Dana H. Both made ample use of atmosphere and pushed me right up to the edge of panic. It’s less that I’m eager to get to that place again, and more that I’d like to see someone try.

And if you ever do see me making a beeline for the exit during a particularly terrifying theatrical experience, pretend you didn’t. Maybe that was just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Grey House runs through Sept. 3 at the Lyceum Theatre. Buy tickets here.

With the Tonys upon us, I’ve been looking for ways to celebrate some of the performances I loved from the 2022-2023 season that didn’t get awards attention. Then I sat down to make my list and found myself returning to Kimberly Akimbo… and realized I also wanted to write about the performances in Kimberly Akimbo that were Tony-nominated. So I scrapped my original plan and decided to just focus on one show and all the incredible actors in it—but I promise I will spread the love in a future post!

What I’m saying is that I’m Kimberly Akimbo-pilled, and it’s very serious. I’m also highly on edge ahead of the Tonys, and feel deeply invested in the awards success of this show that I love, even though awards are not the ultimate arbiter of quality, or even the deciding factor in whether or not a show will have the cultural impact to linger in the public consciousness long after it’s closed. (Obviously that deciding factor is a newsletter read by tens of people.)

Enough preamble! Nine performances that I love, all of which are in Kimberly Akimbo.

Victoria Clark (Kimberly Levaco): Kimberly Akimbo doesn’t work unless you believe Kimberly, a 16-year-old girl who looks 4.5 times older thanks to a rare genetic condition. Clark delivers a thoroughly convincing performance—not just playing a teen who looks like an older woman, but playing a teen who is wise beyond her years and also looks like an older woman. Thanks to her emotionally stunted parents and the knowledge of her mortality, Kim has had to age faster than her years, just not as fast as her body. There’s a fascinating push-and-pull at play, and Clark nails every nuance of it. There’s not an ounce of schtick as she grounds the show’s high-concept conceit.

Justin Cooley (Seth Weetis): It would be easy to underrate Cooley in Kimberly Akimbo. He was barely 18 and fresh out of high school when he started doing the show off-Broadway, so it may not seem like he has to reach as deep for his performance. But that would mean ignoring the relentless quirks and idiosyncrasies of the character, all of which Cooley finds with the perfect blend of awkwardness and seemingly accidental charm. Seth is deeply weird, maybe the oddest romantic lead (I think you can call him that) in a Broadway show that I’ve seen. But that makes him distinct, and Cooley’s work, coupled with the script, ensures you’re never not rooting for him.

Bonnie Milligan (Aunt Debra): I think Kimberly Akimbo is basically a perfect musical, so I don’t want to imply that it’s not exceptional from the jump. But something electric happens when Aunt Debra shows up and belts out “Better,” Kimberly’s most showstopping number. (The one-two punch of “Anagram” and “Better” should be studied.) Milligan is so sharp and so funny, insisting that you fall in love with a character who does very bad things. It helps that her performance is as nuanced as the writing—you never doubt that she cares about Kim, maybe above anything else. (Full disclosure: Bonnie is a friend. But if you think her inclusion on this list is favoritism, go see Kimberly Akimbo!)

Alli Mauzey (Pattie Levaco): Aunt Debra gets a lot of flack for being an exceptionally bad influence on Kimberly, but the parents in this show are a different kind of awful. The common theme here (see above and below) is that David Lindsay-Abaire’s book and lyrics, and the actors onstage, never let you write off any character. Pattie comes across as funny but largely unpleasant when you first meet her, and then Mauzey knocks you out with the astonishing “Father Time.” The emotion she’s able to pour into that song—along with a number of subtler moments throughout the show—let you see how much she does love her daughter, in her own undeniably flawed way. She’s equal parts frustrating and heartbreaking.

Steven Boyer (Buddy Levaco): Much of what I wrote about Pattie and Mauzey’s performance can be applied to what Boyer does with Buddy. In some ways, he has an even bigger hill to climb: He is drunk and disappointing, and has at least one moment of gasp-worthy cruelty. And Buddy doesn’t get a big number in the first act that captures his love for a daughter he knows he’ll outlive. But if you don’t cry at his sung invitation to “see the world”—first to his unborn child and then to Kim—I don’t know what to tell you. This is someone who got trapped by his own bad choices, and now drinks to forget that. Boyer plays him as a man who is trying to do his best, repeatedly failing, and then trying again. The pathos he finds catches you off-guard.

