SWAN!!!

With a title in all-caps followed by three exclamation marks, you know SWAN!!! isn't going to be your regular stage version of Black Swan. I previewed the show -- which stars Jack Ferver, Jenn Harris and Randy Harrison, among others -- in today's Post.

The Method Gun

Rude Mechs' latest show, The Method Gun, is currently at Dance Theater Workshop (which places more emphasis on the "Theater" part of its name in this case). I've liked the company's work in the past, but this piece about a fictional acting teacher felt half-baked to me.

That Championship Season

Wow, is the revival of That Championship Season bad! Wild horses could not have kept the Sheila in her seat: She was out like a flash at intermission. Not only is the play creaky, but the acting is seriously underwhelming. At Broadway prices, there's no excuse.

Skellig

A stage adaptation of David Almond's YA novel Skellig has just started a run at the New Victory Theatre. Not among the best things I've seen at the New Vic — one of my favorite NY houses — but still, a perfectly fine show if you want to take a kid out without insulting their (or your) intelligence. Thataway for my review.

Good People

I'd hated David Lindsay-Abaire's Rabbit Hole but I loved his new play, Good People (reviewed in today's paper). Color me stunned, especially since the show is at Manhattan Theatre Club's Samuel J. Friedman Theatre -- a house I'd been considering cursed because I never seem to like anything there. Yay!

Beautiful Burnout

The Black Watch team returns to St. Ann's Warehouse with Beautiful Burnout, a play about boxing set to Underworld tunes. I liked it quite a bit, despite the fact that the story is completely predictable — but isn't it the case with all boxing stories anyway?

Timon of Athens

A good, pared-down production of Shakespeare's ill-loved Timon of Athens is at the Public until Sunday -- and costs a meager $15. My review's here.

The Hallway Trilogy

Adam Rapp goes two for three in his new Hallway Trilogy at the Rattlestick. Rapp's one of my favorite American playwrights so I'm always happy to see his work. My review's here.

As a side note, I spent all of Sunday at or near the Rattlestick and on one of the breaks I finally went to Taïm for the first time. Its reputation is richly deserved.

Vieux Carré

The Wooster Group revives Tennessee Williams' Vieux Carré -- which had played Broadway for a total of 17 performances back in 1977. I enjoyed it more than the last two Wooster shows I caught, "Hamlet" and North Atlantic, but still felt it petered out halfway through. May we have a case of diminishing returns here?

The Diary of a Madman

Geoffrey Rush lets it rip in The Diary of a Madman at BAM. You've got less than a month left to see him. In the meantime, my review's here.

Interviewing the Audience

I was blissfully off the grid for the past few days, so here's a belated link to my review of Interviewing the Audience at the Vineyard.

Black Tie

I found A.R. Gurney's latest play, Black Tie, oddly defensive. For instance, the idea of WASPs being mocked and/or made uncomfortable by Jewish comics (Jackie Mason is name-dropped, and the show refers to a made-up comedian named Seymour Schwartz) feels so…dated — to put it mildly.

Thataway for my review.

Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark

Yep, most of the critics decided enough was enough and wrote about Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark today — which was the opening date at one point.

Amazingly, my take-down is one of the kindest reviews out there.

Lost in the Stars

Encores! is presenting a very good concert version of Kurt Weill and Maxwell Anderson's Lost in the Stars through the weekend. I caught in on Thursday (review here) and highly recommend it.

Three Sisters

It looks like I'm going to be the minority opinion on this one: I didn't care for the Three Sisters production at CSC. It's a great cast on paper, but there's no life on stage. That's pushing Chekhov's theme a bit far.

Gruesome Playground Injuries + The Whipping Man

Double-barrel attack in the Post today, with a pair of reviews from big off-Broadway houses.

First off is Gruesome Playground Injuries, starring Pablo Schreiber and Jennifer Carpenter, at Second Stage. I've been a Schreiber fan since the second season of The Wire, where he played Nick Sobotka, and he doesn't disappoint here. I hear he's now in the new FX series Lights Out, so gotta check that one out.

Then we have The Whipping Man at MTC. Good performance by André Braugher but the play is so maddeningly earnest...

The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore

The Roundabout's revival of Tennessee Williams' The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore gently goes off the rails. Or, more accurately, it never gets on the rails. My review's here.

What the Public Wants

Arnold Bennett's What the Public Wants is about a tabloid magnate who ... I'll say no more! Just know that the play was written in 1909 and is freakishly prescient. My review of the Mint company's revival is thataway.

The Uberbowl

The closest I get to American football is Friday Night Lights, which the Sheila and I have just started watching. (Yeah, we're years behind. Whatevs.) But I'm looking forward to the Uberbowl at Joe's Pub on February 6. At last, a Super Bowl party for those of us who don't know their tight ends from their running backs. You can read all about it in my preview here.

And now, back to the Australian Open, and wondering if Maria Riesch will prevail over Lindsey Vonn.

The New York Idea

David Auburn does a "gut renovation" of the 1906 play The New York Idea. Alas, the production lacks zip. My review's here.

