Honorary Chair Mo'Nique. Photo by Dario Calmese

With the holidays fast approaching, nothing brings us pirouetting into the snowflake season quite like the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater (AAADT). At Wednesday’s Opening Night Gala, the limbs were flying around the stage with unfettered aplomb, flitting from grace to gusto whilst set to solos from the company’s A-List pals Anika Noni Rose, Brian Stokes Mitchell and Jessye Norman.

Now in its 54th year, the group’s rich cultural history was made evident throughout the selection of pieces performed throughout the evening, in particular Revelations, which was initially choreographed by Mr. Ailey himself. The piece had a special significance for Ms. Noni Rose, who told The Observer: “The AAADT was the first ballet that I saw, and Revelations was the piece that stuck in my mind so strongly. So it was a huge honor to be asked to perform here tonight - it was like the circle closed for me.”

The opening was also something of a landmark for dancer Renee Robinson, who was hand-picked by the company’s namesake some 32 years ago. Ms. Robinson is hanging up her dancing shoes this Christmas – for the AAADT at least. Speaking of her three decades with the company, she said, “What feels great is not only that I was chosen by Mr. Ailey, but that I had the opportunity to work under him and hear him speak about his vision and his legacy.”

“Over the years, the changes that have happened within the company have stemmed from the wonderful seed Ailey planted, and that’s what keeps it alive, current and important to society all over the world,” she continued. The only dancer to work under all three of the AAADT’s artistic directors (Mr. Ailey, Judith Jamison and Robert Battle, who currently holds the post), there is no denying that Ms. Robinson knows what the job entails better than anyone. So has she become a mother hen-type figure to the dancers finding their feet in the company? “Oh no,” she laughed, “I’m more like the fun aunt!”

Fun was certainly had by all throughout the evening, from the standing ovation at the performance’s close to hundreds of guests hitting the Hilton’s dance floor for some Beyoncé-esque booty-shaking before the meal began. Academy Award winner and stand-up comic Mo’Nique had the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand during a speech mid-show, and continued to bolster the party atmosphere as the event went on. A long-time AAADT supporter, she told us, “Whenever the group would come to whatever city I was living in at the time, me and my family would go out and see them, and you just felt every movement and every step, every lyric, you felt everything they put into their performances. So when they called and asked me to be involved tonight, it was like – ‘For real? Of course!,’” she enthused.

Widespread involvement in the event was key, with a sublime number in the first half of the show causing quite the stir. As the stern looking company made their way into the audience, apparently selecting ball-gown toting spectators at random, things appeared to be far slicker by the time they reached the stage. Seamlessly moving from the roles of confused audience members to pro-shakers, this additional cast proved that age and physique don’t stand in front of a real dancer’s ability to move, and the piece was precisely the effervescent exhibition of skill that the AAADT has become renowned for.

The dancing continued well into the night, with gala guests evidently inspired by what they had seen earlier on stage. With a jazz band on hand to bust out everybody’s favorite Motown tunes, and the hotel's ballroom decorated like a sparkly winter wonderland, the AAADT brought a slice of Christmassy cheer to New York in a celebration of which Mr. Ailey himself would’ve undoubtedly been proud.

Mo'Nique (Getty Images)

If there’s one cultural experience that people enjoy far more during the holidays than they do the rest of the year, it’s the ballet—any number of kiddos citywide think that ballerinas play no roles other than little Clara and the Sugar Plum Fairy. Though its timing is perfectly in sync with our sentimental yearning for ballet, tonight’s Alvin Ailey Opening Night Gala seeks to broaden our horizons a bit with performances of Ohad Naharin’s dance Minus 16, wherein audience members may join the dancers onstage, and Ailey’s own Revelations, performed live by opera singer Jessye Norman and Tony-winner Anika Noni Rose. Honorary chair Mo’Nique presides over all. An old-school pas de deux it’s not—and all the better!

New York City Center, 131 West 55th Street, 7pm, with dinner and dancing to follow at the Grand Ballroom of the Hilton New York, 1335 Avenue of the Americas, tickets and information may be found at tinyurl.com/8dayNovember28.

Youth and Beauty 

Ah, Karen Russell. Or, as the Swamplandia! author might render it, Karen Russell! Never has a young author provoked such envy since that little minx Freudenberger. (Is it a girl thing?) But back to Ms. Russell: The 29-year-old phenom was pegged as an under-40 author to watch on that queasiness-inducing New Yorker list last summer, and now it's time to actually watch her--in a conversation with the novelist Kevin Brockmeier moderated by dreamy Granta editor John Freeman. Us, jealous? Why ever would you ask? ... We're all young once, of course. It used to be that all the hot things wanted to make movies. The old downtown gang is the subject of the new doc Blank City, opening today at the IFC Center. Jim Jarmusch and John Waters, among others, drop in to explain why they haven't made a good flick since the 1980s. 

