The cast. Photography by Liza Voll.

Presented by The Huntington 
Written by Jonathan Spector 
Directed by Margot Bordelon

May 28 – June 28, 2026
The Huntington Theatre
264 Huntington Ave. 
Boston, MA 02115

Review by Kitty Drexel

“If my son can’t bring a peanut butter sandwich to school, then you can’t bring your unvaccinated child.”
 – Elizabeth Cleveland, vice president/planning director of The Martin Agency

BOSTON — Watching Eureka Day at The Huntington is like seeing British philosopher Philippa Foot’s Trolley Problem play out in real time. Foot’s moral dilemma positions the survival of many against the survival of one via violent train death. It’s Sophie’s choice but with trolleys. In the case of Spector’s play, this choice plays out within a private school’s code of operation.

Foot’s philosophical conundrum doesn’t take into account the individuals tied to the track, the engineer steering the trolley, nor the real-life violence represented by the trolley. The Trolley Problem, taken at face value, is relatively simple. Human beings are complicated. When you combine complications such as parenting culture, offensively open-minded liberalism, and antivaxxer pseudoscience with the Trolley Problem, you get the backbone of Eureka Day.

In the cheerful library of Eureka Day private school, holistically designed by Luciana Stecconi, its board of directors attempts to reach consensus about normal elementary school things: school curriculum, website info. We enter the conversation in medias res. This conversation, like many board discussions, has gone on for a long time. Eureka Day welcomes all opinions, no matter how unique or distressing, and factors them into its consensus-driven philosophy of operations. Unfortunately, when every perspective matters, no perspective matters. 

We learn that the Eureka Day school is facing a mumps outbreak. Over a series of long-winded meetings, the board members Suzanne (Nancy Lemenager), Carina (Euince Woods), Meiko (Sasha Diamond), and Eli (Japhet Balaban) argue the merits of a school-wide MMR vaccine requirement. Don (Ken Cheeseman), the Principal, tries to keep the in-person and Zoom conversations civilized. Due to a hilariously chaotic chat feed designed by John Horzen and UptownWorks, Don fails. Ebonie Marie plays Winter, a fellow Eureka Day parent. 

Eureka Day is God of Carnage (Yasmina Reza) for the 2020s. Just as in God of Carnage, the parents of Eureka Day want to do what is best for their children. What that means and how it is achieved varies from parent to parent. When these parents in both plays feel fear, they lash out in cruel, unproductive ways. Not so different from children on a playground or neanderthals in a rock basin. So, if you’ve seen or read God of Carnage and appreciated its message, you’ll likely enjoy Eureka Day.   

Photography by Liza Voll.

Similarly, if you identify as an ultra liberal leftist, social justice warrior with a chip on your shoulder and time to burn before the next protest, you might also enjoy this production. Eureka Day pokes good fun in our direction and highlights exactly why conservatives make fun of us: the never-ending, extra-sensitive discussions about every little thing; our protection of all feelings and opinions as valid; our thinking so far outside the box that the box no longer exists; our rewarding of all participation and unpacking of every experience; the unnecessary psychological handholding of grown-ass adults, etc., ad nauseam. I resembled the onstage characters performing their inane acts, and I wanted to strangle every character in play. But. In a good way. If you’ve volunteered for a nonprofit, you’ll know what I mean. The frustration is real. 

Through her creation of the community in Eureka Day, director Margot Bordelon shows us that it takes all kinds to muck up the works of a school system. This is a well-shaped and paced production that is equally as well-proportioned by the design staff and acted by its cast. By the play’s end, we discover that, as in most cases, humanity chooses the survival of the many over the survival of the few. No amount of unique perspective or caring conversation will save children (or adults) from the mumps. Vaccinations – which do not cause autism – will.

Paul Melendy & Gabriel Graetz. Photo: Maggie Hall Photography.

Presented by Central Square Theater
By Charles Ludlam
Directed by David R. Gammons
Cast: Gabriel Graetz (Jane Twisden, Lord Edgar Hillcrest, et al), Paul Melendy (Nicodemus Underwood, Lady Enid Hillcrest, Alcazar, et al)

May 28 – June 21, 2026
Central Square Theater
450 Massachusetts Ave.
Cambridge, MA 02139

Review by Craig Idlebrook

CAMBRIDGE, Mass. — Theater is full of silly mashup plays that provide ample opportunity for cartoonish violence and rapid costume changes, but few, I would argue, can help us laugh at the terror of our times as well as the 1984 comedy of The Mystery of Irma Vep, expertly staged at Central Square Theater in Cambridge. The play bear-hugs the penny dreadful genre, with homages to creature features of Victorian vampires, mummies, werewolves, departed former wives and more. Nods to Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde (and probably 15 other references I didn’t catch) are thrown in for good measure.

All of this is translated through the unmistakable camp lens of queer theater, as playwright Charles Ludlam stipulated that a cast of two same-sex scene partners must take on a dizzying number of characters, both male and female. Revealing costumes, ripping bodices, blowup dolls, and scare wigs add to the campy flair, as does the fourth-wall shattering interactions between the cast and audience. Cast members Gabriel Graetz and Paul Melendy exquisitely navigate the precise beats and improvisational moments needed to pull off the frenetic pace of the comedy, leaving the audience, and their characters, in stitches.