The Misanthrope

The Pearl company's production of Molière's The Misanthrope gets a lukewarm review today.

The Walk Across America for Mother Earth

I'm bummed to report that Taylor Mac's new show, The Walk Across America for Mother Earth, is a total misfire. Something unexpected did happen the night I went, so head over to my review for more details.

Room 17B

The Parallel Exit company delivers a neat little evening of physical comedy with Room 17B, now playing at 59E59. My review's here.

ScreenPlay

Satire is hard. Hollywood satire harder still. Scott Brooks couldn't pull it off in ScreenPlay at 59E59. My pan's here.

John Gabriel Borkman

Alan Rickman, Fiona Shaw and Lindsay Duncan rock BAM's Harvey Theatre in John Gabriel Borkman, a semi-obscure play by Ibsen (my review's here).

The on-stage blizzard at the end hit a little too close to home -- there were still banks of snow outside the theater when I saw the show last week -- but you could also argue the real storm is the one happening on Fiona Shaw's face. What a great performance!

Other Desert Cities

The second of today's two reviews is Jon Robin Baitz's Other Desert Cities, which is crackling at Lincoln Center. The play's very good and the cast will make your head explode -- Stockard Channing gives her best performance in years.

The Importance of Being Earnest

The first of today's two reviews is the Roundabout revival of The Importance of Being Earnest at the American Airlines. I know, I know: period piece plus Roundabout usually equals yawns, but this one's fun.

Blood from a Stone

Today's review is of Blood from a Stone, a new drama by rookie Tommy Nohilly, presented by the New Group. Ethan Hawke, Daphne Rubin-Vega, Natasha Lyonne, etc. Good people, not-so-good play.

Green Eyes

Lord no, not the Coldplay song: Today's review is of a long-lost Tennessee Williams one-act play from 1970 called Green Eyes. It's not going to make us reconsider his latter-years output, but it's an interesting show because it's staged in an actual hotel room.

A Small Fire

Today's review is of Adam Bock's new show, A Small Fire, at Playwrights Horizons. A good cast led by Michele Pawk and Reed Birney, but the play doesn't add up to all that much. Watch for the talkbacks featuring Oliver Sacks! (Just kidding -- though they'd make sense.)

Dracula

First review of the new year and first pan: Dracula opened last night. Oh my, it's bad.

My stage debut

To the wild clamoring of strictly no one, I will make my stage debut in the January installment of Project Shaw, 1912's Androcles and the Lion — yes, I'm starting off with no less than a play by George Bernard Shaw!

Much to my relief, I only have six lines. More fun is the fact that the cast is entirely made up of theater wags. You've seen their bylines, now come hear their lines.

Tickets are $25 and you can get them here.

Coil festival

I open the new year with a preview of the upcoming Coil festival, organized by PS 122. It happens at the same time as the Public's Under the Radar fest, so those interested in theater's outer limits are going to be busy for the next two weeks.

Best of 2010

At last, my top ten list is out in today's Post! You can find it here. I've also started doing a brief list of some of my fave moments and performances. The first part, comedy, is here. I'll do the more somber stuff today, as well as a list of some of the worst stuff I saw all year.

Three Pianos

The year concludes with Three Pianos at NY Theatre Workshop (my review's here). A zany/loving whirlwind tour of Schubert's Winterreise song cycle, the piece seriously extends its welcome: It clocked in at nearly 2hrs 15 the night I saw it. Not a problem in itself, but one when the creators/cast run out of ideas.

Completely unrelated: watched Johnnie To's Vengeance last night. Glorious. The movie stars French-Belgian rocker Johnny Halliday (who's good), but actor-wise the big draw is Anthony Wong, whom HK-action fiends know from his turn in Infernal Affairs.

Donny and Marie: A Broadway Christmas

Yes yes yes: I saw Donny and Marie Osmond at the Marquis and lived to tell the tale. A good time was had by all, and there were enough references to Dancing with the Stars to make me happy.

Let it also be said that until January 2, there's at least one place in New York where it's safe to wear your floor-length furs.

Hysteria

Today's review is of Hysteria by the Inspector Sands company.

Haunted

Today's review is of Haunted, by Edna O'Brien. It stars Brenda Blethyn, who alone is well worth the trip to 59E59 Theaters.

Before going in, I let myself be tempted by a couple of macarons at a place across the street. They were tasty enough, but at $2.25 a pop — a small pop — you think twice about going back. I also wonder why American macaron stores feel they need to offer so many crazy flavors (there's a lot more than indicated on the online menu). I'd be happier with 5-6 impeccable ones.

The Great Game: Afghanistan

This past Saturday, I attended yet another marathon play — it's really been the season for those events. This time around I started up at 11:30am and left just after 10pm. In between there was The Great Game: Afghanistan (my review here).

The best thing about seeing a show at the NYU Skirball Center is that the food options in the area are excellent. During the lunch break, I went to to François Payard's new bakery on W. Houston. Well worth it, even if the coffee tasted slightly burnt. Note to self: Clearly you don't go there for the coffee.

