ScheckOnTheater

That former sexpot Kathleen Turner, who so memorably raised temperatures in such films as Body Heat and Crimes of Passion, has become a formidable presence in middle age. Her body thickened and her voice now a husky baritone rasp, the actress cuts a striking figure in the new Broadway play High. Playing Sister Jamison Connelly--a tough-talking nun assigned to counsel a hopelessly heroin addicted teenager--she seems like someone you definitely don’t want to mess with.

That her character is something of a cliché is but one of the problems of Matthew Lombardo’s drama, which reduces it all too relevant subject matter to a series of melodramatic plot revelations.

Sister Jamison, who dresses in street clothes rather than the traditional habit, is a former addict herself, which makes her uniquely suited to treat Cody Randall (Evan Jonigkeit), a 19-year-old addict who was sent to her halfway house after overdosing and being found with a dead 14-year-old boy who had apparently been raped.

Assigned to the case by the priest in charge of the facility, Father Michael (Stephen Kunken), Sister Jamison is initially resistant. But she’s given no choice, so she reluctantly begins a series of combative sessions with the truculent Cody, who admits to having used pretty much every drug that exists.

 Every half hour or so, the playwright drops a bombshell, whether it’s Cody’s providing the details of his troubled upbringing at the hands of a prostitute mother or a hidden familial relationship between two of the characters or the revelation of a dark secret from Sister Jamison’s past.

Much of the play’s humor derives from Sister Jamison’s endless use of profanity. But having a nun dropping four-letter words with abandon is about as unamusing as the clichéd cinematic staple of having elderly grandmother types employing similarly would-be shocking language.

Not helping matters is the fact that Cody is essentially a compendium of nervous tics and mannerisms who at one point strips off all his clothes in an all too obvious attempt to shock the good sister.

In between the naturalistic scenes, Sister Jamison directly addresses the audience in a series of high-toned monologues delivered in front of a backdrop of a dark sky with twinkling constellations. It’s during these interludes that the double meaning of the play’s title is made clear.

Despite its manipulative aspects, the play is nonetheless reasonably compelling due to the inherent emotional power of its subject matter and Turner’s compelling performance. The veteran actress commands the stage with a ferocious intensity that would make anyone scared straight.

Booth Theatre, 222 W. 45th St. 212-239-6200. www.Telecharge.com.

Attention, theatergoers. Sitting in a seat and watching a show is so yesterday.

The truth of that statement is well demonstrated by Sleep No More, the wonderfully immersive theatrical experience—presented, fittingly, by the EMURSIVE production company. This combination of theater piece and art installation inspired by Shakespeare’s Macbeth is uniquely transporting and unforgettable.

Produced by the Punchdrunk theater company, the piece, directed by Felix Barrett and Maxine Doyle, is presented in a former Chelsea warehouse that has been transformed into the “McKittrick Hotel,” with the name being an homage to Hitchcock’s Vertigo.

Viewers are escorted into the building, first entering a vintage, ‘30s era bar. Then everyone is given a Venetian style mask, ala Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut, and escorted in the “hotel” proper, which features some 100-plus rooms spread out over several floors through which you wander freely.

The rooms have been designed with stunning imagination, stuffed with antique furniture and bric-a-brac that you are allowed to handle. Some of them are incredibly detailed and realistic: a doctor’s office filled with medical paraphernalia; a hotel lobby, complete with pay phones and antique room keys hanging on hooks; a child’s bedroom, complete with a tattered teddy bear, and so on.

Others are more surreal and nightmarish, such as a cemetery filled with tiny crosses and a forest with a maze of trees.

During your wanderings, you periodically come across performers engaging in elaborate, mostly silent routines riffing on scenes from Shakespeare’s play. You can either ignore the actors or follow them, although if you opt for the latter you’re more likely to get the thread of a storyline.  

There are times when the experience proves frustrating, as the ad hoc nature of the proceedings means you may miss out on certain highlights. By sheer luck I happened onto one of the show’s most visceral episodes, in which Lady Macbeth bathes her nude, blood spattered husband before launching into a series of frenzied dance movements inspired by the “Out, damn spot” scene.

Fortunately, viewers are essentially herded into a large space to witness the famous banquet scene, which ends with a truly shocking coup de theatre.

The many performers go through their paces with impressive intensity and athleticism, often having to gently push away theatergoers who threaten to interfere with the action.

On a sheer technical level, the production is simply astounding, with its awesomely detailed production designs, the moodily atmospheric lighting, and the eerie soundscape (which includes music from Hitchcock’s thrillers, among other elements) adding to a visceral experience that will haunt you long after you’ve left the premises.

McKittrick Hotel, 530 W. 27th St. 866-811-4111. www.sleepnomorenyc.com.

Down the rabbit hole indeed.

Wonderland is the sort of horrifically bad Broadway musical that doesn’t come along too often these days. Based on-- you guessed it—Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, this new work by Frank Wildhorn isn’t numbingly ponderous like such previous efforts by the composer as Dracula and The Civil War. Rather, it’s aggressively bad, almost but not quite enjoyably so, although that will be scant comfort to those who’ve shelled out for tickets. In any case, look for the poster for this one to quickly join the flop musical hall of shame adorning the walls of Joe Allen’s restaurant. 

The show updates the story to modern times, with Alice (Janet Dacal) portrayed as the recently separated mom of a young daughter (Carly Rose Sonenclar) who is struggling to make ends meet as a teacher while finding rejection of her too dark children’s book from publishers.

When the White Rabbit (Edward Staudenmayer) shows up in her Queens apartment, she impulsively follows him into a mysterious elevator that transports her to Wonderland. There she encounters the classic characters from Lewis Carroll’s classic, albeit in contemporary-Wiz like variations. The Cheshire Cat, for instance, is now the Hispanic “El Gato,” although he’s played by Asian-American performer Jose Llana.

Gregory Boyd and Jack Murphy’s would-be hip book does no favors to the original tale, pandering to the audience with such obvious jokes as a Mad Tea Party reference to a certain current political movement.

Wildhorn’s pop-rock score is thankfully easier to take than his usual operatic, power ballad-heavy efforts, but it contains few songs of note, save for the vaudevillian style comic number “Off With Their Heads” that is delivered in bravura fashion by Karen Mason as the Queen of Hearts. (The actress also doubles as Alice’s helpful mother).

Although some of the numbers feature clever touches, such as the male back-up singers performing cheesy boy-band dance moves during the White Knight’s (Darren Ritchie) “One Knight,” most of them resemble the sort of cheesy production numbers seen on old TV variety shows. It doesn’t help that the score briefly interpolates classic songs from such shows as The Music Man and Gypsy that chiefly serve to remind us of far superior theater composers.

The serviceable set designs make ample use of video projections to convey the dream-like environment. Far better are Susan Hilferty’s frequently witty costumes, although they pale in comparison to the Oscar winning ones in Tim Burton’s recent big-screen version of the tale.

Dacal is an engaging presence as Alice, while the male performers, who also include Danny Stiles as the March Hare and E. Clayton Cornelious as the Caterpillar, go through their paces with dutiful outlandishness. Kate Shindle goes into full diva mode as the Mad Hatter and displays impressive pipes on her anthem-like “I Will Prevail,” but she is ultimately defeated by the material.

Needless to say, the story ends happily, except for the hapless audience members who’ve had to endure the witless proceedings.

Marquis Theatre, 1535 Broadway. 877-250-2929. www.wonderlandonbroadway.com.

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.