Olivia Elease Hardy (Delia McDaniels), Fernell Hogan II (Martin Doaty), Michael Iskander (Aaron Puckett), Nina White (Teresa Benton): I just want to be clear that every performance by every show choir member deserves its own entry. You can chalk my conflation of these four up to laziness, and judge me accordingly. These actors play their characters’ adolescent longing so realistically that it’s sometimes hard to watch—try not to be triggered by the constant moments of school hallway embarrassment. They could easily just be Kimberly Akimbo’s Greek chorus, but every line is imbued with so much humor and angst that each performer leaves a lasting impression. By the end, you feel almost as invested in the show choir’s ability to get their costumes as you are in Kim getting her road trip.

Kimberly Akimbo is at the Booth Theatre. Buy tickets here.

It’s nearly impossible to not think of Our Town when watching Primary Trust. The play begins with Kenneth (William Jackson Harper) describing his town to the audience—he’s not a Stage Manager, but his direct address continues throughout. Like Grover’s Corners, Cranberry, New York is not a real place. (There’s a Cranberry Lake, though it’s considerably farther from Rochester than the community described in the play.)

The more you see of Primary Trust, the less it feels like Our Town, even though there are certainly very broad thematic links—of love, of loss, of what we carry with us—between them. But realistically, the two works are going to remain tethered in my mind because they’re both plays with monologues in the final scene that I’m almost certainly going to think about and start getting emotional in response to at inopportune times.

Eboni Booth’s new play has a tighter focus than Thornton Wilder’s: Kenneth is a man whose world is even smaller than the town he’s spent his whole life in. At 38, he’s only ever worked one job, is perpetually unattached, and has one friend he does the same thing with every night. That repeated activity—drinking two-for-one mai tais at a local tiki bar—takes on a bleaker tone when Kenneth reveals that Bert (Eric Berryman) is imaginary. In a lesser play, this might have been saved as a twist, but Kenneth is not an unreliable narrator. He is, to a certain extent, clear-headed about how confined his life is and his limitations, even if he doesn’t quite have the tools to imagine what it might look like to broaden his world, or even to want that.

Harper is an extraordinarily gifted performer. The character is sympathetic on the page, but the actor helps imbue Kenneth with so much pathos that it’s sometimes a little hard to watch. Primary Trust doesn’t revel in misery, and ultimately it’s a play that is focused on progress. At the same time, it’s grounded in the reality of change—and that “one step forward, two steps back” movement is heartbreaking when you care as much about Kenneth as we do almost from the start. It’s largely a credit to Harper that he’s able to win you over so quickly, and Booth does an exceptional job of giving him just enough obstacles (both internal and external) as he stumbles toward his future.

There was actually a moment an hour in that I had the thought, “This is too sad.” That seems like maybe an immature response—and also an out-of-character one for someone who loves to get weepy. But Primary Trust does wash over you in a way that can be overwhelming. It gets under your skin and surprises you with how deeply it’s embedded. And even as that “too sad” feeling faded, there was a lingering melancholy that stuck with me after the play was over.

The play could give Kenneth an easy out with a happy ending that would be as relieving as it was inauthentic. Instead, we get something that feels truer to life: The sadness doesn’t disappear, it just shares space with hope. I found myself thinking of a phrase that’s been rolling around in my head since I first saw Kimberly Akimbo: “the bitter sweets.”

I try not to recommend shows based solely on how much they made me cry—certainly there are plenty that I enjoyed simply because they were a good time! But I see a lot of theater, and I often find myself responding with a shrug, which is actually worse than when a play is actively bad. (Bad plays at least make you feel something!) With that in mind, I can’t help but celebrate the work that provokes the most powerful emotional response.

Primary Trust knocked me out. I haven’t really been able to stop thinking about it since. And I want everyone else to have that experience—not in a sadistic way, but because it’s essential to see what theater can do when it’s firing on all cylinders. And also because sometimes it’s nice to let beautiful work fuck you up and leave you reeling.

Primary Trust runs through July 2 at the Laura Pels Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Every year I put off watching the new releases in horror until—September, if I’m feeling ambitious, but more likely October, and sometimes even November, when it’s almost too late. (This habit of delaying is also how I approach writing my newsletter, which I haven’t touched for a full calendar year.) The end result of my procrastination is that I end up cramming a staggering amount of horror into the last month or two of the year: a challenging, stressful, sometimes downright distressing way to wrap things up.