Karen Russell, McNally Jackson, 52 Prince Street, 7 p.m.; Blank City at IFC Center, 323 Sixth Avenue, visit ifccenter.com for showtimes and tickets

Thursday, April 7

Company Policy

What do you get when your TV, the New York Philharmonic and Stephen Sondheim have a drunken threeway? A production of Sondheim's Company starring Christina Hendricks, Neil Patrick Harris, Stephen Colbert and Jon Cryer. (Charlie Sheen, alas, was busy rehearsing for his turn as Sweeney Todd.) Not everyone in the cast is a TV carpet-bagger: Patti Lupone gets the show-stopping "Ladies Who Lunch," and Tony winner Anika Noni Rose plays Marta. It won't be a walk in the park (with George) for the performers. Says Ms. Rose, "This feels plenty staged to me--with sweat running down the back of my neck! It's not gonna be some cute little performance with a book in hand." Thankfully, Ms. Rose assures us most of her co-stars have the requisite stage experience: "You don't just jump into Sondheim. It's like saying, 'I'd love to do some crosswords. I'll take the Times Sunday.'" Good luck, Mr. Colbert! 

New York Philharmonic, Avery Fisher Hall, 10 Lincoln Center Plaza, 7:30 p.m. (performances continue through Saturday), nyphil.org

Friday, April 8

Yale to the Chief 

Boola-boola! It's a Yalien invasion when the Ivy's Glee Club celebrates its 150th anniversary with a concert at Carnegie Hall. Maybe it's just an allergic reaction to New Haven, but boy, do these kids have spirit! So if you're looking to meet a spouse who can bear you babies with a legacy advantage, this is the spot to be. We used to think glee clubs were dorky, but that was before a certain hit TV show came along. "I do watch Glee, but I think they're more of a show choir than a glee club," sniffed Emily Howell, club president. Duly noted--so yeah, still dorky! ... One performer who doesn't have a dorky bone in her body? Catherine Deneuve, that's who. The Gallic stunner is celebrated tonight with a special screening of the new documentary Catherine Deneuve, belle et bien là, at the French Institute. Ms. Deneuve has been a star since the 1960s, and she's still doing great work, as anyone who saw her smoke up a storm in A Christmas Tale can attest. The lady even made Repulsion attractive.

Yale Glee Club, Carnegie Hall, concert at 7:30 p.m., tickets at carnegiehall.org; Catherine Deneuve, Tinker Auditorium at French Institute, 22 East 60th Street, RSVP at cinema@fiaf.org

Saturday, April 9

Beer Summit

Hey, art world--enough with the white wine! It's so damn civilized. If you really want to get those creative juices flowing, you need something a bit more festive (if not illegal!). How about beer? The RH Gallery's latest installation-art piece, the Kunst Biergarten, is an indoor suds-haus inspired by the Munich-based artist Wolfgang Ellenrieder (how very Bavarian!), whose art is on view in the gallery. The Biergarten is meant to start a conversation about contemporary art, some of which one may need to be half-drunk to appreciate! The curators and critics invited were asked to submit possible conversation topics with their RSVP. Here's a freebie from the Eight-Day Week: How many brews will it take before somebody stumbles into one of Mr. Ellenrieder's gorgeous canvasses? Prost!

RH Gallery, 137 Duane Street, 5 p.m., invitation only

Sunday, April 10

Silence Is Golden

Want to pick up a Laurie Simmons print without getting out of your PJs? BAMart's silent auction is quieter than most: Bidding for items by the likes of Jeff Koons, Richard Serra and Cindy Sherman takes place largely online, making the charity ritual less like the game of sneaky one-upmanship we all know and love (watching people slink up to your coveted item is half the fun!) and more like the online auctions we've all been doing late at night for years, ending up with too many misshapen "vintage" cashmere sweaters in the bargain. Let your computer do the bidding for you and enjoy yourself at the reception, where Ms. Simmons and Carroll Dunham, honorary artist chairs of the auction, will sip cocktails and tell you about how very proud they are of filmmaker daughter Lena. 

Peter Jay Sharp Building, Dorothy W. Levitt Lobby, 30 Lafayette Avenue (Brooklyn), cocktail reception 3-6 p.m., auction information at bam.org/auction

Monday, April 11

Colons and Canciones

Things could get a little awkward at tonight's Ballet Hispanico spring gala, where perky-but-tough news diva Katie Couric is serving as the event's cochair, and Dr. Jonathan LaPook will be on hand as a vice chair. (Other chairs of various types include Dr. Mehmet Oz, investor Roland Betts, former Morgan Stanley CEO John Mack and Nora Ephron.) But back to awkward! Dr. LaPook--Couric completists will remember--was the same guy who gave the newscaster that famous on-air colonoscopy. The group will celebrate Ballet Hispanico's 40th year and try not to giggle. ... If you're free for lunch (it's Monday, live a little) drop in on the Matrix Awards, but be warned: Don't take the red pill. If you do, you will discover the mind-bending truth: that the Matrix Awards have nothing whatsoever to do with Keanu Reeves. Instead, the ceremony honors women in communications. It will be hosted by the mistress of on-message and our new First Tablescaper Sandra Lee. Also: That irascible Rosie O'Donnell will present an award to her publicist, Cindi Berger. We're betting on a Medal of Valor. 

