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Stage wonders of the most magisterial sort are delivered in War Horse, the hit London production that has been remounted by the Lincoln Center Theater. This epic drama about the bond between a British boy and his horse combines dazzling stagecraft with deep emotion to create a simply magical evening that will enthrall younger and older audiences alike.

Adapted by Nick Stafford with the Handspring Puppet Company from Michael Morpurgo’ acclaimed novel, the show depicts the fateful adventures of Joey, the beloved horse of a farmer’s son, Albert (Seth Numrich), who winds up serving in the front lines during World War I. Joey was bought by young Albert’s father (Boris McGiver) when he was just a foal. When the animal proves ill suited for farm work, Albert’s mother (Alyssa Bresnahan) decrees that Albert raise him until he’s grown enough to recoup the hefty purchase price.

But when the war breaks out and the British army finds itself in desperate need of horses, Joey winds up serving for the British army despite Albert’s tearful protestations. Not long afterwards Albert himself volunteers and winds up fighting on the battlefields in France while attempting to find his beloved horse.

It’s a simple but powerful story, laced with generous doses of sentimentality. And the production--co-directed by Marianne Elliott and Tom Morris and which makes striking use of the vast Beaumont stage as well as the theater’s aisles--relates it magnificently. The primary distinguishing element is the fantastical puppetry created by Adrian Kohler and Basil Jones that is used to depict Joey and several other animal characters, including a fellow war horse, some rapacious vultures and a comically ornery goose.

The life-size horse creations, made out of plywood and fabric and which are each manipulated by teams of three actor/puppeteers, are remarkably vivid and expressive. Indeed, the illusion of living, breathing animals is utterly convincing, despite the fact that the puppeteers are often clearly visible.

The battle sequences are also particularly powerful, with evocative sound, lighting and projection effects employed that thoroughly draw us into the action. Such sequences as when the British officer is literally blown off his steed by a flying projectile and another in which Joey is confronted by a menacing tank are staged with a nightmarish intensity.

 But the more intimate aspects of the story are hardly given short shrift, with the tender relationship between the boy and his horse conveyed in deeply touching fashion. The wonderful 35-person ensemble delivers deeply involving performances: Besides the aforementioned leads, there are standout turns by Stephen Plunkett as a kindhearted lieutenant; T. Ryder Smith as Joey’s uncle who is forced to send his own son off to war; and Peter Hermann as a German soldier who appropriates Joey after his regiment is captured.  

Vivian Beaumont Theater, 150 W. 65th St. 212-239-6200. www.telecharge.com.

The Motherf**ker With the Hat has at least two things going for it right off the bat. The first is that marvelously profane--albeit generally unprintable--title. The second is the coup of having landed comedian Chris Rock for his Broadway debut in this new dark comedy by Stephen Adly Guirgis (Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train and Our Lady of 121st Street, among others).

Ironically, both elements actually work against the production. The title, although certainly memorable, has proven off-putting to mainstream Broadway audiences. And Rock has been less of a box-office draw than expected, even though his presence no doubt accounts for this Broadway engagement of a play that would have seemed far more at home in an intimate, non-commercial environment.

Rock, despite his star wattage, mainly plays second fiddle to Bobby Cannavale as Jackie, an ex-con and former drug addict still in love with Veronica (Elizabeth Rodriguez), his girlfriend since grade school. But when Jackie discovers an unfamiliar men’s hat on the premises, he erupts in a jealous rage that threatens to derail their relationship and end his sobriety.

He seeks comfort from his longtime AA sponsor Ralph (Rock)--who clearly has problems of his own with his surly, combative wife Victoria (Annabella Sciorra)--and his hair salon owner cousin Julio (Yul Vazquez), with whom he has a friendly but tense relationship.

Although the playwright unfurls some dramatic plot developments along the way, including the identity of the true owner of that titular hat, he’s more interested in the emotional dynamics among the characters and the ways in which friends and lovers are so easily capable of casual betrayal.