It was especially hard in 2021. All told, 2020 was a worse year—the combination of the pandemic and the election, both of which I paced about endlessly in a studio apartment, made it almost impossible to watch anything, let alone horror. But 2021 was the year my frayed nerves reminded me that they hadn’t healed, when I felt like I was always teetering on the edge of a spiral, and the inevitable setbacks and traumas landed with surprising force even though I’d been expecting them. I marathoned the year’s genre offerings feeling, at times, physically ill with a sense of dread crushing me between the horror onscreen and the horror outside my window. On the other hand, I live in a one-bedroom now.

Somehow, I still found a lot to enjoy. These were my favorites.

21. The Last Matinee. A Uruguay-set slasher film that’s also an Italian giallo. Generally speaking, I roll my eyes at ‘90s period pieces because they don’t feel true to the era, but this movie reads like it emerged directly from 1993. Speaking of eyes, there’s a literal jar of them.

20. Coming Home in the Dark. I said on Twitter that all New Zealand horror is “either charming and funny or brutal, depraved, ungodly shit.” Guess which side of the spectrum this movie falls on. Great performances really elevate this, but you do have to take a shower when it’s over.

19. PG: Psycho Goreman. It feels so much like one of those Troma movies I don’t actually care for (sorry!), but I was very quickly won over by the fact that it’s actually very funny. Pretty sure the pitch was Mac and Me if the alien were Pinhead. Once you get on its level, it’s great.

18. There’s Someone Inside Your House. Remember when everyone was talking about Fear Street and how it was Scream for a new generation, and then I suffered through an entire trilogy that I hated? Anyway, There’s Someone Inside Your House is what I wanted Fear Street to be.

17. Come True. I’m just going to go ahead and say Come True has one of the worst endings of any movie I saw in 2021. Up to that point, however, I found it to be compelling and deeply unsettling, with some nightmare imagery I still can’t shake. Cut the last shot and it would zoom up in my rankings.

16. Escape Room: Tournament of Champions. My biggest complaint about Escape Room: Tournament of Champions is that it isn’t Escape Room, a perfect film. It’s still a blast, though. These movies are Saw with a sense of whimsy. Why aren’t you stanning?

15. Wrong Turn. A surprisingly strong horror reboot that repeatedly subverts expectations. I really never know where this movie was going to go next, and while I wish its politics were a little less muddled, there were a lot of gloriously gross moments and a stunning final shot.

14. V/H/S/94. Anthology horror set in the ‘90s is two red flags for me, but it’s nice to see the V/H/S series reclaiming its former glory. It doesn’t all work—would you believe the frame narrative is the weakest part?—and that’s OK. The high points are up there with V/H/S/2. Hail Raatma.

13. The Feast. Definitely a slow burn with a payoff that might not be worth it for everyone. Personally, I thought it was just the right level of stomach-turning, and even moments I knew were coming (Chekhov’s piece of glass in [redacted]) still made me scream. More Welsh horror, please.

12. Saint Maud. Is it demonic possession or religious delusion? Mercifully, Saint Maud comes down pretty clearly on one side. Who needs ambiguity when you’ve got a truly unnerving performance by Morfydd Clark and a killer climax.

11. Shadow in the Cloud. This is a movie about WWII flight officer Chloë Grace Moretz, who cons her way onto a B-17 bomber with (spoiler alert) her secret baby and then does battle with a gremlin. It’s actually somehow dumber than it sounds, and I had an amazing time watching all 83 minutes of it.

10. Till Death. Scream queen Megan Fox is an automatic yes. The plot is very Gerald’s Game, which is fine. The point is that she makes it work, reminding us once again that we owe Megan Fox an apology and whatever career she wants, preferably including more movies where she kills men.

9. Son. Andi Matichak starred in my least favorite horror film of the year, Halloween Kills (also my least favorite movie of the year), but it turns out she is fantastic! There’s nothing all that surprising in Son, but her performance and an ending that really goes for it make this one a standout for me.

8. The Night House. I think people were divided on The Night House, in large part because the reveal of what’s actually going on is less interesting than what seems to be going on. Once again, it’s all about the lead performance: Rebecca Hall is phenomenal. Add to that some gorgeous visuals and Evan Jonigkeit being hot.