Pass the Blutwurst, Bitte

John Kelly brings back his 1980s piece about Egon Schiele, Pass the Blutwurst, Bitte. It's at La MaMa, and while I have mixed feelings about it, the show's certainly an interesting artifact — from downtown in the 1980s, if not Vienna in the 1910s.

On French TV series

For many years — decades, even — French writers and directors thought of television as the ugly stepchild of cinema. There were few connections between the two fields: No filmmaker would consider working for the small screen. Which isn't to say that there weren't good shows, but even the best were considered inferior to movies. This is pretty crazy, as we had some good home-grown TV. I remember avidly watching miniseries like La Poupée sanglante , Les Rois maudits (the original, not the remake), and series like Les Nouvelles aventures de Vidocq (ah, the saucy Danièle Lebrun, my childhood crush), Arsène Lupin and Chéri-Bibi.

Things began to change in the early 1990s, when the French-German ARTE channel started drawing film directors to work on miniseries and films that often also played in cinemas at the same time as they were broadcast. André Téchiné's Wild Reeds, for instance, started off as a 60-minute made-for-ARTE movie.

But this was all pretty arty. The latest development has been the marked improvement of commercial French series — especially the ones produced by Canal Plus — and most of them influenced by HBO. Thanks to my family's busy DVR recorder, I've been able to watch quite a few. My favorites so far have been Engrenages, a great procedural that wrapped its third season in June, and Pigalle, entirely shot docu-style on location. Appeal to IFC: Show them in the US!

I had mixed feelings about Braquo, about a cop with ethical issues played by Jean-Hughes Anglade, but watched the whole first season anyway. And I haven't been very far with Mafiosa, even though it takes place in Corsica.

Right now I'm in the middle of Maison close, which takes place in a high-end Parisian brothel in 1871, right after the Commune. It's pretty good so far, even though some of the aesthetic choices are slightly cheesy. Playing George Jackson's "If I Could Open Up My Heart" while two prostitutes put on a sapphic show for a client's benefit was the equivalent of a runny brie. Still, there's good stuff in there. I even like the sour lesbian madame hopelessly in love with her star employee. It's a cliché character straight out of the 1950s, and nobody in the US would dare show someone like this now. That's something I regret, in a twisted way, as it only adds to the pulpy ambiance. Here's the start of the first episode.

Looking at Christmas

Today's review is of Steven Banks' new play Looking at Christmas, playing at the Flea.

The Coward

Nick Jones and director Sam Gold were able to get some $$$ from LCT3 for their production of Jones' new play The Coward (my review's here). Lo and behold, the show looks great!

I wished they had trimmed the first act but don't leave at intermission because Kristen Schaal enters in the second half and boy oh boy is she funny. Also: tix are only $20.

The Red Shoes

Emma Rice and the Kneehigh company return to St. Ann's Warehouse with The Red Shoes. First, it's not based on the Michael Powell movie but on the Hans Christian Andersen story. Second, it's not as good as Kneehigh's Brief Encounter. But hey, it still has some cool, grisly stuff. My review thataway.

Elling

I'm ready to take a bet I will be among the critics who enjoyed Elling the most (see review). This new Broadway show stars Denis O'Hare and Brendan Fraser, and is based on a Norwegian book and movie. Even the cell-phone announcement is in Norwegian. I suspect my colleagues may not be as Scandi-friendly as I am.

Bells Are Ringing

The Encores! production of Bells Are Ringing, which I saw last night, is all kinds of awesome. My review just went up and will be in tomorrow's paper. Kelli O'Hara 4 ever.

A Free Man of Color

I quite enjoyed Stuart Klawans' book Film Follies -- The Cinema Out of Order, and it was hard to not think about it while watching John Guare's play A Free Man of Color at Lincoln Center. It's 2 hrs 45 mns, features 40 speaking parts, is set around the Louisiana Purchase, and will drive you crazy. I'd recommend second-acting it but the pay-offs at the end make more sense in light of what happens in the maddening first act. Sigh. My review is out today.

The Marriage of Maria Braun

German director Thomas Ostermeier stages an adaptation of Fassbinder's movie The Marriage of Maria Braun. It's at BAM until Sunday and is a must for fan of bracingly cerebral Euro theater. My review's up at the Post.

There Are No More Big Secrets

I love Heidi Schreck as an actress (Circle Mirror Transformation, The Language Archive) but I wasn't won over by her latest effort as a playwright, There Are No More Big Secrets. Fortunately, the awesome Christina Kirk is in the show, and I'd see her in anything. Review thataway.

The Merchant of Venice redux

The Public Theater's production of The Merchant of Venice reopened on Broadway for a limited run, so I re-reviewed it. Considering the strain Lily Rabe was under (her mother, Jill Clayburgh, died last week), she gave an amazing, luminous performance. Forget about Al Pacino: Rabe is the best thing in this show.

Elf

The musical adaptation of the Will Ferrell movie Elf opened yesterday. The thrust of my review is that it's been overly sweetened. Gee, what a surprise.