But the precise, modernist, and purposely sterile set and lighting design hints that there is something deadly serious afoot in the midst of all this campy fun. The earnest beats between the two actors tucked within the moments of madness also open the door for deeper meaning on stage.

Ludlam, a gay American playwright, wrote this play in the midst of some of the most maddening moments of the AIDS epidemic. In the year that the play premiered, the autoimmune disease had already killed a recorded 3,500 Americans, most of them gay men. There was little to no treatment to combat it.

Queer communities had mobilized for activism to combat the epidemic, the CDC had identified the transmission routes of HIV, and many knew we were facing a health crisis. Despite this, then-President Ronald Reagan could not bring himself to mention HIV for another year, and his press secretary openly mocked it in press conferences. Too many Americans considered AIDS to be just a gay disease and wouldn’t be moved to discuss the humanitarian crisis until news broke that it was affecting children and heterosexual communities, as well.

Against this historical backdrop, it is easy to see the power wielded by Ludlam as he writes about an unlucky cast of characters trapped together in a house that makes no sense, fighting against their baser, supernatural instincts and trying to uncover secrets of which no one will speak. The campy action offered, and offers, catharsis for those in the audience trapped in the absurdity of a world gone mad.

We need the license that camp provides now more than ever to speak of the madness we face, especially as subjects once again become taboo in public discourse.

In late 2024, as it became clear that Donald J. Trump had won a second term in office, nonprofits (including the one I was employed by) began to scrub their sites of mention of LGBTQIA+ issues in hopes that the work they did could continue under the radar. It did not save them, as much of that work was halted with the DOGE massacre of nonprofit budgets, including vital global work to provide HIV medications and emergent disease screening. Now, as in 1984, people are dying because of the U.S. government’s decision to close its eyes and cover its ears on this and so many subjects.

If you, like me, are struggling with holding onto truth in the waves of censorship and doublespeak of this protofascist moment in American history, please allow yourself the shelter of this play during Pride month to make sense of the insanity of everyday life in America now.

Photo by Ken Yotsukura Photography.

East Coast Premiere presented by Chuang Stage
By Minna Lee
Directed by cara hinh

May 23 – June 13, 2026
Boston Center for the Arts
Plaza Theatre

Article by Kitty Drexel

BOSTON — Gentrification murders culture in the name of progress. Gentrification isn’t the same as healthy renovation of and fiscal investment in an historically underserved neighborhood (say, Dorchester and Chelsea, MA). Rather, gentrification steals political and fiscal autonomy from longtime residents and bestows it upon rich people. If you can pay the rent, you can remove the people who’ve lived in and loved in an area for generations without a second thought for where The Poors will go once they’re kicked out. 

Chuang Stage’s My Home on the Moon by Minna Lee packages the horrors of gentrification-in-the-name-of-progress with a heaping dose of aptly uncanny A.I. It is a timely science fiction morality tale cum fever dream told through bowls of pho and other Vietnamese dishes. Mai (strong but grouchy Belle Le) wants to feed people well. She’s ready to serve pho to her community at Pho Lan, her boss Lan’s (Christina R Chan, perky and resilient) restaurant.

Unfortunately, her community has been decimated by all powerful tech shareholders with resources beyond Mai’s; Big Tech has gentrified Mai and Lan’s neighborhood; no one can afford rent. Customers can’t afford Pho Lan’s soup. They fear permanent closure… Until a mysterious corporate consultant, Vera (Emma Na-yun Downs, who is as eerie as she is optimistic), brings them good news: Novus Corp. has awarded the restaurant a grant! Pho Lan is saved! 

Just as a Food Critic/Influencer (Lee Baladejo, earnest and nimble) and their followers begin to flood to Pho Lan, Mai sees a vision of an intergalactic noodle float through the restaurant. Everything is not as it should be! Mai may or may not be in The Matrix. Her restaurant home that once felt like a small piece of Heaven on Earth turns out to be a cage gilded by Novus Corp. to hold Mai, Lan, and Vera indefinitely. Mai must determine which she wants more, creating dishes for her clientele or the freedom that lies beyond what money can buy. Jenny S. Lee completes the cast as Gigi, a merciless CTO you’d never want to meet in a dark alley or a board room, and other roles. 

In the playbill, Playwright Minna Lee tells us their script is inspired by working at Maruta Shoten market in Seattle. Amazon and its subsidiaries were decimating local businesses – restaurants, theaters, tailors, etc. – at the time. Just like Walmart did in the late-90s and early 2000s. Just like A.I. data centers are doing now. Lee’s play is uncannily timely to the world we live in now.

Fortunately for their Boston audience, Lee’s play is also highly entertaining. From the detailed scenic design by Qingan Zhang that reminded me of my own memories working as a prep cook in a summer restaurant in New Hampshire to the thoughtful and sexy intimacy direction by Kristian Espiritu, this production is solidly funny and likely prophetic. These are dark times of fascism. If we aren’t laughing, we’re accepting our fates. 

