The Book of Will The Bard’s passing is prologue in this quasi-historical drama by Lauren Gunderson about the messy posthumous rush on the part of the surviving King’s Men to secure Shakespeare’s literary legacy. Jacobean-era book publishing and its associated roadblocks—funding, contested rights, diverging editorial visions, piecemeal scripts—aren’t easy bedfellows with compelling stage drama, and Gunderson’s efforts to inflate the stakes with romance and rivalries feel more perfunctory than persuasive. But even if it spends too much time in mourning (four separate characters in two short hours!), Jessica Thebus’s handsome and all-around well-acted Northlight Theatre production asks some stimulating questions about the life art has long after its maker is gone. —Dan Jakes
Lizzie Dubiously proclaiming itself the world’s first feminist musical theater company, Firebrand debuts with a show written by three men. The calculatedly edgy rockish opera imagines Lizzie Borden as a pigeon-loving, sexually abused closet lesbian who murders her ambiguously oppressive parents so that she, her sister, her maid, and her lover can wear dominatrix costumes. Or something. The show has no clear tone (camp? parody? pissing contest?) and no point of view beyond “unruly women are fierce.” The effortful score sounds rather like Pat Benatar, Stephen Sondheim, and Meatloaf tossed in a blender. Director Victoria Bussert keeps her four overburdened female performers speaking and singing into handheld and headset microphones simultaneously while unconvincingly imitating Broadway belters cum rock goddesses. The design, however, is gorgeous. —Justin Hayford
‘Tis the Seasonal Depression In one of the most endearing sketches of this holiday comedy revue from GayCo Productions and director Jeff Bouthiette, Christopher Thies Lotito plays a grumbly mall Santa conducting an open call for a new Mrs. Claus. Katie Cutler steps up, states her name, and through a combination of hilarious gaffes that I won’t ruin gives the worst audition of all time. Lotito, who’d make a great Orson Welles, despairs of finding the right lady when in strides Evan M. Duggan, whose charms instantly warm Santa to the idea of casting a man. There are dozens of other moments like this, livening the banality of Christmas cheer with a dollop of wholesome identity politics and a bigger dollop of rollicking, irreverent sass. The war on Christmas never felt so good. —Max Maller
