Franklin and Figaro
Macha Monkey at Freehold's East Hall Theatre
Through Nov 17.

Written by Kristina Sutherland (The Cowgirl Play) and directed by Joy Brooke Fairfield (We Are Not These Hands), Franklin and Figaro is billed as a "revolutionary farce," and indeed, its plot amounts to little more than a cloak-and-pistol chase through the streets of prerevolutionary Paris. The historical figure Pierre Beaumarchais (the gawky James Weidman) has just completed his play The Barber of Seville, but instead of turning his attention to censor-mandated rewrites, he's working as a gunrunner for the Americans. His mistress Gabrielle (Tinka Jonakova, leaning slightly too heavily on her silent-movie-coquette looks) is expecting a baby, and when Beaumarchais isn't covering her belly in kisses, he's seducing a titled lady (the excellent Marty Mukhalian) to get at the contents of her purse. Meanwhile, all of Paris is sighing over the visit of a horny, pot-bellied Benjamin Franklin (seen only in puppet, silhouette, or mask form), who is supposed to pay Beaumarchais for the guns, but spends all his time chasing honeys in the suburbs. So Beaumarchais's thuggish creditors pursue him through alleys and theater basements and occasionally kick him in the gut to let him know they mean business.

The setup is promising, but the dialogue is a letdown, too generic to suggest motives or even personalities behind the revolutionary fervor and counterespionage. Thankfully, Sutherland redeems herself with gorgeous little rhyming couplets that regularly interrupt the play to both move the action forward and—in the spirit of the libelles that fed the French Revolution—lampoon the characters. Weidman and Jonakova contribute a few winning lines, but the real star is Martin Dinn, whose light, felicitous delivery made me wish (briefly) that all new plays were written in verse. These interludes, along with live viola and cello, silhouette vignettes, and a mysterious all–Ben Franklin masque, relieve the goofy farce and turn Franklin and Figaro into a real pleasure. ANNIE WAGNER

Into the Woods
5th Avenue Theatre
Through Nov 10.

Into the Woods is all singing—complicated, layered singing—and this production, to its credit, is exceptionally well sung. They could do a soundtrack. Plus, Stephen Sondheim's lyrics are clever, rueful, sex-crazed, and dark. Which is why it's disappointing that director/choreographer Mark Waldrop has staged the show in a way that makes you feel like you're on a middle-school field trip. Everything aspires to be kicky and cute. Michael Hunsaker, as the Wolf, gets to sing a song about lusting to kill and eat Little Red Riding Hood (10-year-old Ireland Woods [seriously, that's her name, and she's great]), but totally neuters it. The other principals (especially Billie Wildrick, Leslie Law, and Logan Benedict) are awesome. CHRISTOPHER FRIZZELLE

The Grand Inquisitor
New City Theater
Through Dec 15.

When you buy your ticket, you will receive directions to a private residence on Capitol Hill, where you will be served tea and cookies and ushered into a warm, wood-floored living room where you will listen to the story of the Grand Inquisitor, written by Fyodor Dostoevsky and recited by Laura Bush.

The Grand Inquisitor is the crown jewel of The Brothers Karamazov, in which Ivan (the laughing atheist) tells Alyosha (the sincere Christian) a story he made up about Christ returning to earth during the Spanish Inquisition. Christ is immediately arrested and the rest of the story is the Grand Inquisitor giving a long monologue, telling Him to get back to heaven before he ruins Christianity.

The monologue is complicated but, briefly: The Inquisitor reminds Christ about His 40 days' fast in the desert, when Satan tempted Him to perform three miracles—turn stones into bread, fly, and command all the kingdoms of the world. Christ refused, according to the Inquisitor, because having to prove His godhood to the world would be cynical. Christ came to free men from old superstitions, and to let them choose salvation. Seducing their faith with bribery (bread), magic tricks (flying), and authority (kingdoms) would be cheating.

This, the Inquisitor argues, was Christ's mistake. Men are weak and nihilistic, and freedom has made them miserable: "Thou hast burdened man's soul with anxieties hitherto unknown to him." So the church decided to make men happy with bribery, magic tricks, and authority. You and I both want men to be happy, the Inquisitor says, but your kind of freedom is slavery. Go back to heaven. Jesus does.

Dostoevsky wrote the parable with both the church and the communists in mind, but it has extra special resonance in this era of wiretaps, Guantánamo Bay, and arguments that abdicating a little freedom for a little security is a fair trade. Putting the story in the mouth of Laura Bush is a masterstroke. (Though it should be noted that New City cribbed the idea from a short Tony Kushner play, in which the First Lady intends to read the story to three dead Iraqi children, but never gets around to it.)

As a concept, the living-room production is inspired, but there is a problem with New City's interpretation. Dostoevsky was a devout Christian and wrote the Grand Inquisitor as an exercise in doubt. The Inquisitor is only affecting if he almost sways us—but New City's version is too convinced that he and the First Lady are all wrong. Laura Bush (played by Mary Ewald) does a burlesque version of the Inquisitor, a caricature of wickedness. And when she mentions the devil and says, "Ooooh, Dick Cheney just popped into my head"—well, that's just overkill.

It's pleasurable to sit in a living room and listen to the story, but we aren't unsettled by its argument. When it's over, we finish our tea and step into the night unchanged, surer of our convictions than Dostoevsky might've hoped. BRENDAN KILEY