A special shout out to the design team and actors involved in the show’s unnecessarily horny, H-Mart-like “Yes, Chef” commercial. That’s an unhinged work of genius that my hawt date and I will reference in conversation for years to come. We can’t unsee what you did to that jackfruit. And we’re okay with it. 

(Congratulations to Andrew March for his tech direction and for being a grey cat. It must be difficult to work without thumbs.)   

My Home on the Moon’s 90 minutes flew by on Wednesday night. It is well-paced and its actors are devoted to their characters and their reality. I left the BCA hungry for pho and renewed with energy to small-scale fight back against Big Tech, its sad programmers, and their ingratiating A.I. girlfriends. Go to My Home On the Moon for its lion dancing and karaoke. Stay for its deep dive into current events.   

L to R: Victor Almanzar, Javier David, Juan Arturo,Gabe Martínez in Oedipus El Rey; directed by Loretta Greco; photo by Marc J. Franklin

Presented by The Huntington
By Luis Alfaro
Directed by Loretta Greco
Dramaturgy by Sonia Fernandez and Ynika Yuagg
Fight direction and intimacy coaching by Jesse Hinson 
Voice and dialect coaching by Adi Cabral

May 7 – Sunday, June 14, 2026
The Roberts Studio
Calderwood Pavilion 
Boston Center for the Arts
527 Tremont Street, Boston, MA, 02116

Online Playbill

The show contains full but brief nudity. Do with that information what you will. Check out the warnings HERE. 

Critique by Kitty Drexel

BOSTON — Audience members were activated on Wednesday night’s performance of Oedipus El Rey (now extended through June 14!) in the Calderwood Pavilion. The room buzzed with the conversation of friends greeting friends, ushers finding seats, Latin music played; it was the general hubbub of pre-performance excitement. No matter what happened on the stage, the atmosphere welcomed a good time for most of us.

I say most, because The Huntington’s Oedipus El Rey was written with the LA Chicano community in mind. Alfaro’s play borrows heavily from Chicano stereotypes, such as illiterate criminals and hypersexualized women. Alfaro’s work then grants personhood to some of them. 

The audience on Wednesday was more appreciative than it was offended: Alfaro tilts the Latin-as-criminal stereotype to discuss the systemic push of impoverished Chicano peoples of Los Angeles into prisons. He sexualizes the play’s one female character, Jocasta, to examine her grief and loneliness. The other characters aren’t similarly humanized because they bounce between their named roles and their roles in the Greek/Chicano chorus. They are purposefully two-dimensional; they narrate the story and work on behalf of the gods in the ancient Greek tradition.

Even when we know this, Alfaro’s use of stereotypes may offend some attendees. Stereotypes can be offensive. They can also be a dramatic literary teaching devise to educate a joyful audience. Many things can be true at the same time. 

I urge audience members who feel offended to consider the reactions of the Latino audience members around them, at the party they are throwing. Please don’t solidify your judgment before considering why you feel offended. Our Wednesday audience was yelling callbacks with the cast, dancing on the stage (as invited) and in their seats, and playing the instruments the ensemble passed around. We were being welcomed to enjoy ourselves, so we did. It’s okay if you introspect and still feel offended. 

Sophocles’ Oedipus doesn’t automatically translate into a party play. The Huntington’s website says: “Luis Alfaro reimagines Sophocles’ classic in his acclaimed and electrifying Oedipus el Rey, set in the heart of Los Angeles.” The original tragedy, Oedipus Rex, warns its audience against taunting the gods and engaging in hubris. In it, the King of Thebes is prophesied to kill his father and marry his mother. Alfano’s Oedipus El Rey sets Sophocles ’ tragedy in Los Angeles and engages with the high highs and low lows of Mexican culture. Laius (Gabe Martínez) is king of El Barrio. Jocasta (Melisa Pereyra) is his queen. Together, through tradition, religion, and superstition, they rule with iron fists. 

Our hero, Oedipus (Juan Arturo), is freshly out of prison and determined to rewrite the life foretold by generations of extreme poverty. Rather than ride the same pipeline from the gangs of El Barrio to prison and back, our hero tempts fate by returning to L.A. On his trip home, Oedipus enters an altercation with Laius at a crossroads. The interaction turns violent. Oedipus meets Creon (local favorite, Jaime José Hernández, living the GD dream on the BCA stage), a Prince of El Barrio, who introduces Oedipus to his sister, Jocasta. Together, they fulfill the mystic’s prophecy (Victor Almanzar) of death and destruction. Javier David rounds out the cast as El Sobador and El Coro. 

A curious energy balance exists between actors Arturo and the all-male Greek chorus. Arturo plays a king; his onstage presence sucks all of the energy out of the room. Yet, Arturo dominates the stage even when he’s supposed to be sharing it with the cast. But, whether divinely anointed to the stage by gods or by keeping what he kills, a king should dominate the stage, but that’s not necessarily true of an actor playing a king. 

Juan Arturo, Melisa Pereyra in Oedipus El Rey; directed by Loretta Greco; photo by Marc J. Franklin.