As with Guirgis’ earlier works, Motherf**ker is marked by hilariously vulgar and explosive dialogue, which is for the most part expertly delivered here by the cast under the excellent direction of Anna D. Shapiro (August: Osage County). But while this pungent work has many effective moments, it fails to cohere into a thematically satisfying play.

Despite his high-profile presence, Rock is the ensemble’s weakest element, displaying a surprising tentativeness that is a far cry from his high-voltage, stand-up comedy work. He’s essentially wiped off the stage by Cannavale, who infuses Jackie with a combination of ferocity and vulnerability that is endlessly entertaining.

Unlike Sciorra, who does little to elevate her underwritten role, both the dynamic Rodriguez and the slyly funny Vazquez make the most of their supporting characters.

Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, 236 W. 45th St. 212-239-6200. www.Telecharge.com.

Charlie Sheen, he of the “Tiger DNA” and “Adonis Blood,” returned to Radio City Music Hall Sunday night as part of his Violent Torpedoes of Truth tour that has garnered endless media fascination. Unlike his first show at the venue on Friday night, which apparently resulted in widespread booing and walk-outs, the evening was a relatively successful affair that seemed to please the bad boy actor’s diehard fans.

Sheen seems to be making the show up as he goes along, which he pretty much admitted in the course of the brief (90 minutes) evening which consisted of mild banter with an onstage interviewer; several film clips, including a comic mash-up of his infamous 20/20 television interview; interactions with various audience members and enough ranting about “winning” to make him seem like a motivational speaker from hell.

The most surprising aspect of the show was Sheen’s apparently newfound contriteness. He apologized to Two and a Half Men co-star Jon Cryer for having called him a “troll,” instead declaring him to be a “rock star.” He begrudgingly gave credit to the show’s creator Chuck Lorre for his comedic writing skills and promised to apologize if it would result in his getting back on the show from which he admitted to having been fired.  

“I’ll go back if they rehire me,” he said. “I will get back on that fucking show.”  

He also implored the audience to aid him in his campaign. “If you want to see me back on Two and a Half Men, shout it out to Warner Brothers,” urged the actor. “You guys can’t watch it without me, can you?” 

At the urging of his onstage prompter, he also discussed some of his past indiscretions, including an incident in which he hired a gaggle of hookers to dress up as USC cheerleaders.

“I wound up in the hospital right afterwards, so I guess that’s winning…to a degree,” he commented.

He made much effort to interact with the crowd, venturing into the aisles and even making a brief appearance in the cavernous venue’s balcony. He solicited audience suggestions as to how to frame his apology to the suits, and also introduced such celebrity attendees as former baseball star Daryl Strawberry and Inside the Actor’s Studio host James Lipton, the latter obligingly asking Sheen about his favorite curse word.

“It’s either fuck, or Denise,” the actor responded to big laughs, in a reference to his ex-wife, actress Denise Richards.

When a female fan volunteered herself to become a third “goddess” in Sheen’s notorious harem, she was brought up onstage to be inspected by the actor and his two current goddesses. She apparently didn’t make the cut.

There’s so much that works about Catch Me if You Can that it’s easy to overlook what doesn’t. This adaptation of the 2002 Steven Spielberg film starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks boasts the sort of old-fashioned aspects so many contemporary musicals lack: solid storytelling, characters you come to care about and a tuneful, memorable score. Only the awkward structure and slow patches of Terrence McNally’s book prevent it from being a total triumph.

Set in the 1960s, the story relates the real-life misadventures of Frank Abagnale, Jr. (Aaron Tveit), a teenage con artist and forger who managed to steal millions of dollars in a nationwide crime spree before the age of 21. While passing himself off in a variety of glamorous occupations—including doctor, lawyer and even airline pilot—he’s being trailed by a team of FBI agents led by the indefatigable but repeatedly frustrated Agent Carl Hanratty (Norbert Leo Butz).

McNally’s principal dramatic conceit is to have Frank narrating his tale as the sort of television musical variety show that was so popular in the era in which the events take place. (Indeed, there’s a direct homage to Mitch Miller). While the format provides a natural opportunity to ogle a plethora of long-legged chorus girls going through their elaborate routines, it’s an unnecessarily distancing device that only distracts from the main story.

