The surprise of the evening was Elizabeth Palmer’s Aunt March. Who could imagine this dowager crone with such comic timing?

When Dattner's not trying to convince you of something, she brings a wistful vulnerability that's very appealing.

Stephen Hilliard’s costumes could be out of a 1940’s Vogue… and his costumes for men are equally memorable.

I was curious and eager to see this show at the Orpheum Theatre in San Francisco the night before Thanksgiving, having had the good fortune to have seen the original production in New York City.

While this is so not Wagner (unless of course, you can imagine clapping along to Wagner, or Wagner with a lot of balloons, or Wagner in drag), it goes straight to the heart of the tragedy, in ways that a five and half hour opera never can.

Just as the hungry know more about the value of food than any foodie gourmet, Copeland knows more about hope and Christmas miracles than any Macy’s display or Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

Her entire role is sung, and we see her singing the way some of us write: tentatively, figuring the world out, one word at a time. One senses that if she were to stop singing, she’d stop existing, unable to feel her way forward in the dark.

As Cirque brings something new into the world, we emerge from Amaluna restored by the breathtaking excellence of this performance.

Molly's no asexual Victorian girl with a proper long nightgown, stitching Peter’s shadow back in place. Smart and assertive, one imagines Hilary Clinton as a girl.

In many ways, this is the best of Rodgers and Hart, impeccably scripted and consciously paced for maximum effect.