7. Caveat. This movie has one of the creepiest props I’ve seen in a horror film. It’s a little toy rabbit with eerily human eyes, and I was honestly happier before I’d seen it. That aside, Caveat is a tense little thriller. Its aims are modest, but stressing me the fuck out is an admirable goal, and mission accomplished.

6. Violation. There have been so many films that claim to be a subversion of the standard rape-revenge format. Violation truly turns the genre inside out. Both the rape and the revenge are far more restrained and grounded than expected, and somehow that makes it even harder to stomach.

5. In the Earth. I watched a lot of eco-horror this year, and much of it hits the same beats: humans are the real monsters, mankind is basically doomed, and fungus is fucking weird, man. In the Earth wins thanks to the strongest performances of the lot, and some nicely gruesome moments. (Gaia gets points for best body horror, but didn’t work nearly as well for me overall.)

4. The Humans. Is it horror? Yes, and there’s even a jump scare. Really, though, Stephen Karam’s adaptation takes all the dread and unease of his play and translates it effortlessly to the big screen, cranking up the noise and the feeling that the walls are closing in.

3. The Vigil. In many ways, The Vigil feels like the kind of spooky demon movie we’ve seen a million times before, and in other ways—particularly how deeply it’s steeped in Jewish culture—it feels rich and distinctive. Really got under my skin. Dave Davis is so good (and unbearably hot). It’s a Jewish thing, what can I say.

2. The Power. Though not exactly subtle, The Power is a harrowing and ultimately satisfying ghost story. Who cares if it ends a little too cleanly? Sometimes the revenge half of things is all we really have the stomach for, and this movie packs a powerful punch in that capacity.

1. Shiva Baby. Are you telling me this asshole included The Humans on his list of the best horror of the year, and then had the audacity to make Shiva Baby number one? Yes, and you’ll just have to deal. In the grand tradition of Krisha, anything filmed in the style of a horror movie that gives me a panic attack counts as a horror movie. And yeah, OK, again: it’s a Jewish thing.

Hello, it’s me. I started writing my newsletter again, and then predictably got distracted by something else — the pandemic, the election, the sad ongoing coup attempt, who can say — and forgot to keep updating. (Or maybe it would be more accurate to say I simply couldn’t find the will to keep updating, which sounds dire, but is really just my way of articulating that my motivation has been limited in 2020.)

It has not been a great year. Some would call it an exceptionally bad one, and they would be correct. Others would quibble that years are arbitrary designations of the passage of time, but those people are fucking annoying and we don’t need to listen to them. Besides, if we can’t look forward to 2021 because we’re too traumatized by the preceding 12 months, we can at least use this transitional period as an excuse to toss out some year-end lists.

At the risk of being too ambitious, I decided I should just focus on one: the best horror of 2020. When I was at BuzzFeed, ranking the year’s best horror films was my favorite annual task, even if it forced me to spend November and December cramming a ton of nightmare fodder. I didn’t get around to putting anything together last year, but somehow, amid the real-life horror of 2020, I watched a whole lot of scary movies, several of which were quite good.

I narrowed my list down to 20, which is still too long, but brevity is… wit (I stole this joke from The Simpsons) and I will keep my write-ups short. I should probably note that many of these movies are films I felt were good but not great, flawed endeavors that I liked enough to recommend to others. One of the things I love about horror is the way the genre lends itself to wild swings, so I’m always more accustomed to include some noble misses on lists like these.

20. Hunter Hunter. Everyone talks about the ending of Hunter Hunter, and with good reason — it’s the climax that propels this film from survivalist thriller to full-on horror. It’s solid all around, but those final moments are what will keep you up at night. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

19. The Dark and the Wicked. On the one hand, it feels a little too evocative of Ari Aster at times. On the other hand, it has the always phenomenal Marin Ireland and some of the most disturbing visuals in any film this year. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

18. Scare Me. An anthology film that’s not really an anthology film, and a horror-comedy that’s maybe not actually that funny. It works in large part because there’s nothing Aya Cash can’t do, and she’s paired well with writer-director-star Josh Ruben. Stream it on Shudder.

17. La Llorona. Not to be confused with The Curse of La Llorona, this movie has far fewer jump scares. In fact, some might not even consider it horror. But even before things take a turn for the supernatural, it’s haunting in its exploration of historical trauma. Stream it on Shudder.