On the other hand, McNally’s book does an excellent job of delineating the emotional connections among the characters: between Frank Jr. and his unrepentant rogue of a father (Tom Wopat), who mentors him in the methods of misdirection; between Frank Sr. and his much younger, disenchanted war-bride wife (Rachel de Benedet); and especially between Frank Jr. and his FBI agent hunter, who turn out to be kindred spirits despite being on opposite sides of the law. Only Frank’s relationship with Brenda (Kerry Butler) a young nurse (Kerry Butler) for whom he finally decides to go straight, feels perfunctory.

Director Jack O’Brien, choreographer Jerry Mitchell and composers Scott Whittman and Marc Shaiman—reuniting after Hairspray—have created a dazzling production featuring plenty of memorable musical numbers. Co-stars Butz and Tveit each have their showstoppers, the former with the manic “Don’t Break the Rules” and the latter with the anthemic “Good-Bye.”

But each of the characters gets their moments to shine in the musical spotlight: Wopat displays his languorous baritone on such songs as the wonderful “Butter Outta Cream”; Nick Wyman and Linda Hart, as Brenda’s blue-blood parents, let loose in the riotous “(Our) Family Tree”; and Butler makes the most out her powerful ballad “Fly, Fly Away.”

Mitchell’s choreography, whether for the leggy chorines, the loose-limbed Butz or the youthfully athletic Tveit, is consistently eye-catching. And the brassy musical arrangements gives the score a wonderful, ‘60s flavored pop quality.

As the ever scheming but endearing Frank, Tveit delivers the sort of charismatic leading man turn that instantly catapults him to the big leagues. Butz is a consistent delight as the stressed-out FBI agent, investing the character with endless comic quirks that score big laughs. And Wopat is very touching as the loving father but damaged father who eventually hits the skids.

Neil Simon Theatre, 250 W. 52nd St. 877-250-2929. www.ticketmaster.com

The most surprising thing about the New York Philharmonic’s star-studded concert production of Stephen Sondheim’s Company is how unmusical it is. Sure, the orchestra sounds great under the assured conducting of the venerable Paul Gemignani. And it’s a pleasure to hear the lush orchestrations, especially after the recent, pared-down Broadway revival.

But too many of the score’s great songs receive insubstantial treatment, with the ironic result that the evening is most effective in its book scenes, even in the cavernous Avery Fisher Hall.

Still, this Company has its pleasures. The ever youthful Neil Patrick Harris is terrific as Bobby, the 35-year-old bachelor ruminating over commitment issues while observing the relationships of his married friends and juggling several girlfriends. While his voice is not a particularly powerful instrument, he brings a touching emotional sincerity to his numbers, especially the show closer “Being Alive.”

The large ensemble, combining theater veterans (Craig Bierko, Katie Finneran, Aaron Lazar, Patti LuPone and Jim Walton, among others), with a few TV star ringers (Jon Cryer, Christina Hendricks of Mad Men and Stephen Colbert), is a mixed bag.

Not surprisingly, LuPone hits it out of the park with the landmark “Ladies Who Lunch.” And Finneran delivers a delightfully manic “Getting Married Today,” even if she did flub a little on opening night.

On the other hand, Anika Noni Rose fails to convey the requisite intensity of “Another Hundred People”; Hendricks, although endearing as the ditzy flight attendant April, lacks the vocal chops for “Barcelona”; and such group numbers as “You Could Drive a Person Crazy” fail to have the desired impact.

Under the direction of Lonny Price, the disparate ensemble melds together in surprisingly seamless fashion. Although there are times when one is all too aware of the obvious lack of rehearsal time, the evening is a respectable rendition of Sondheim’s classic, even if it lacks the grand musical sweep of such previous New York Philharmonic presentations as Sweeney Todd and My Fair Lady. But that won’t prevent this limited run from being a must-see event for the legions of Sondheim fans.

Avery Fisher Hall, 132 W. 65th St. 212-875-5656. www.nyphil.org.