The Pee-wee Herman Show

Oh yeah, that's exactly what it says: The Pee-wee Herman Show, starring Paul Reubens, is now live on Broadway. And everything's there: Miss Yvonne, Cowboy Curtis, Chairry, Pterri, Globey, Mailman Mike, Jambi, the Mr. Bungle short, the secret word, the "why don't you marry it?" joke, the pen-pal letters.

This way to my review -- and the headline, courtesy of one of the Post's ace copy editors, is particularly brilliant.

After the Revolution

Amy Herzog had a good topic on her hands — the legacy of 1940s American communism on a contemporary family — but she pretty much blew it in After the Revolution (reviewed today). Thank god for Mare Winningham and Lois Smith, pros that they are.

Radio City Christmas Spectacular

The Radio City Christmas Spectacular is back — as it has every year since 1932 — and I still love it. I'm far from being a Yule fanatic but this show has to be seen to be believed. Come on, it's the Rockettes! You can't call yourself a New Yorker without having seen them at least once.

Colin Quinn: Long Story Short

Today's review is Colin Quinn's stand-up show Long Story Short. Nope, not at Carolines but on Broadway.

Tennis players in the NY marathon

Today, the Times ran a second article about tennis player Justin Gimelstob running the NY marathon for the first time. Apparently he signed up after a bet with his buddy Andy Roddick. Gimelstob finished in 4 hrs 10 mns.

The thing is, the Times didn't mention that another tennis player -- and a better one than Gimelstob -- also ran her first marathon this past Sunday. It was French champ Amélie Mauresmo, and she finished in 3 hrs 40 mns!

I was psyched to actually see Mauresmo on 4th Avenue in Brooklyn, right around the Carroll St. intersection.

About Tristan Garcia's Hate

I just saw in the Times' Book Review that Tristan Garcia's debut novel has been translated under the title Hate (the original is La Meilleure part des hommes, ie The Best Side of Men). I happened to read the book when it came out a couple of years ago, and was a bit startled by Alexander Nazaryan's take.

Well, by one thing mainly: He doesn't mention that the novel, set in the Parisian gay milieu of the 1980s, is a roman à clef. The lead characters are inspired by easily recognizable people, with just enough changes to prevent lawsuits (or so I assume).

Wild boy William Miller, for instance, looks very much like novelist Guillaume Dustan, who made a name for himself by advocating bareback sex. His nemesis, journalist-turned-AIDS-advocate Dominique Rossi, shares quite a few traits with journalist-turned-AIDS-advocate Didier Lestrade. Rossi cofounds an activist group called Stand; Lestrade cofounded the Parisian branch of Act Up. And so on.

Meanwhile, real-life Jewish philosopher and public intellectual Alain Finkielkraut seems to be the model for the novel's Jewish philosopher and public intellectual, Jean-Michel Leibowitz. At least Finkielkraut thought so: When the book came out, he publicly protested "the way I was transparently used," adding, "It's depressing but what can I do? Duels are now illegal."

Come on, this is good stuff!

The novel is so poorly written that trying to figure out who is who and who really did what is the best part. Not mentioning that aspect in a review is like talking about The Devil Wears Prada without mentioning Anna Wintour.

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

The most eagerly expected Broadway show of the fall has finally opened! It's not great, but it's not the train wreck many message-board posters have described with great schadenfreude. Personally, I wish I could watch Laura Benanti's big number every other day or so. It's hard to think of a better pick-me-up.

My review's here.

Middletown

Will Eno's new play at the Vineyard, Middletown, starts off great. But it's hard to sustain ordinariness, no matter how clever, for two hours. Full review here.

That Hopey Changey Thing

"How's that hopey-changey thing working out for ya?" Sarah Palin once asked. There's the source of the title of Richard Nelson's new play at the Public. Can't say I liked it too much (see review) but the cast is great and it's only $15…

In the Wake

Lisa Kron follows up Well and 2.5 Minute Ride with In the Wake, the first play she authored but doesn't star in. I'm a big fan of Kron's work but the new show, now at the Public, really needed an editor. My review's here.

On somewhat related news, since In the Wake is very much concerned with politics, I voted this morning. PS 321 was very orderly, maybe because they had tons of volunteers explaining people how to handle the new voting procedure. Chuck Schumer was leaving as I came in, trailed by a news crew.

The Scottsboro Boys redux

Kander and Ebb's swan song, The Scottsboro Boys, has moved from the Vineyard to Broadway. It remains a triumph — though judging by this morning's reviews, the critics are sharply divided. I clearly fall on the side of masterpiece.

Angels in America

The revival of Tony Kushner's epic hits town. Yes, Angels in America is back, all seven and a half hours of it. I like the play but didn't love the new production, which fails to deliver the big moments.

Back to the Mudd Club

Oops, forgot to cross-post this one. On Sunday I had a short piece about the Mudd Club/Club 57 reunion. Well the event is happening tonight at the Delancey Lounge, so better late than never.