To clarify, I’m not finding fault with Arturo, the chorus, or director Loretta Greco. Rather, I find their choice to play Oedipus as so insecure and toxic (but not narcissistic) that he must dominate all spaces at all times an interesting one. It works as an acting choice until it doesn’t, and then it does again. I was fascinated by the back and forth.  

Additionally, Melisa Pereyra as Jocasta is the only actor/character that matches Arturo/Oedipus’ stage presence. Oedipus and Jocasta match wits and trauma. He’s only ever vulnerable with her, and yet he’s still the king. I really enjoyed watching their dynamic play out. 

Oedipus El Rey incorporates some Spanish into its script. (Calling it bilingual is a bit silly when 99.98% of the script is in English, but that’s what bilingual means under fascism.) It shouldn’t be overwhelming for too many attendees. English words are used within context and flow through English dialogue. For example, the Greek Chorus (Gabe Martínez, Jaime José Hernández, Victor Almanzar, and Javier David who made us guffaw and grow somber in equal measures) are dressed as owls when the Spanish word “tecolotes” is spoken. Just in case, The Huntington includes a helpful glossary, “Palabras to Know,” in its playbill.    

The dramaturgy work of Sonia Fernandez and Ynika Yuagg is immensely helpful to understanding the play. Their short but sweet playbill article, “Today, You Can Start Over Again,” fleshes out the play’s origins and provides useful context to understanding this adaptation. They discuss free will, and man’s search for immortality on the battlefield of life. They’ve given playwright Alfaro another platform for his voice while uplifting his mentors, Playwright Maria Irene Fornes and Dramaturg Morgan Jenness.  

Costume Designer Alex Jaeger’s owl ponchos were cleverly devised yet fluffy. Jocasta’s white dress made her look like a human sacrifice and a girl receiving her first communion. Esfinge’s cute snake puppet made me want to adopt a snake. I hear they make good pets. 

Lastly, the haunting projection work of Hana S Kim transports the darkness of the Calderwood Pavilion into the bright lights of Los Angeles. She cast an image of the Madonna over rushing city streets, thereby capturing the essence of L.A.: a mix of the divine and the vulgar.  

Image via the Longwood Players Facebook page.

Presented by The Longwood Players
By Brian Friel
Directed by Rose Carlson
Produced by Michael Tricca and Kaitlyn Chantry
Set Design by Jessica Algard
Dialect coaching by Mark Hessler
Featuring: Matthew Feldman, Dasha Artemchuk, Jimmy Jack, Via Gould, David Kleinman, Melinda Kalanzis, Anthony Mullin, Raj Bhuva, Carlos Fruzzetti, Gabriel O. Pagán-González

May 8 – 16
Chelsea Theatre Works
189 Winnisimmet St, Chelsea, MA 02150

Review by Maegan Clearwood

CHELSEA— In 1833, the villagers of Baile Beag are content: they teach each other Latin and Greek, go about their farmwork and household chores, host dances and celebrate christenings. This peaceability is tempered, however, by a palpable unease. The villagers whisper about looming political violence, about phantom sweet potato smells – they are haunted, not by Ireland’s past, but by its future.

Brien Friel wrote Translations in 1980, at the height of The Troubles in Northern Ireland. The play is about a parallel political tipping point: Britain set out to erode Gaelic culture and language by a) replacing community hedge-schools with English-speaking national schools and b) anglicizing traditional place names through an imperialist mapping project.

The play spoke volumes when it premiered in Derry, Northern Ireland over 40 years ago. Today, The Longwood Players smartly brings it alive for a 2026 American audience. Translations is a soft-spoken play, but its themes — colonialism, migration, the violence of cultural erasure — resonate loudly. Listen, the production begs, and act while you still can.

Director Rose Carlson orchestrates a magnificent series of performances from the 10-person ensemble. The production is fluid, buzzing with life, and I found myself grieving this fictional village as a facsimile for so many real-world communities that have been ravaged by imperialist violence.

The hedge-school (set design by Jessica Algard) is comprised of small touches, each of which tells a story about the community members who brought it to life: books piled up in Jimmy Jack’s favorite reading nook; hay and pitchforks alluding to the school’s former status as a barn; small trinkets left as payment from local farmworkers. It’s a remarkable little world to get lost in.

Although the play is written in English, the Irish and British characters still fail to understand each other. This clever playwriting choice not only serves as a potent metaphor for broader social discordance, but also results in riveting, poetically circuitous character interactions. For this production, dialect coach Mark Hessler did superb work with the actors, whose accents are necessary for making Friel’s literary device work.

There’s a restless aliveness to this production’s staging: characters constantly engage in side tasks and conversations, using every inch and detail of the stage. For one example, during an important conversation between two other characters, Doalty (played by a boisterous, delightful David Kleinman) washed his hands in a bucket inches away from my seat in the risers.

Details like this, combined with the actors’ Irish accents, may make it hard for audiences to process the detail-rich dialogue – but I found this issue surprisingly unbothersome. I appreciated the verisimilitude of this busy, socially intricate village world, and my inability to understand every word felt metaphorically appropriate.

