Review: ‘New York, New York’ Needs to Make a Brand New Start of It

Some days, New York City may be exhausting, but a Broadway musical about New York, celebrating New York, should never be. Sadly, New York, New York (St. James Theatre, booking to November 19)—despite the resounding presence of that classic “these vagabond shoes,” “if I can make it there” anthem—is a stodgy slog of a show loosely based on Martin Scorsese’s 1977 film.

The musical is one of those productions where you can see the cogs furiously turning, but ultimately for low returns and to baffling ends—with a central love story so unconvincing and borderline-alarming that instead of rooting for the couple to be together you hope against hope the female lead character kicks her male counterpart to the curb, and goes it alone. She’d fare much better, and certainly deserves much better.

Here we are in Manhattan, right after World War Two. Beowulf Borrit’s stage design is busy with iconic buildings, bridges, tenements, teeming streets filled with New Yorkers of all kinds rushing about, and (gloriously) flashing neon signs, including one that fires to life right at the beginning blaring “New York, New York.”

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