Spirit Control

It's twofer Thursday at the Post, and my second review is of Beau Willimon's Spirit Control at Manhattan Theatre Club.

Law & Order sighting: Jeremy Sisto plays the lead. Now if only Mariska Hargitay could do a play, I'd be a happy camper.

Persephone

The Ridge Theater Company's Persephone is at BAM until Saturday. Hey, indie-rock friends, do you remember the late-80s band Hugo Largo? Its singer, Mimi Goese, wrote the lyrics for the show's songs, and she performs them on stage, too. Okay, that's it for the reminiscences. My review here.

Rain: A Tribute to the Beatles

You know me: If I'm going to see a tribute band, it's going to be one about Abba.

But duty called and there I was on Sunday evening, watching Rain: A Tribute to the Beatles on Broadway. I think it would have benefited from more Yoko. Or any Yoko. Review here.

Driving Miss Daisy

Alfred Uhry's Driving Miss Daisy opens on Broadway (it actually was off the first time around). The stars: Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones. My warm-ish review can be found here.

Lombardi

Here's my review of the new Broadway show Lombardi. In case you're wondering, it is about the Green Bay Packers coach. Needless to say, the scene explaining the Power Sweep left me dumbfounded, but other than that the play's not too bad.

The Mankell-Bergman connection

Why didn't I know this? Today I learned that Henning Mankell is married to Ingmar Bergman's daughter Eva. I had no idea!

Mankell was talking about Bergman in an interview with Le Nouvel Observateur, pegged to the French release of The Troubled Man -- apparently the final Wallander novel (at last!). At one point the interviewer says to Mankell that the characters in Depths are depressive, and asks if that's a trademark of Scandinavian literature, from Strindberg to Hamsun:

If you want really melancholy literature, check out Portugal! I'm not sure melancholia is a dominant trait of Swedish or Scandinavian literature. That's a myth spread by the movies of my father-in-law, Ingmar Bergman. He often joked that it was all his fault! But there's an inherent melancholia to an Europe that's searching for itself right now.

Q: What did you talk about with Bergman?

We were very close. The last few years, I was one of the last people he stayed in touch with. We chatted a lot, mostly about music. You can talk about music in a thousand different ways. And he had his own little cinema. We watched about 150 movies together: silent classics as well as recent films. It was always thrilling to hear his comments. He was the first one to read my plays. I miss him a lot.

Q: Can you name a specific memory?

He was very happy that I joined him in loving Hour of the Wolf, one of his most underrated, most misunderstood movies. I think I represented the brother he never had. The last time I saw him was a few days before his death. I knew he was dying. And in fact he died at the hour of the wolf, between 4 and 5am -- allegedly the time when people are born or die.

The Language Archive

Julia Cho's The Language Archive is at the Roundabout's Laura Pels Theatre. A lovable cast (Jayne Houdyshell, Heidi Schreck), but a bad play. My review here.

It should get better now

I just have to get something off my chest.

The "It Gets Better" campaign is great and well-meaning and all, but something about it bugs me. Discussing it with a friend last night, she really zeroed in on the problem. The campaign seems to suggest that gay teens just grin and bear it until they get older and it gets better. Okay, but what about trying to stop the bullying now? The campaign puts the responsibility on the victim, whereas people should clamor for schools and the authorities to clamp down on the offenders, stat. If a kid attacks another kid, you need to take care of the victim and make sure the aggressor is stopped. It's basic discipline and justice.

As my friend put it, right now it's as if we were telling the kids, "It's okay to ride in the back of the bus, because one day in the future you'll get to drive your own rainbow-colored RV!"

La Bête

David Hirson's La Bête is back on Broadway after a very, very short run back in 1991. And it got the best production one could dream of, reuniting Matthew Warchus and Mark Rylance after Boeing-Boeing. Rylance alone is worth the price of admission. I liked.

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson revisited

This is a milestone of some kind for me: I've now reviewed what's essentially the same production of Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson three times.

The first was when the musical played the Public Theater's Lab series in May 2009. The second was when it moved up to the Public proper this past spring. The third was today, on the occasion of Bloody's transfer to Broadway. Phew!

A Life in the Theatre

David Mamet's 1977 comedy A Life in the Theatre gets a good Broadway production starring Patrick "Engage!" Stewart and T.R. Knight. I liked it.

Tigers Be Still

Playwright Kim Rosenstock, director Sam Gold and their awesome cast bring on the funny in Tigers Be Still (my review here) at the Roundabout Black Box. And it's only $20!

How not to do historical fiction

Following recommendations, I picked up Philip Kerr's Berlin Noir trilogy. This has got to be a cult classic of some kind, because two more people, seeing me read it outside the theater and on the subway, broke out in spontaneous praise for Kerr. But I have to admit I gave up after the first novel, March Violets, and didn't finish the trilogy. A couple of things kept tripping me, preventing full immersion.

One is Kerr's relentless use of hard-boiled similes. Taken separately, they're inventive and evocative, but when you have three per page, it becomes a tiresome tic.