It helps that the actors are so immersed in what they’re saying. Typically, at this point in my review, I would highlight a few standout performances, but I struggle with Translations, because the ensemble is so evenly adept – so I will name everyone. Matthew Feldman and Raj Bhuva bring pathos and stakes as the brothers Manus and Owen respectively; Via Gould and Gabriel O. Pagán-González pull off an unexpectedly moving love scene couched in this melancholy play as Maire and Lieutenant Yolland; and Dasha Artemchuk, Mark Hessler, David Kleinman, Melinda Kalanzis, Anthony Mullin, and Carlos Fruzzetti fill out the rest of the village, bringing the world to life through quirks, foibles, and tiny interactions that feel surprisingly real.

Friel falls into the literary trap of using identity traits – particularly disability – as broader thematic metaphors. The characters of Sarah and Jimmy Jack, for instance, come across as symbols instead of people, which perhaps wouldn’t be so jarring if the rest of the villagers weren’t so fleshed out.

Otherwise, Translations is remarkable. It continues to speak truth across language, geography, culture, and time. At points, the play is a funeral dirge for the past. But when it ends on a question mark, the characters poised to (perhaps) act, it is also a call to action for audiences today: Once we heed the warning signs of state violence, what are we going to do to protect our communities?

The cast; photo by @nilescottstudios

Presented by Lyric Stage
Music and Lyrics by Wayne Kirkpatrick & Karey Kirkpatrick
Book by Karey Kirkpatrick & John O’Farrell
Directed by Ilana Ransom Toeplitz
Music Directed by Katya Stanislavskaya
Choreographed by Christopher Shin
Dramaturgy by Bindi Kang
Intimacy direction by Samantha Richert

May 1 – June 7, 2026
Lyric Stage Theatre
140 Clarendon Street
Boston, MA 02116

Runtime: 2 hours and 25 minutes including intermission.

Review by Helen Ganley

BOSTON — Something Rotten! The name itself is pithy—the vague and anachronistic “something” paired with “rotten,” a word associated with withered fruit and moldy bread. Accompanying this duo is, inexplicably, an exclamation point, leading to a questionable feeling of excitement after such a combination.

This innate and amusing contradiction is sown throughout Something Rotten. The show follows two playwrights, Nick and Nigel Bottom, as they attempt to pen a work greater than that of William Shakespeare in the 1590s Renaissance. So far, so on track—right? Well, not quite. The duo peers into the future and decides to write the first modern musical to go toe to toe with rock musician Shakespeare. The show is self-referential and full of mirth, two qualities that add to the already enjoyable experience.

The Bottom brothers, played by Ryan Mardesich and Ohad Ashkenazi, are a hoot. Mardesich brings a new flair to his role; Nick is, theoretically, the more grounded and pragmatic of the two. That grounding begins to falter during “God, I Hate Shakespeare,” as Mardesich launches into a jealous tantrum, marking the start of Nick’s cascade into desperation. As Nigel, Ashkenazi emanates a lofty, dreamlike energy. When Mardesich descends into relative madness, Ashkenazi remains consistent in his fervent, idealistic daydreams of poetry and love. His soaring tenor melts hearts during “To Thine Own Self.”

As is typical in theater, these two are spurred on by powerful women (I’ll digress on this point—but it’s quite convenient to have a woman who serves only to move a man’s story along…). Rife with empowerment is Kristian Espiritu as Bea. Espiritu exhibits vocal dexterity in “Right Hand Man,” bringing a comical knowingness as she masquerades as various men. Nigel’s star-crossed lover, Portia, is played by Lauren Dodds. Dodds is the show’s true standout; her sonorous soprano, laced with innuendo in “I Love the Way,” sweeps throughout the room. Her physical comedy is as sharp as her wit, transitioning from fervent fangirling to swooning drunkenness with ease.

Sensually serenading his ravenous crowd of adoring onlookers is Jared Troilo as Shakespeare. Troilo swaggers across the stage, ripping his shirt open during “Will Power” and playfully mocking a giggling audience member. This controlled flounce is fiercely juxtaposed with the frenzied predictions of soothsayer Nostradamus, played by Joy Clark. Clark sputters 20th-century predictions with zest, her vocal chops and explosive dance permeating “A Musical.”

The show’s ensemble ties the production together, shifting seamlessly between scenes—whether dressed as eggs (yes, eggs), Puritans, townsfolk, or concertgoers. In Lyric Stage’s relatively smaller space, the ensemble fills out the stage, their impressive choreography highlighted in “Welcome to the Renaissance” and “We See the Light.”

The show’s technical teams complete the production with remarkable alacrity. Between the intricate choreography (Christopher Shin), numerous detailed costumes (Chloe Moore), and the multi-leveled Tudor-style sets (Cameron McEachern), each moment is showcased memorably and appropriately. The live orchestra is especially impressive as the bedrock of each musical number.

Lyric Stage’s production of Something Rotten! is an ode to the original, bringing a few bits of unique flair while delivering the chaotic hilarity audiences know and love.

