![]() ![]() ![]() American audiences who have waited a long time for their chance to see the latest Stoppard might be surprised. Tails, tails, tails.Īt long last, “Leopoldstadt” is making its entrance on Broadway. Plans for a North American première, in Toronto, at the beginning of this year, were full steam ahead until, abruptly, they weren’t: COVID, again. When the show reopened, in a COVID-spooked London, last year, it was onstage for just twelve more weeks. Then, of course, came the pandemic, and the closure of theatres everywhere. His newest play, “Leopoldstadt,” opened in London in January, 2020, to reverential reviews there were rumors that it would rapidly move to Broadway. More than fifty years later, Stoppard, a master of meta-theatrics, could be forgiven for feeling a touch of the Rosencrantzes. “Getting a bit of a bore, isn’t it,” Ros says, with an embarrassed laugh. Their fate having been scripted by Shakespeare, the outcome is never in doubt: it’s heads every time. “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” the play that made Tom Stoppard’s name, in 1966, begins with a perfect stage image: Ros and Guil, those identikit functionaries borrowed from “Hamlet,” are passing the time by flipping coins. ![]()
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