A building's red-brick walls "heaved into sight like the muddy flanks of some horny-skinned dinosaur."

A black door is "polished so keenly they could have used it as a mirror in a negro jazz-band's dressing room."

"He edged towards me like a crab with a bad case of corns."

"The voice emptied slowly out of the Boris Karloff mouth, with its slightly protruding teeth, like grit from a bucket."

"She produced a small lace handkerchief which seemed as improbably in her large, peasant hands as an antimacassar in those of Max Schmelling, the boxer…"

The last brings me to the other thing that bugged me: the constant overexplaining of terms and references — something that's particularly common in historical fiction. "She poured herself a glass of Bowle, Berlin's favorite summer drink, from a tall, blue-glass pitcher…"

So Berlin Noir went back to the mid-Manhattan library, unfinished. I replaced it with Sofi Oksanen's Purge, a Finnish-Estonian literary novel that's getting excellent reviews in France. Only a dozen pages in so far, but it's very promising.

And today I did my first trade at the Mystery Swap run by the Community Bookstore in Park Slope: Bring in a mystery novel, pay $1 and you can take one from their stash. I brought a couple of books, gave my $2, and made off with Carl Hiaasen's Basket Case and Maj Swöwall and Per Wahlöö's The Terrorists.

Time Stands Still redux

My review of Donald Margulies' newly reopened Time Stands Still is out today. I deeply disliked the play the first time around; now I only dislike it. I suppose that's progress of a sort. Still, I'm not convinced there was any need to bring the show back, since it ran on Broadway in the spring. Were people really clamoring for more middle-brow stuff?

Gatz

At long last, Elevator Repair Service's Gatz has made it to New York! I was half captivated, half bored to death — although the latter seemed to take up more of the show. So I didn't try to hide behind critical cool and was candid in my review: The most hyped show of the fall sent me into a catatonic state at times.

The Deer House

I was left dumbstruck by Jan Lauwers' King Lear in 2001 and loved Isabella's Room in 2004. Alas, his new The Deer House, at the BAM Harvey this week, isn't so hot. Review thataway.

Mrs. Warren's Profession

Today's review is of Mrs. Warren's Profession, the George Bernard Shaw play the Roundabout just revived at its American Airlines Theatre. Hmm, Roundabout + period play = ostentatious period sets? Bingo!

Freckleface Strawberry

Frecklace Strawberry is am off-Broadway musical based on Julianne Moore's children's book. My take on it can be found here.

The Pitmen Painters

In today's Post, a mostly positive review of Lee Hall's The Pitmen Painters. The show is often described as "Billy Elliot without the music," and it's not untrue: similar author (Lee Hall), similar background (coal miners), similar narrative arc (the discovery of art transforms working-class men).

Brief Encounter redux

The production of Brief Encounter I caught at St Ann's Warehouse last December has just transferred to Studio 54, and it remains a delight. This is the rare Broadway show that's money well spent.

Fall preview on WNYC

Time Out New York's Adam Feldman and I talked about the upcoming season on WNYC. Fun times! You can listen to us go at it here.

Orlando

Sarah Ruhl's overly faithful adaptation of Orlando has just hit Classic Stage (my review is here). The best thing about seeing a show at CSC is that there's an Everyman Espresso counter in the lobby. Plus they played Timbaland's "Carry Out" -- immortalized by Jenn Harris and Tim Girrbach at Our Hit Parade -- twice in a row when I was there last week.

The Divine Sister

Second review of the day is the new Charles Busch play, The Divine Sister, which just opened at Soho Playhouse. Vintage Busch, this one. It's hard to wreck a spoof about nuns, and he didn't.

Delusion

A couple of reviews in today's paper. First off is Laurie Anderson's latest, Delusion, at BAM. It was hard to refrain playing off the title, but I did.

The Little Foxes

Maximum star rating for Ivo van Hove's staging of The Little Foxes today! The season is still in its infancy, but I can already tell that this one will make my top ten list.

Roadkill Confidential

Another review, another bad show: Sheila Callaghan's Roadkill Confidential at 3LD. Fortunately the critical tide is about to turn in a big way with the last two productions I've seen. I'll say no more for now!

underneathmybed

Today's review of a pretty bad show at the Rattlestick Theatre, underneathmybed. Ayee!

In the Heights redux

A cast change prompted a revisit to (and a re-review of) In the Heights, which I hadn't seen since it opened two and a half years ago. Okay, so Jordin Sparks can't really act -- no surprise here. But the show itself holds up rather well, and I found myself enjoyed Lin-Manuel Miranda's score even more this time around.

The Paris Review online

I've become completely addicted to the Paris Review online offerings. My way in was Louisa Thomas' blogging about the US Open (tennis, of course, not golf). Simply some of the finest sports writing I've read in a long while. I hope she keeps it up somehow, somewhere.

Then this morning I discovered that Nelly Kaprièlian has begun keeping a "culture diary" for the same outlet. Her first two entries are rather long, and I really don't know where she finds the time. In addition to being an editor and writer at the French weekly Les Inrockuptibles (I'm a subscriber and actually contributed a handful of record reviews in the late '80s), she often pundits — she's a regular on the radio critics roundtable Le Masque et la plume, for instance, and I keep catching her on various public-radio outlets. Plus her first diary entry reveals an active social life.