Presented by The Post-Meridian Radio Players
From stories by P.G. Wodehouse
“Aunt Agatha Speaks Her Mind,” Adapted by Jeremy Branton Holstein and Phoebe Roberts. Directed by Jeremy Branton Holstein.
“Right Ho, Jeeves,” Adapted and directed by Jaimie Carlson.
“Jeeves Takes Charge,” Adapted and directed by Phoebe Roberts.
Producer: Karen Sarao
Stage Manager: Jaclyn Wilson
Foley Coordinator: Meg Wickham
Board Op: Ray Zaslow
Sound Engineer: Chris Cebelenski

Performed at two locations:
April 16-18, 2026
204 Elm St
Davis Square, Somerville, MA
April 24 – 25, 2026
The Dorothy and Charles Mosesian Center for the Arts
Watertown, MA

Review by Craig Idlebrook

SOMERVILLE, Mass. — At some point, someone studying 20th century comedy will make a case that the sitcom Seinfeld was a meanspirited rip-off of the effervescent short stories and book series about the unflappable and omniscient valet Reginald Jeeves.

Jeeves first appeared in publication at the tail end of WWI and his service to the daft, irresponsible, and well-off Bertie Wooster lasted until 1975, with every one of the pair’s misadventures written by British humorist P.G. Wodehouse.

Like with Seinfeld, nothing really happens in the Jeeves and Wooster series, but it is so easy to be sucked into the drama of all this nothing. In this formulaic series, Wooster inevitably finds himself in a sticky situation because of his spinelessness and fecklessness, and only Jeeves can suggest a plan to extricate his boss from certain social doom.

The two main characters are simply and broadly drawn, but that simplicity can often be difficult to bring to life on stage or screen. My favorite pairing is Hugh Laurie (of House fame) as the vapid Wooster and the impeccable Stephen Fry as Jeeves. They are characters many know well, but few know how they tick.

The stories often are as slight in length as the plot is slight in substance, as Wodehouse knew that there was only so much even we readers could take of Wooster. And perhaps this is the main reason why The Post-Meredian Players’ ambitious staging of three radio plays of the Jeeves and Wooster series falls flat, at least at the end. It is difficult to remain focused on the lives of the rich and dim of post-WWI England for that long, no matter how energetic the three casts try.

The format of a radio play provides no place to hide for the three sets of actors who take on the Jeeves and Wooster personas. Lines are delivered straight to the audience, with little to no movement, in keeping with the radio play format, and that can give a critic a lot of time to think. David Brown pulls off the best inscrutable and classic Jeeves, and Maeve McCluskey and Kimberly Dauber in a gender swap casting of a Jeeves and Wooster story creatively decide not to just rest on the swap to catch our attention. They create a fresh vibe on the characters, with Jeeves unmistakably having 52 percent more sass in her responses to Wooster. Not every cast member had such command of the microphone, but those that provided moments for true belly laughs.

The large cast never lets up on the energy on stage, aided ably by the sound effects crew who are tirelessly providing the noises of the action on stage. It is a shame that those sound effects could not be heard better, as doorbells and clanking cutlery too often drifted into the background.

But ultimately, all this frivolity grows wearisome as the night of theater wore on, reminding me that there is a reason why radio plays and sitcoms are half an hour or less in length.

Peter DiMaggio & ensemble. Photo: Nile Scott Studios

Presented by Speakeasy Stage
Music and lyrics by The Avett Brothers
Book by John Logan
Directed by Jeremy Johnson
Choreographed by Ilyse Robbins
Music directed by Paul S. Katz
Scenic Design by Janie E. Howland
Lighting by Karen Perlow
Featuring: Christopher Chew, Max Connor, Peter DiMaggio, Bishop Levesque

April 24 – May 23, 2026
Stanford Calderwood Pavilion at Boston Center for the Arts
527 Tremont Street, Boston, 02116

Review by Maegan Clearwood

BOSTON — Swept Away is ambitious in theme and scope: it calls for sweeping, spectacular design choices, attempting to explore existential ideas about guilt, grief, death, and despair. Speakeasy Stage, like the Broadway premiere two years ago, takes a fittingly larger-than-life approach to the visuals and performances. Unfortunately (again, like the Broadway premiere), Speakeasy can’t overcome the musical’s dramaturgical flaws.

Swept Away is a jukebox musical, featuring indie-folk-Americana-pop-rock songs by The Avett Brothers. It features many hallmark jukebox musical flaws: musical numbers that feel shoehorned in rather than plot-driven; a thematically uneven throughline; inconsistent character arcs. John Logan’s book crams songs into a story inspired by a real 1884 shipwreck of The Mignonette. It’s a grisly tale, an exploration of the spirit’s ability (or lack thereof) to survive in the face of abject horror, but the script is too bogged down by cliches to uncover any novel truths about the human condition.

The musical’s issues have been copiously addressed by critics of previous productions, so I won’t belabor them further. I would direct curious readers toward Loren Novek’s in-depth review, which touches on the text’s lackluster characterization and failed attempt at parable.

