Unabashedly Gushing Over Peter and the Starcatcher

                I’m in love.  Truly, madly, deeply in love.  And I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.  The object of my affection?  Broadway’s Peter and the Starcatcher, of course!  I feel silly writing such a gushy post (hence the middle school journal overtones here), but I can’t think of anything bad to say about the show – it might actually be the best piece of theater I’ve ever seen.  Ever.

Photo from Broadway.com

                Actually, if I think really hard I could probably think of one negative thing to say.

                I got it.  My seat was in dead center in the front row of the mezzanine (there’s a gripe coming, I promise), and the seat was so close to the balcony edge that my feet were cramped.  But even that’s only because I’m 6 feet tall and I had already walked about 87 miles around Manhattan that day.  Normal-sized humans who take the subway to the theater won’t be able to find a single negative thing to say about Peter and the Starcatcher.

                I literally cannot remember the last time I felt so captivated by theater.  It’s like when kids who can’t sit still for ten seconds but when put in front of a computer can spend hours playing a video game.  I’m that ADD kid, and Peter is my video game.  Except it’s infinitely cooler than a video game.

                First of all, the acting is perfect.  Yes, I’m talking about Adam Chanler-Berat, Celia Keenan-Bolger, and Christian Borle, but I am also referring to the entire ensemble.  Every one of them is a genius.  Second, the design of the show is so lively, uplifting, and perfect in its simplicity.  At the very same time, it reminded me of when I would put on shows in my yard as a kid and made me wonder in awe at the way that simple things like ropes and ladders can truly become pirate ships and tropical islands.

                As you read this next part, please keep in mind that I have no personal stake in the merchandising department for the play.  Buy the annotated script.  Do it.  It includes wonderful insight into the show, yes, but my favorite part is the quippy and brilliant stage directions, like the perfectly penned “A Great Silence of Piratical Awfulness” (Act I. Scene 7. Line 7).  Genius, right?  Seriously, buy it.  But first you have to buy a ticket to the show, which is the best thing you’ll buy all year.