I confess to a love-hate relationship with Kaprièlian. On the one hand, she's a tireless defender of American fiction in France, and I will always cherish her memorable tongue-lashing of Jean-Louis Ezine, a fellow Masque literary critic and serial interrupter. (He's so witty and charming, however, that he's my favorite on the show!) On the other hand, Kaprièlian is a remarkably humorless snob (very French, that) and she shares the inexplicable (to me) Gallic enthusiasm for Philip Roth — even his latest novels.

But back to the culture diary, which I can see myself becoming addicted to. The prize so far is Kaprièlian's account of her interview with Michel Houellebecq, whose new novel, La Carte et le territoire, is a critical and commercial hit in France. I've read and loved all his books, and can't wait to get my hands on this one. Susannah Hunnewell's new chat with him is a must, too.

Bottom of the World

Lucy Thurber's latest, Bottom of the World, opened at the Atlantic Stage 2 last night, and I gave it a positive review. Thurber is one of the local playwrights whose work I always enjoy seeing, warts and all. She's been around long enough to not be "up and coming" anymore, yet she remains slightly under the radar.

Gaga vs Gaga

In her latest out-of-it rant, Camille Paglia -- desperately trying to cling to her bad-girl-of-feminism reputation -- "demolishes" (hardly) Gaga. The article is not online but there's more than you need here. If there's one startling thing in this embarrassing screed, it's that some people think Paglia's opinion is still relevant. Paglia keeps contradicting herself (especially when she uses Madonna as comparison) and seems to be in the con camp just to be contradictory.

A good antidote is the new book Poker Face: The Rise and Rise of Lady Gaga, by my New York Post colleague Maureen Callahan. There's already several Gaga books on the market, but this one is particularly instructive about what it takes to make a pop star nowadays. Or this pop star, at least. It's not news that Gaga is a workaholic, but I found the book's detailed tracking of how hard, how relentlessly she toiled to get to where she is particularly edifying. Some may argue that it's too early in Gaga's career to warrant a book, let alone several. But the way she's built her act is interesting, and it's certainly not too early to look at that. And just think of what will come out of her fall, whenever that happens.

Me, Myself & I

It's not without trepidation that I shot down Edward Albee's latest, Me, Myself & I (review in today's Post). But it had to be done.

From the land Down Under, part 4

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I was keen on procuring some Australian novels during my trip. This proved harder than expected. Not that the pickings were slim; it's just that with the Aussie dollar higher than ever (or the US dollar lower than ever), the exchange rate made books particularly prohibitive. $26 for a new trade paperback? Yikes! So I checked used bookstores, which meant I had to throw my want list out the window and make the most of the available options.

Luckily, I found a couple of great places and came back with some nifty stuff. The highest I paid was $8; the rest of the haul cost less than $3 per book, with a couple of $1 catches.

In Port Douglas, I picked up Crew, an amusingly trashy 1980s novel about surfboat racing in Sydney; Ride On Stranger (1943) by New South Wales lefty writer Kylie Tennant; and Stiff, the first book in Shane Maloney's Murray Whelan series. I polished off Crew in a single day at the beach, then started on Stiff. The series revolves around a member of the Labor party in Melbourne, making for a really great mix of politics and crime. Maloney's humor and locale-specific details aren't unlike the ones in Carl Hiaasen's earlier (and best) novels.

I was happy to find another used Maloney novel at Melbourne's New International Bookshop on Victoria Street. The hallway leading to the store was lined with $1 bins that were actually packed with goodies like out-of-print Daphne du Maurier. While avidly foraging, I was interrupted by a young man who invited me to "the workshop about the Vietnam War."

Fittingly, the store is next door to the Victorian Trades Hall Council, "the voice of Victorian workers since 1856" (Victoria being the state Melbourne is in). And down the block is the Old Melbourne Gaol, where Ned Kelly was hanged in 1880 and whose tour include an interactive feature where "visitors are 'arrested' and encounter what it is like to be locked up."

In short: the perfect place to buy a Shane Maloney book!

From the land Down Under, part 3

I didn't spend all my time in Oz drinking coffee and going to footy games: I also went to the theater (more on that on my NY Post blog) and caught some TV. Some random thoughts on the latter experience.

After watching most of the audition week of the local X Factor (already a hit in the UK, US version coming soon), I can only say that I'm now so hooked that I'm going to follow the proceedings online to see if my favorites (see below) make it through. The four judges are singer Natalie Imbruglia, former Australian Idol judge Kyle Sandilands (trying waaaay too hard to emulate Simon Cowell), baby-faced Australian Idol winner Guy Sebastian and former Boyzone member Ronan Keating. Most striking was the candidates' sweetness and naivete — several looked almost paralyzed by shyness. This was in stark contrast to the way many American contestants show up with outsize egos and an often-lengthy history of performing.