16. The Beach House. Maybe it’s because I watched it amid a pandemic, but The Beach House’s depiction of a rapidly spreading infection got under my skin. While it doesn’t reinvent the wheel, it’s effectively stress-inducing body horror. Stream it on Shudder.

15. The Wolf of Snow Hollow. There are definite Fargo vibes in this horror-comedy that isn’t afraid to get messy, whether in terms of graphically violent werewolf attacks or sharp tonal shifts. Jim Cummings is great. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

14. After Midnight. When there’s a monster in an indie relationship drama, you can bet that monster is a metaphor. But what After Midnight lacks in subtlety, it makes up for in strong performances and a killer conclusion. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

13. Sea Fever. It’s a little bit Alien (though not as good) and a little bit Sphere (though considerably better). OK, this movie about the crew of a fishing vessel and the underwater creature attacking them owes quite a debt to the former, but it has its own tricks up its sleeve. Stream it on Hulu.

12. His House. Like La Llorona, His House explores real-life atrocities, and it’s those elements that end up leaving the most lasting impression. The horror of this film is not so much the less-than-impressive demon, and more... everything else. Stream it on Netflix.

11. The Mortuary Collection. The rare anthology horror film that works all the way through, thanks to a keen sense of humor, some memorably gross moments, and a wraparound story that actually ties the whole thing together. Stream it on Shudder.

10. Vampires vs. the Bronx. Honestly way more fun than it has any right to be. Think Stranger Things if that show took a page from Buffy, and if vampires were a very obvious stand-in for gentrification. It’s a total delight. Stream it on Netflix.

9. The Invisible Man. I didn’t really think we needed another adaptation of The Invisible Man, but writer-director Leigh Whannell and star Elisabeth Moss proved me wrong. This is one of the first new movies I screened at home after theaters closed, and it still managed to keep me on the edge of my seat (read: bed). Stream it on HBO Max.

8. #Alive. Zombie survival horror has also been done to death, but Yoo Ah-in is someone you feel compelled to root for, especially when he’s playing a hapless gamer just trying to reunite with his family. Tense and surprisingly moving. Stream it on Netflix.

7. Extra Ordinary. A driving instructor who can communicate with spirits falls for a man haunted by his dead wife, all while a washed-up rock star is trying to sacrifice the man’s virgin daughter. Irish people just do horror-comedy better, what can I say. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

6. Impetigore. Terrible English title, really good movie. I’m not familiar with a lot of Indonesian horror, but this made me want to seek more out — Joko Anwar’s dark fable is spooky, thrilling, and occasionally quite funny. Stream it on Shudder.

5. Swallow. Never has pica been more terrifying. Actually, Swallow isn’t a traditional horror film, but its depiction of a woman trying to escape her empty marriage by swallowing inanimate (and often sharp) objects is both wildly distressing and stunningly shot. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

4. Host. Am I annoyed that I accomplished next to nothing in quarantine, while Rob Savage made a remarkably effective found footage horror film that perfectly captures the moment? Yes. Is this the scariest movie of the year? It just might be! Stream it on Shudder.

3. Relic. Though Relic isn’t the first movie to link aging with possession, few have managed the delicate balancing act that this film pulls off. To say too much about the ending would be giving it away, but it captures that perfect blend of poignance and repulsion that makes the whole thing so compelling. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

2. Possessor. It’s hard to emerge as your own distinctive voice in the genre when your last name is already an adjective for a certain kind of body horror, but if Brandon Cronenberg keeps cranking out movies as slick, gripping, and, yes, gorgeously brutal as Possessor, he’ll be in good shape. Rent it on Amazon Prime.

1. She Dies Tomorrow. Another movie that hits that much harder during a pandemic. There aren’t a lot of answers in Amy Seimetz’s deliberately open-ended film — just a colorful, dizzying, sometimes overwhelming exploration of paranoia, infection, and that 2020 stand-by, dread. Stream it on Hulu.

Photos via Neon, RLJE Films, Netflix, and Shudder.

A little over a week ago, I resurrected this newsletter for the sole purpose of ranking the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills after another season of bold fashion choices, conspicuous consumption, and refusing to let the mouse go. Also, I rather missed writing about the things I care about, including Bravo.

