Seminar has one overarching reason for being on Broadway: Alan Rickman. With his unmistakably sardonic voice and Harry Potter celebrity, he draws audiences into the Golden Theater. As Leonard, the once-celebrated writer turned fiction teacher, he drips with contempt for his students' works. He is able, inexplicably, to diagnose the veracity of a short story in a sentence.
That's both a dramatic contrivance and irony. For a play committed to the grueling process of producing fiction, there is no time allotted to the pesky business of actually reading it. In fact, for all its withering barbs, thanks to playwright Theresa Rebeck, last seen on Broadway in the compelling Mauritius, Seminar, which worships the sacred word, feels less about art than The Understudy, her smart, witty assault on theater, literature and Hollywood that was staged off-Broadway in 2009.
Instead, it is a study in the cruelty of truth between teacher and student. Here, four students, the affected Douglas (Jerry O'Connell), doubting Martin (Hamish Linklater), angry Kate (Lily Rabe) and ambitious Izzy (Hettienne Park) have each paid $5,000 for Leonard to critique -- actually decimate -- their work.
Such is the power of Rickman's presence, he is able to zing with a single word: "semicolon." Of course, he also manages to slam his protégés as whores, pussies and bemoan their "soul-sucking waste of words." This is not a class for the faint of heart.
While the literary skirmishes are entertaining, the sexual and professional competition between the four young writers is predictable. The surprises -- and there are a few -- are a reminder of how complicated life and art can be.
The problem is that despite a solid cast, and Rickman's masterful putdowns, the characters are one-dimensional; Linklater is the most nuanced of the students. Seminar raises valid points about the enduring importance of fiction, but like its title, it feels more like a lecture than a profound experience.
The "sick hour" of medieval England finds surer footing in The Pearl Theater Company's lean and entertaining Richard II, perhaps one of Shakespeare's simplest of the history plays.
The tale of cousin fighting cousin for control of the throne might tempt a production into the murkier waters of the timeless lust for power, or the intense and, in this case, bloody family battles. As is, Richard II is both internecine warfare, political treachery and a paean to England's glory; there is ample kissing of its ground, "this earth of majesty."
But rather than having to navigate through numerous subplots, director J.R. Sullivan guides his able cast at the City Center production with a focus on character, offering a compelling story well told.
The ever-talented Sean McNall delivers an emotional, if occasionally weepy Richard, finding his best moments in introspective soliloquies, while Grant Goodman is a weaker Bolingbroke, supplying an entitled prince who seems to know his destiny before he decides to fight for it.
Dan Kremer provides a distilled anguish and defiance in the short-lived John of Gaunt, while Jolly Abraham shines as Richard's queen, with moments of pathos and confusion sprinkled into her devotion to a dethroned king.
In a production marked by austerity punctuated with bursts, Harry Feiner's sets transform from a dungeon-like gloom to panels of stained-glass radiant color with seamless ease. Martha Halley's costumes reflect a similar motif, dressing all except Richard in muted but stylish wear, allowing the boyish monarch to beam royally in an otherwise earthy center. And if the best sound design is effective while not intrusive, Jane Shaw has hit the mark beautifully with alternately spare and driving flourishes.
The success of The Pearl's Richard II is in bringing the heaviness of the head that wears the crown to the fore, reminding royals and subjects alike that nobody is exempt from pain. When it strikes, it strikes at a truly primal level. This may not seem the most uplifting message, but the show's overall graceful and fluid delivery underscores the play's raw humanity.