In addition, there's four categories of candidates: groups, under 25 males, under 25 females and anybody over 25 — OMG, fogies with, like, wrinkles! This opens up the competition to seasoned people with real histories behind them. I was particularly taken, for instance, with 40-year-old Tony from Perth. His audition performance of "Proud Mary" was the epitome of rugged manliness. Also impressive was 20-year-old apprentice hairdresser Sally, with a dignified cover of Xtina's Hurt."

Another big difference: openly gay candidates (yay, Hayley). Cute.

Another TV favorite was a reality show called The Farmer Wants a Wife, which follows six country folk in various Australian states as they look for a suitable mate. Highlight of the one episode I caught was when the date between cattle farmer Charlie and equine dentist Christy was cut short after she was bitten by a redback spider and had to be taken to the emergency room. (Perhaps this is what inspired me to purchase a pair of Redback boots later on.) Note that the title is deceiving since the farmers include Becky, a woman from South Australia looking for a husband. She seemed to hit it off with an explosives technician from the Northern Territory.

Finally, homegrown pride is very important in the Australian film and TV industry. Every time an American flick starred a local, the trailer or promo blared "featuring Australia's so-and-so." A commercial for new Oz series Cops L.A.C. boasted "with a great Aussie cast!"

From the land Down Under, part 2

Australian coffee rocks. It's not the thing the country is known for abroad, but it's an essential part of the quality of life there.

One of my favorite things when traveling is spending time in the local cafés. This may have something to do with growing up in France, where cafés play a key role in the social life -- despite the fact that the coffee you get there is actually terrible. The point is that they are a place where you can while away several hours with a drink and a book, or meet friends and reconfigure the world. Also, I'm a teetotaler so bars hold little interest to me.

Café life leaves a lot to be desired in New York: Other than some spots in the Village (now mostly tourist traps), I would argue that it's a relatively recent phenomenon here, having picked up after Starbucks came to town; contrary to politically correct opinion, Starbucks didn't kill independent coffee places here, it created them. (Strangely, a similar phenomenon didn't seem to happen in London.) The problem is that it's really hard to find a good coffee, whether espresso or drip. The lattes and cappuccinos, for instance, tend to be boiled beyond recognition. I used to think that the baristas weren't properly trained to use the machines, but now I think the problem is more that the majority of the baristas don't even grasp what a latte is supposed to taste like. They have no frame of reference.

So far, Stockholm has been the standard for civilized cafés, maybe because of the local tradition known as fika, ie a coffee break accompanied by a pastry. But Australia is right up there, perhaps even better -- you won't find a more perfect latte anywhere else. And it's not just in the specialized establishments: I've had impeccable cups in airports and gas stations! And unlike the NY coffee snobs, they don't try to impress with crap like how much they paid for their hand-tooled machine or whether the beans were picked by virgins on a single hill in Nicaragua.

Even better, we went to cafés every single day for ten days straight, and not once did we see someone on a laptop -- the scourge of NY coffee joints. People read the paper or had actual conversations with each other. Imagine that! You don't realize how antisocial laptops are until they're taken out of the equation and you find yourself in an environment where sociability is encouraged. Real-life one, not virtual one. I realize this sounds crazy but you must suspend your disbelief.

We hit a lot of good spots, but a particularly enjoyable one was Re:hab, in the small town of Port Douglas. A must if you ever find yourself in FNQ (Far North Queensland -- Aussies love acronyms).

From the land Down Under, part 1

Fact: the jetlag returning from Melbourne to New York is killer. Killer. I feel like crap, exhausted with a low-pressure headache lurking in the back of my sinuses.

But a trip to Australia is well worth this hassle. Man, do I love it there!

First, the timing was just right. To begin with, the political action was primo: The country is stuck with a hung parliament and as of writing, still doesn't have a functioning government. Basically departing PM Julia Gillard (Labor) and Tony Abbott (center-right Coalition) have been spending the past 10 days or so wooing four independents — and they've been driving a hard bargain.

Then, the Sheila and I landed in Melbourne as the regular footy season was ending and Grand Final week was starting. This is the equivalent of the playoffs for Australian rules football. I went to my very first game, Collingwood vs. Hawthorn, at the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG). What a civilized experience! We walked there as the stadium is right in the center of town — and is surrounded by a river and parks, not acres of parking lots. Then we bought general-admission seats for a mere A$20 each. Try that at Yankee Stadium! The 'G, as it's known, is a beautiful venue that feels more intimate than its 100,000 capacity would suggest. We picked seats way up so we could have a good bird's eye view of the action.

The game itself was incredible as Aussie rules is fast and fun. These guys run around a gigantic oval-shaped field so they're in tip-top shape. And as in soccer, there's no time-outs: The action keeps going. I have no idea why this sport is played only in Australia. Anyway, the favorite Collingwood Magpies lost to the underdog Hawthorn Hawks in a crazily suspenseful game, so my introduction to live footy was a really good one. (Game highlights here.)

Next: Why the Melbourne café culture rocks.