From my mezzanine seat, I felt unmistakable waves of love roll through the audience at a weekend performance of [title of show] at Broadway’s Lyceum Theater. The crowd confirmed what the critics decreed: this is a stunning, original piece of work, a tonic for those who bemoan the Great White Way’s recent worst tendencies–overpriced, over-hyped, overproduced spectacles ala Disney or culled from the movies that yield nothing resembling wit or intelligence, leaving theatergoers psychically (and economically) exhausted for their efforts.
So yes, [title of show] blows through midtown like a cool, refreshing wind. But with so much of the focus on the show’s plot (two collaborators decide to write a musical about writing a musical), its insider jokes and its humble origin (from the Fringe Festival, to an Off-Broadway run, to the Lyceum in a span of two years), it bears mentioning that [title of show] is also incredibly moving and poignant, a valentine not only to those with greasepaint in their blood, but anyone with a calling, a yearning, a dream to create. Anyone who has a heart will sympathize with the struggle. [title of show] is a gem–go.