The Columnist, now playing at the The Samuel J. Friedman Theatre charts the plateau and subsequent stumbling of uber-wasp journalist, and somewhat faye dinner party host, Joseph Alsop. Depicted here as America’s greatest propagandist Auborn’s Alsop bears a striking resemblance to James Stevens from Remains of The Day. Both members of the old guard immaculately execute their duties as the world changes around them rendering their life’s work obsolete, their perfection impotent in the face of progress.

          David Auborn deserves an award for managing to write about the same exciting time in American history that gave us everything from The Wonder Years to Mad Men while resisting the urge to put any real action on the stage. We commence in McCarthyism where the threat of being black listed for homosexuality looms ominously over our ersatz hero through the optimism of JFK’s inauguration and into to the turbulent 60’s where changing social mores wreck havoc with Alsop’s dogged devotion to an embattled empire.

          While the world seismically shifts this way and that not much happens in the play and it’s an absolute delight to watch John Lithgow not do much. He inhabits Alsop so fully nothing is wasted, except perhaps his talents. He conveys multitudes with a gesture and stealthily ages himself as we leap through the years. He prances about the stage the very model of a modern major armchair general hilariously dressing down his subordinates in a well-appointed comfy study. We are treated to much verbal swordplay without ever really entering the fray.

          The “Who, What, When, and Where” are here but we’re missing the “Why” in this piece which may appeal to fans of Lithgow or journalism junkies, but beyond that precious few. We recommend skipping ahead to Arts and Leisure.

          Leap of Faith, now showing at the St. James Theatre, follows the misadventures of a confidence man posing as a preacher. As Jonas Nightingale Raul Esparza puts on religious revivals in small towns, promising the locals miracles but leaving them only with empty pockets. Does this show deserve your hard earned cash or is it’s theatrical magic as elusive as snake oil.

          Upon entering the theatre the camera men milling about the stage getting b-roll of the audience and the inhumanly enthusiastic “volunteers” make it clear that you are at an “actual revival”. It’s a hard sell since they give you money instead of the other way around. It’s clear that at some point you’ll be asked for it back, it’s not real after all. Though there’s a real-world logic at work here; there must be an ample supply of green-backs for the baskets which inevitably appear and reappear thru-ought the show, stacking the deck does not bode well for Nightingale’s ability to win the crowd or create  an actual miracle.

          The music by Alan Menken and Book by Glenn Slater of Little Mermaid fame brings their ample gifts to bear on significantly more emotionally mature material than say for instance, the desire for feet of your very own. It is thrilling to hear that classic soul-searching number where characters outline their innermost desires and dreams applied to adult themes in a number such as “I Can Read You” sung with Disney-like precision while a drinking game propels the characters towards actual coitis and not merely “true-loves kiss”.

          Raul Esparza is miscast here as the fast talking outwardly charming but secretly sleazy Jonas Nightingale. For a two-faced character he only hits one note. He never wins the crowd over with the charm his characters supposedly possess, he only leads us down the dark rabbit hole of his own soul. It’s not sinfully bad but with so many righteous religious themed shows on broadway there are many more holier than this.

          Don’t be fooled by the flashy disco ball diner jacket on the posters there are no miracles here just show-people putting on a show.

          Nice Work If You Can Get It, currently showing at the Imperial Theatre, gives the Gershwin’s the Juke Box treatment. Ponder the casting of a pre-jukebox music catalog in a post-jukebox world and you begin to get at the anachronistic frivolity this piece of light theatrical fare strives for. Bootleggers and flappers cavort about a ritzy long island estate, donning disguises and falling in and out of love, but can they elicit more than a passing fancy from the audience?

          This mythic body of musical work is brought to life by a luscious series of sets, care of Derek McLane, and vibrant costumes from Martin Pakledinaz, if only they where inhabited by more able bodies. The biggest disappointment here is Mr. Broderick who either gets too inside the role of ineffectual “good-looking and rich” Jimmy Winter, or is simple too ineffectual good looking and rich himself to care about delivering a compelling performance. Kelli O’Harra’s Billie Bendix does her best to rescue him from his onstage dilemmas and his lackluster perfomance, doing so rather adeptly all the while backwards and in heels. But the real stand-outs are the supporting cast who steal every scene they’re given. Judy Kaye as the teetotaling Duches Estonia Dulworth holds nothing back in her abstinence and her excesses. Michael McGrath’s Laurel and Hardy-ish Cookie McGee doing his best to hide his thuggish nature while masquerading as the butler provides ample laughs. Robyn Hurder’s Jeannie Muldoom ably fills the role, and wardrobe, of a lusty chorus girl attempting to seduce the ersatz “Duke of England” Chris Sullivan, his stocky and simple Duke Mahoney is a love-sick variation on Lenny from Of Mice and Men.

         One can imagine the idle rich of the roaring 20’s bemoaning the inability to get good help but with this staff even the most hapless one-percenter could throw a decently gin-soaked soirée. Broderick should soar but like any other trust-afarian he let’s everyone else do all the work, while he takes the night off. There’s the rub, the show is decent, it’s “Nice”, but it’s no knock-out. Clever but not clever enough. For an era when songs actually contained rich narratives the link between the lyrics and plot is uneven. In fact some numbers work best when they’re plopped onto the stage with a wink a a nod to their irrelevance to the plot.

          The Gershwin catalog is Nice Work indeed and If You Can Get It into a better musical let us know, until then Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off.