I originally intended to keep this newsletter eclectic, splitting my posts between musings on various Housewives series, theater, and horror. Unfortunately, live theater remains mostly non-existent and I can’t remember the last time I sat through an entire movie (I can, it was hard), and these days I pretty much just watch Bravo shows and play Mario Kart. Which is to say that I’m going to rank the New York City Housewives now, because it was that or rank Mario Kart courses, and I’m not sure I have the range.

If you don’t care about Bravo, I’m sorry, but also I owed it to the New York ladies, the Housewives fans who follow me, and — well, that’s it, really, but these posts are free now, so I can pretty much write about whatever, legally speaking. Anyway, let’s get cracking!

1. Leah. A first-year Housewife nabbing the top spot on a post-season power ranking? I never thought I’d see the day. But Bravo gave us some real new stars this year (see also: Garcelle, Sutton, Wendy), and no one burned hotter and brighter than Leah McSweeney. Was she, at times, distressingly drunk? Sure. Are her politics questionable? I prefer not to think about it. Her flaws notwithstanding, Leah came in like a hurricane, destroying white supremacist-linked tiki torches and Upper East Side face lifts in her wake. She was funny, vulnerable, and a perpetual thorn in the side of Ramona Singer, who would prefer that her friends have zero tattoos, let alone tattoos on or around their vaginas. Sorry, Ramona, but Leah elevates this shit.

2. Luann. The Countess deciding to hop off the wagon after two seasons worth of sobriety storylines was a choice, to say the least. It could easily have been a disaster, but thankfully, Lu’s friends took one for the team and decided to be such hot messes that she looked like a teetotaler in comparison. The one time Luann did get drunk and veer into asshole territory, she immediately pulled back and decided to never get that sloppy again — at least, not on camera, which is all that really matters. She was truly the voice of reason this season, displaying surprising compassion while also refusing to let Dorinda repeatedly use one lousy mugshot against her. Also, “Viva La Diva” is… kind of a bop.

3. Sonja. At some point during the season — probably around the time she stopped mixing her water pills with alcohol, and also Xanax — Sonja transitioned from hard-to-watch drunk to downright aspirational. She finally got a product into stores! And then Century 21 filed for bankruptcy, but that is completely unrelated, and also happened after the show wrapped, so we are not letting it undermine her happy ending. Usually Sonja gets a coherent season followed by a shitfaced season, but this time, we got a little of both. What’s important is where she ended up, looking better than ever with her brand new face, and lovingly calling out Ramona on her shit.

4. Tinsley. I can already hear Dorinda screaming at me, both for the mere mention of Tinsley Mortimer’s name, and because I dared rank her at all. She abandoned the show! Walking away from filming is the ultimate sin, yes, but Tinsley didn’t bail because she couldn’t take the heat — she bailed because she found something better, a life of stability and the prospect of a family. And yes, as a bonus, she no longer has to get raked over the coals by women old enough to be her mother. I’m not as sold on Scott as Tinsley is, but who cares. She seems happy, and she managed to win the whole damn reunion simply by keeping her cool and casually exposing the root of Dorinda’s seething hatred of her. Chic!

5. Ramona. One of the most remarkable things about RHONY airing for as long as it has is that we’ve really been able to see these women grow. Just look at the difference between Season 12 Luann and Season 1 The Countess: truly a masterclass in character development. On the other end of the spectrum, we have Ramona, who will never not be the absolute worst. Growth is not in her nature! And yes, at some point between voting for Trump and being a one-woman COVID superspreader event, she did manage, however briefly, to be a voice of reason amid the alarming drunkenness of her castmates. Unfortunately, Ramona sucks at being the voice of reason almost as much as she sucks at apologies, and we are, for some reason, cursed to bear witness to her bullshit until the end of time.

6. Dorinda. Few Housewives have had a worse season than Dorinda did. I’m not even sure what to say at this point about her tragic, often infuriating fall from grace. The last few episodes of the season were borderline unwatchable, from her constant raging to her slurring denials that she was drunk to her perpetual refusal to take any accountability for her actions. I know that the defense of Dorinda is that she was in a really bad place while filming, which, sure, but a lot of this isn’t new — it was just cranked up to a level that could not be ignored. My not-unpopular opinion is that Bravo was right to fire Dorinda. My probably-less-popular opinion is that she should stay gone. I sincerely wish her all the best dealing with her anger issues and whatever else is going on far away from any cameras.

Photo via Bravo.