I felt a disorienting generational whiplash throughout the treacly rom-com Two Strangers (Carry a Cake Across New York). The latest British musical to make it through that country’s off-off ranks and onto our shores, it follows two 20-somethings during a whirlwind wedding weekend in present-day New York. And yet it fundamentally misunderstands Gen Z, is shot through with elder Millennial sensibility, and had a mostly older crowd wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. They seemed to thoroughly enjoy it, so congrats to all involved, but let me submit my dissenting opinion anyway.

The plot is simple – to the point of not meriting its two-act, nearly two-and-a-half hour runtime, but I digress: Dougal (Sam Tutty), a twenty-something going on twelve Brit arrives in town for his estranged father’s wedding, and there’s Robin (Christiani Pitts), his 26-year-old soon-to-be -aunt waiting for him at the airport. The overly zesty Dougal is overjoyed to be in the big city and doesn’t pick up on the fact Robin is not looking to be his tour guide. Of course, they wind up getting into all kinds of hijinks throughout the weekend, which takes them from picking up the titular dessert from Robin’s native Crown Heights onto every tourist trap in Manhattan and into some tricky familial situations. In its view of New York, creators Jim Barne and Kit Buchan are about as knowledgeable about the city as Dougal, an avowed movie buff and NYC-head who somehow thinks it holds the Golden Gate and White House.

There’s nothing inherently bad about the piece, which the two performers must carry entirely on their backs. Tutty, while saddled with maybe the most grating character in musical theater history, manages to project his mega-watt charm across the footlights. (He won the Olivier for the West End Dear Evan Hansen, and sounds not unlike Ben Platt.)

Pitts also more than acquits herself, keeping her deadpan takedowns impressively fresh, with charisma and vocal chops to spare. It’s to her credit that she brings alive yet another entry into the unfortunate subgenre of Black woman as wet blanket of wokeness. Throughout his adorkable inability to STFU, Robin corrects Dougal that it’s “Inuit” not “Eskimo,” calls him out on his dropping into a Blaccent, schools him on general etiquette, etc. Some of this is just the characters’ dynamics and backstories, of course, but it gets to a point… (Especially considering the casting across productions has maintained this color-consciousness.) Still, this is leagues better than the similar stereotype in Redwood, with which it actually shares a lot of corny musical DNA.

About the music. I appreciate a new musical striving for songs that could achieve crossover success  – can you believe there was ever an era when Broadway was the dominant pop form? – but the lyrics here border on the completely unrelated; a string of platitudes about romance or big nights out or crying to mum back home. There is also, if you can believe it, a number that reheats BuzzFeed-era jokes about whether classic Christmas songs are problematic. Musically, the score is overly sentimental and, steering aggressively away from showtunes’ perceived uncoolness, confuses lack of melodic throughline for a post-modern idea that every line must follow whatever impulse the character is feeling, even if mid-phrase.

Tim Jackson, on double duty as director and choreographer, guides the pair well through Soutra Gilmour’s efficient set: two scalable mountains of suitcases, some of which cleverly open up to reveal beds, mini bars and, most charmingly, a Chinese restaurant. Jack Knowles’ lighting is assaultive.

My heart is a generally open one, and I did not walk away from Two Strangers fuming about the state of modern musical theater. It has an agreeableness that will offend no one, and will surely charm many. But I should’ve known from its twee little title that this would not be for me, and I was unfortunately correct. You have to trust your gut, sometimes, whether with love or desserts. The results will come out eventually.

‍Two Strangers (Carry a Cake Across New York) is in performance at the Longacre Theatre on West 48th Street in New York City. For tickets and more information, visit here.

“You may want to run,” sighs Denise, gazing out from 1935 France and directly into your aching soul. “Or you may want to stay…forever…”

That melancholy ambivalence sits at the heart of Classic Stage Company’s moving revival of The Baker’s Wife, a mid-70s oddity here brought gorgeously to life by director Gordon Greenberg and a near-faultless cast and creative team. 

This peculiar little musical, with music and lyrics by a post-Godspell, pre-Wicked Stephen Schwartz and book by the late Joseph Stein, has a storied history. Plans for Broadway were abandoned following a chaotic 1976 tour. Decades of sporadic creative tinkering followed (not Chess-level chaos, but notable all the same). Meanwhile, Wife’s cult popularity continued to grow—thanks mostly to the audition standard “Meadowlark,” our heroine’s soaring ode to a dear departed bird.

Revisions can only do so much, as the wonderful strangeness of Baker’s Wife is baked into its central premise (no pun intended). Based on a 1936 film, the story centers on the kindly middle-aged baker Aimable Castagnet (Scott Bakula), who arrives in the tiny village of Concorde with young wife Geneviève (Ariana DeBose) in tow. But when Geneviève runs away with young hothead Dominique (Kevin William Paul) and a distraught Aimable stops baking, the hungry townspeople band together to bring Geneviève home. 

Schwartz’s score is a dreamy delight, and a committed DeBose invests each solo with tender, careful uncertainty. Certainly “Meadowlark” is the highlight, and she tears that one up. But quiet jewels fill the evening, all sounding superb despite the space’s acoustic challenges (music direction is by Charlie Alterman, orchestrations by David Cullen, and music coordination by John Miller). 

