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A third edition of new feature “My Take On:: Short reviews from New York shows by Nunzio Michael Lupo, veteran journalist and an insightful appraiser of the arts. These pieces were first posted on his page at https://www.show-score.com/member/mrstrategery. Some of these are still running for you to see on your next trip; other have closed but remain interesting for his assessment.
Krammer/Fauci, NYU Skirball, Feb. 21, 2026
Was there really a time when people who disagreed with each other could appear on television in spirited debate without calling each other the kind of juvenile names the United States attorney general did just last week to a member of Congress during a televised hearing? Apparently so. Provocative director Daniel Fish has excavated one such moment in “Kramer/Fauci,” a word-for-word retelling of a 1993 live call-in program on C-SPAN about the Clinton administration’s response to the AIDS crisis. Kramer (Thomas Jay Ryan, excellent), who himself died in 2020, was at the time the ranting conscience of America as more than 800 Americans died every week from the virus. Ryan takes us up and down the scale of rage with all the passion Kramer himself did. Fauci (Will Brill) was the measured, cautious government bureaucrat who agreed with Kramer on how awful it was, but did not become the maverick solution Kramer and AIDS activists desired. Brill delivers a suitable government suit, with all the studied pauses and diplomatic reframing of the man himself. A Fish production typically has its auteur flourishes – which are none too subtle in this case. A blinding bank of lights assaults audience members (like callous and comfortable Americans in 1993) just as they get seated; a bigoted caller into the program appears in an inflatable chicken suit; a machine blows an enormous iceberg of bubbles to cover the stage in a nod to the half-million lost lives; and Kramer takes a squeegee to clean up the mess he believes Fauci is unable to. That these two men would clash was certain. And yet they came to understand and even appreciate each other and the unique and complementary roles each played in the crisis. This delicate love-hate tango plays out in this production in a crisp hour, just like the television program itself. This framing leaves the audience right where the C-SPAN show did – open-ended, unresolved, stalemated. Little did we know then how much more stalemated we could become.
Zack, Mint Theater Company, at Theatre Row, Feb. 26, 2026
Mint Theater Company focuses on lost and neglected plays. To borrow from the mission statement – Mint is all about “excavating buried theatrical treasures and reclaiming them for contemporary audiences.” Some of these efforts work better than others, and “Zack” is a case in point. The play is a lesser work by Harold Brighouse, who had success on Broadway in 1915 with “Hobson’s Choice.” Set in Edwardian England, “Zack” is, as the production notes state, a gender-swap “mashup of ‘King Lear,’ ‘Cinderella’ and ‘Pygmalion.’” And boy, that is a lot – a lot – to take in. It results in a story rife with twists that seem to serve no purpose but to drive toward Zack’s inevitable redemption. The production dispenses with British accents, but not all the British references. So it seems oddly out of time. A capable cast features Jordan Matthew Brown in the title role, but he creates a Zack that is such a misfit – all nervous line readings and hand gestures – that it’s very difficult to believe he gets the girl in the end. The whole production delivers a fairy-tale ending that feels unearned.
Every Brilliant Thing, The Hudson Theatre, February 25, 2026:
It’s doubtful that, even for a minute, you will believe the famous actor onstage has dissolved into a man you’ve never seen before, wrestling with depression and suicide. You are more likely to see an energetic Daniel Radcliffe, telling a story and performing a high-wire act alone on stage with some audience participation moments leavened in for laughs. “Every Brilliant Thing,” by Duncan Macmillan with Jonny Donahoe, tells the story of a man who loses his mother to depression and suicide, and comes to face his own mental health challenges as a result. The title refers to a list he develops, intended for his mother, that grows to a million simple, wonderful things that make life worth living. Audience members shout them out for all to hear when Radcliffe cues them. Radcliffe: “No. 1.” Audience: “Ice cream!” A handful of folks gamely step up to play other key characters – his dad, a schoolteacher, a university professor and a love interest. The device adds some levity to what otherwise is a dark story. Theatergoers may come away more informed about this important public health issue, but they seem more likely to remember the magical hour they spent with an actor they love.
Meat Suit: Or the Sh*tshow of Motherhood, 2ndStage, Pershing Square Signature Center, Feb. 27, 2026:
The subtitle pretty well says it all. The mothers in this production have it baaad. They’re at their wit’s end and leaking breast milk after the birth of a child; they’re surrounded by fussy twins, horny husbands and needy grandparents, and in need of 5 minutes – just 5 minutes, please! – to themselves; they’re one-upping each other at the park over sleep training; they’re savaging rival moms at a PTA meeting that might as well be the Inquisition. Clad in bodysuits and hanging appendages that can represent anything from a baby to a saggy breast or a penis, this five-woman cast clowns its way through absurdist vignettes about the strains of having a child. Many are hilarious and likely will ring true. At several points, however, the cast attempts a tonal change, stripping off the funny headpieces and sharing more earnestly, sometimes in songs written by Leyna Marika Papach. The death of a child hits hard for one mother. Daughters who eye-roll at their mothers become mothers themselves, and eventually grandmothers; they painfully wonder how well they managed at every stage. Throughout, the show sticks pretty keenly to the subtitle, and in a way that is a shame. It’s as if writer and director Aya Ogawa never met a mother who endured all these arrows, but found herself looking down lovingly at her child’s face and seeing the awesome miracle of life itself. Two things can be true at once, but here there seems to be only one to explore: Motherhood is sh*tty.