Speakeasy’s production, directed by Jeremy Johnson, is visually impressive. Janie E. Howland’s set makes the stage look larger-than-life: the ensemble raises and lowers ropes, sails, ladders, and masts to bring the ship’s construction (and eventual destruction) to life, complemented by striking blues and greens (lighting by Karen Perlow). The set is beautifully composed, comprised of crisp, clean lines – perhaps too clean for a play about hardened sailors and gruesome deaths.

The production as a whole lacks momentum. The set is stunning, but never feels alive; Ilyse Robbins’ choreography is buoyant but poorly integrated into the piece’s overall movement; and ensemble members are more often used as set dressing than active participants in the story.

The four principles do their best with the awkward script and slow-paced score. Christopher Chew and Bishop Levesque as the Captain and Big Brother respectively are standout vocalists, bringing an almost operatic grandiosity to their unfortunately few solos. Max Connor brings boyish exuberance to the role of Little Brother, although he struggles when the play takes its dramatic sharp turn in its second half.

Peter DiMaggio plays Mate, the story’s surviving, guilt-wracked narrator. Mate is a frustrating character: he is given no development until well into the second half, when the audience is bombarded with a violent backstory that renders the character arguably irredeemable. DiMaggio adds shades of vulnerability to Mate, particularly through his friendship with Little Brother, but his descent into emotional despair is muddy: he appears on the verge of madness as early as the ship’s departure, dampening the impact of his ultimate tragedy.

The ship’s crew is awkwardly underutilized by the text, but Speakeasy’s ensemble brings charm to the musical’s first half. There’s an inspired choice to integrate aerial performance into a few numbers (performed by Ezra Quinlan), bringing some much-needed dynamism to the piece.

If audience members are able to look past its dramaturgical clunkiness, there’s still plenty to applaud with Speakeasy’s spin on Swept Away.

The cast. Photo by Jason Grow.

Presented by Lanes Coven Theater Company
By Young Jean Lee
Directed by Justin Genna
Featuring: Alex Highsmith, Lily Narbonne, Cheryl D. Singleton, Hannah Young

April 24 – May 10
American Legion Post 3
8 Washington Street
Gloucester, MA 01930

Review by Maegan Clearwood

GLOUCESTER, Mass. – Church opens in emptiness: a lone voice carries over the audiences’ heads from behind, a familiar diatribe about ego and earthly trivialities. The American Legion hall is dark, a lectern ironically unoccupied as the disembodied sermon goes on and on and on. But Church ends in light, sound, frenetic movement – a smorgasbord for the senses, worlds apart from the solemnity of its beginning.

Young Jean Lee’s experience (“play” isn’t quite the right word), produced by Lanes Coven Theater Company, is 80 minutes straight of one subversion after another. Lee latches onto a trope of Evangelical Christianity; she plays it honestly, unironically, passionately, and then mashes it up with a heaping dose of absurdism and song; and by the end, the trope is utterly unrecognizable from its point of origin.

Sometimes this formula illuminates layers of spiritual profundity, buried beneath familiar Evangelical talking points; other times, the result is just plain weird.

This Lanes Coven production, directed by Justin Genna, seeks truth in every word of this twisty-turny script. Even as Reverend Alex (played by Alex Highsmith) testifies about her sinful days of multicolor drug-filled benders, she is utterly sincere, encouraging the audience to empathize with this bizarre spiritual awakening. When she, Reverend Hannah (Hannah Young) and Reverend Lily (Lily Narbonne) break into frenzied dance, even their most awkward poses appear filled with spirit.

The production is staged at The American Legion in Gloucester, adding another degree of verisimilitude. It feels like the kind of space that a small, scrappy congregation would borrow for services: spacious, but not grand; clean, but lived-in.

Lanes Coven goes notably off-script by casting a woman to play Reverend José, the fourth (and presumed leader) of the group. Typically, the ensemble’s gender imbalance speaks to another truth about Evangelical religion. Even as Reverend José preaches liberal values and points out patriarchal norms, the visual messaging is clear: men still get the final word.

In Lanes Coven’s production, this leading role is played by Cheryl D. Singleton. I appreciate the impetus behind this subversive casting choice, and it’s undeniably powerful to see four women in positions of religious authority. I do wonder what elements of storytelling were lost in this translation, however. When Reverends Hannah, Lily, and Alex dance barefoot, pastel skirts and long hair twirling around them, Reverend José sways in the center, stoic in her gray suit; the imagery is striking, but it doesn’t tell a story about power.

Lee developed the play in 2007 as a way to process her own upbringing in the evangelical church. Two decades later, evangelical Christianity has a chokehold in American politics: real, tangible, dangerous power. There’s political meat on this play’s bones, and I’m curious what this production could have looked like if it acknowledged these weightier implications.

Then again, I understand the desire for facilitating an idealized spiritual experience, something that transports audiences beyond the here-and-now. I’m not frustrated with Lanes Coven’s choice, but I’m curious about this missed potential.

Singleton embodies the role of Reverend José with quiet gravitas, rather than fire and brimstone. As a theoretical congregant, I liked this choice; as an audience member, however, I craved louder, bolder religious fervor that contrasted more with the other three reverends.