Greenberg’s smartest move is embracing the piece’s murky morality, rather than fighting against it. No judgment is cast towards Geneviève’s affair. The allure of Dominique’s is understandable, albeit (unsurprisingly) short-lived. Aimable is certainly a good man, but he is also frustratingly naive to the world’s realities. And the townsfolk are all, to a one, caught up in equally messy affairs of the heart. No-one here is pure; no-one is evil. 

(Perhaps with the exception of the callous Barnaby, as played by a viciously mean Manu Narayan. Barany’s put-upon wife, movingly portrayed by Sally Murphy, fairly judges that her situation is uncomplicated—sometimes, you just gotta get out.) 

If the bickering denizens of Concorde often behave unpleasantly, they are far from unpleasant company. Greenberg populates the town with an assemble of off-Broadway royalty, all of them having far too much fun. Nathan Lee Graham chews the scenery as the lascivious Marquis, pronouncing words in ways you never thought imaginable; Arnie Burton furrows his brow and wields a pointer with dandy strictness as the Teacher; and as our guide, Denise, the incomparable Judy Kuhn is on typically heartbreaking form.

DeBose and Bakula struggle when they are not singing, but that’s more of a book problem than anything else. Neither Geneviève nor Aimable ever take form as fully-fledged individuals. But it scarcely matters. Under Greenberg’s precise hand, and on a transporting set by Jason Sherwood, this Baker’s Wife takes flight as a musical meditation on regret, care and love. Was Geneviève right to run? Or should she stay, forever? No answer is offered. It’s a pleasure to just sit and wonder. 

The Baker’s Wife is now in performance at Classic Stage Company. For tickets and more information, visit here. 

“You may want to run,” sighs Denise, gazing out from 1935 France and directly into your aching soul. “Or you may want to stay…forever…”

That melancholy ambivalence sits at the heart of Classic Stage Company’s moving revival of The Baker’s Wife, a mid-70s oddity here brought gorgeously to life by director Gordon Greenberg and a near-faultless cast and creative team. 

This peculiar little musical, with music and lyrics by a post-Godspell, pre-Wicked Stephen Schwartz and book by the late Joseph Stein, has a storied history. Plans for Broadway were abandoned following a chaotic 1976 tour. Decades of sporadic creative tinkering followed (not Chess-level chaos, but notable all the same). Meanwhile, Wife’s cult popularity continued to grow—thanks mostly to the audition standard “Meadowlark,” our heroine’s soaring ode to a dear departed bird.

Revisions can only do so much, as the wonderful strangeness of Baker’s Wife is baked into its central premise (no pun intended). Based on a 1936 film, the story centers on the kindly middle-aged baker Aimable Castagnet (Scott Bakula), who arrives in the tiny village of Concorde with young wife Geneviève (Ariana DeBose) in tow. But when Geneviève runs away with young hothead Dominique (Kevin William Paul) and a distraught Aimable stops baking, the hungry townspeople band together to bring Geneviève home. 

Schwartz’s score is a dreamy delight, and a committed DeBose invests each solo with tender, careful uncertainty. Certainly “Meadowlark” is the highlight, and she tears that one up. But quiet jewels fill the evening, all sounding superb despite the space’s acoustic challenges (music direction is by Charlie Alterman, orchestrations by David Cullen, and music coordination by John Miller). 

Greenberg’s smartest move is embracing the piece’s murky morality, rather than fighting against it. No judgment is cast towards Geneviève’s affair. The allure of Dominique’s is understandable, albeit (unsurprisingly) short-lived. Aimable is certainly a good man, but he is also frustratingly naive to the world’s realities. And the townsfolk are all, to a one, caught up in equally messy affairs of the heart. No-one here is pure; no-one is evil. 

(Perhaps with the exception of the callous Barnaby, as played by a viciously mean Manu Narayan. Barany’s put-upon wife, movingly portrayed by Sally Murphy, fairly judges that her situation is uncomplicated—sometimes, you just gotta get out.) 

If the bickering denizens of Concorde often behave unpleasantly, they are far from unpleasant company. Greenberg populates the town with an assemble of off-Broadway royalty, all of them having far too much fun. Nathan Lee Graham chews the scenery as the lascivious Marquis, pronouncing words in ways you never thought imaginable; Arnie Burton furrows his brow and wields a pointer with dandy strictness as the Teacher; and as our guide, Denise, the incomparable Judy Kuhn is on typically heartbreaking form.

DeBose and Bakula struggle when they are not singing, but that’s more of a book problem than anything else. Neither Geneviève nor Aimable ever take form as fully-fledged individuals. But it scarcely matters. Under Greenberg’s precise hand, and on a transporting set by Jason Sherwood, this Baker’s Wife takes flight as a musical meditation on regret, care and love. Was Geneviève right to run? Or should she stay, forever? No answer is offered. It’s a pleasure to just sit and wonder. 

The Baker’s Wife is now in performance at Classic Stage Company. For tickets and more information, visit here.