As a whole, the production isn’t afraid of being quiet. The first half of the play is heavy with sermons, only to pivot towards a full-blown concert at the end (helmed by a four-person band, uncredited, and supported by impeccable production design). The production leans into this tonal contrast, so that by the end, the sound and lights are almost overwhelming. I would have liked a touch more theatricality earlier on, to stay engaged during the minutes-long sermons — then again, what’s more realistic than getting a bit restless in church?

Like much of Lee’s work, Church is immersive, verging on performance art. It invites open-ended response and revels in the unexpected, so no one audience member’s experience will be the same. You kinda just have to be there.

Compilation by Maggie Hall Photography

Presented by Greater Boston Stage Company
By Heidi Schreck
Directed by A. Nora Long
Cast on April 19, 2026 featured: Janis Hudson, Joseph Marrella, and Ayannah Joseph as the teen debater

April 10-26, 2026
GBSC Main Stage
395 Main Street
Stoneham, MA 02180

Digital playbill

Critique by Kitty Drexel

STONEHAM, Mass. — One of my favorite movie quotes is from 1994’s semi-feminist western Bad Girls. It stars Madeleine Stowe, Mary Stuart Masterson, Andie MacDowell, and Drew Barrymore as four former sex workers on the run after escaping prison. Masteron’s character Anita Crown inherited a land claim in Oregon when he died. She attempts to validate the claim with a male lawyer. He tells her that only her (dead) husband can claim the land. The law doesn’t acknowledge a woman’s inheritance. 

Famously, Anita replies, “If your laws don’t include me, well then, they just don’t apply to me either.” It’s a quote I wish more women would incorporate into their lives. For the majority of Western and world history, legal documents have excluded women. Embracing intersectional feminism means embracing women’s rights… And wrongs. 

This is relevant because, as Heidi Schreck aptly tells us in What the Constitution Means to Me, the Constitution of the United States wasn’t written to include women. Or Black people. Or indigenous Native Americans. Or disabled folks. Or queer people. Or anyone else who didn’t identify as a rich, white, cis, male landowner in 1787. Despite (or maybe because of) this historical fact, Schreck tells us why the Constitution and its 27 amendments held special meaning to her. 

With great kindness and sympathy, Heidi Schreck (Janis Hudson) tells us over 90 minutes what the Constitution means to her and why. Schreck’s written voice uses a first-person, creative nonfiction narrative to describe how she debated the Constitution to earn college scholarships. She also tells us how her 15-year-old thoughts affect her today. 

In 1989, Schreck was 15, horny, and debating other hormonal teens for the entertainment of geriatric veterans of foreign wars. Schreck’s spoken voice pleads for patience as she explains why Amendments IX (unnamed rights are entitled to protection of the law) and XIV (immigration rights, sections 1-5) make the Constitution sizzle. To do so, she uses stories from her own life, her mother’s, her grandmother’s, and her great-great-grandmother’s of abortion as healthcare, domestic abuse, and battered women syndrome. Her stories emphasize the bravery of the antagonists and explain how the laws that disinclude her foremothers have harmed women in the U.S. for centuries. She does so without pointing fingers at men. It’s quite magnanimous of her.  

Greater Boston Stage Company’s production of What the Constitution Means to Me is one of the best I’ve seen. In some ways, it’s better than the 2020 Amazon Prime recording featuring playwright Schreck as herself. Schreck performs beautifully, but a live performance such as Hudson’s is always better than a recording. Even if recorded, Hudson’s performance would stand the test of time as a great one. 

Hudson and director Nora Long circumnavigate Schreck’s multipronged coming-of-age tale with respect, dignity, and just enough theatre-kid pizzaz to appeal to most viewers. Hudson prances, weeps, and stalks across the stage in tight, navy pants with enviable energy. Her line delivery is so relatable and honest, her characterization is so welcoming that an audience member might think Hudson was telling her own story, not Scheck’s. And Hudson does it to our faces. 

Long and Matthew Brian Cost, lighting designer, quickly obliterate the fourth wall. The performance begins with its lights up. Hudson speaks directly to us from the stage. Lights come down as Hudson/Schreck reenact moments from Schreck’s childhood debates. The lighting tells us when to listen closely and when to engage with our voices. They are subtle but effective.  

In a way, it is. Any white woman in the GBSC audience could relate to Schreck’s tale as Hudson tells it. Women couldn’t access birth control until 1965; Roe v Wade was decided in 1973; women couldn’t obtain a credit card until 1974. Life without these freedoms that men take for granted is a recent memory. I am the first woman in my immediate family to access comprehensive healthcare, an education, a career, a partner, and a home without the intercession of a man. I am the freest my ancestors have ever been.

With Roe v Wade’s overturning in 2002, none of us knows how long that will remain true for women. There are global rape academies on the internet. Domestic violence is rampant in every country on the planet. In the U.S., women account for only a small fraction of the perpetrators, and neither nonbinary nor trans folk account for the majority of the cases. A lot of women will attend What the Constitution Means to Me, but the people who need to see it the most are men. Women have fought and died for our human and civil rights. To keep them, we must impress our humanity upon the gatekeepers of those rights. Our future depends on it.