Ballet Hispanico Spring Gala, Plaza Hotel's Grand Ballroom, Fifth Avenue at Central Park South, cocktails at 7 p.m., dinner at 7:45 p.m., program to follow, call 212-362-6710 for tickets; Matrix Awards, Waldorf-Astoria, 301 Park Avenue, lunch begins at noon, tickets at nywici.org

Tuesday, April 12

Keith on Smiling p>

Keith Olbermann, you may recall, was a television announcer that yelled a lot, back when Howard Beale was on-trend. Then he left his gig to team up with Al Gore (a guy who never yelled enough). Mr. Olbermann's new show on Current doesn't start for a while, though, so he's got time on his hands to tweet up a storm and moderate panels, like today's Paley Center symposium on Ernie Kovacs, the pioneering television comedian who was actually Letterman back when Letterman was in rubber pants. Other panelists include comedian Robert Smigel of TV Funhouse and Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog fame, and Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In producer George Schlatter. Let's hope Triumph shows up to hump Keith's leg. 

The Paley Center for Media, 25 West 52nd Street, 6:30 p.m., tickets at paleycenter.org

Wednesday, April 13

Mass Appeal

You know how Sandra Bullock was always the one you got when Julia Roberts was booked? That's been the rep of Governor Deval Patrick: second-tier Barack Obama. How unfair! Anyway, Mr. Patrick, the governor of Massachusetts (hello? executive experience?), is publishing a memoir, A Reason To Believe, the title of which is a brazen refutation of the title of President Obama's memoir, The Audacity of Hope. (You see, hard-nosed reason beats blind faith every time.) The governor is in New York today, where he'll be meeting with well-wishers from the worlds of business and politics at-pass the mini-muffins!-a private breakfast. The gathering at Random House headquarters will be co-hosted by A Better Chance, the nonprofit organization that sent young Mr. Patrick to preparatory school. Money well spent, we'd say!

Random House, 1745 Broadway, 8 a.m., free books and breakfast for attendees, private event

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

I love Williams in spite of his flaws and because of them. He’s our poet of tender mercies who put onstage the large, damaged hearts of the dispossessed. His notoriously overheated dramas, saturated with sex and desire, preoccupied with sin and purity, contain emotions writ large. Who else but Williams would invent a character both as coarse and lyrical as Maggie the cat? And who else would have her speak these elegant lines in the Act I showdown with her drunk, indifferent husband, Brick, whom she describes as possessing “the charm of the defeated”?

“They’re playing croquet. The moon has appeared and it’s white, just beginning to turn a little bit yellow,” she says to him, and drifts into another unexpected thought. “You were a wonderful lover. … Such a wonderful person to go to bed with, and I think mostly because you were really indifferent to it. Isn’t that right? Never had any anxiety about it, did it naturally, easily, slowly, with absolute confidence and perfect calm, more like opening a door for a lady or seating her at a table than giving expression to any longing for her. Your indifference made you wonderful at lovemaking—strange?—but true. …”

Harold Clurman wrote admiringly of Williams after he first burst on the scene in the 1940’s with The Glass Menagerie: “He has no doctrine, unless it be the need for compassion.” John Osborne, whose Look Back in Anger (1956) owes a debt to A Streetcar Named Desire (1948), was the first British playwright to acknowledge the extraordinary humanity of Williams in an era when emotion was repressed on the London stage. In a ringing declaration of the poetic power of drama, Osborne memorably declared that Williams’ enduring plays of private fires and public tragedy are “worth a thousand statements of a thousand politicians.”

And in all this is found the dark, wry ironies of Tennessee Williams’ unmistakable Southerness. “Mr. Williams, would you please give us your definition of happiness?” a journalist asked him. He leaned back, rolled his eyes and replied, “Insensitivity, I guess.”

THE THREE ACTS of the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955) are arias about illusion and lies, and each outstanding act is a showdown. The first between sexually frustrated Maggie and the wracked, latent-homosexual Brick; the second act between Big Daddy, who thinks he’s beaten cancer, and the confessional Brick (“Have you ever heard the word ‘mendacity’?”); and the third the resolution and battle over who inherits the 28,000-acre Mississippi estate.

“Oh, you weak people—you weak beautiful people!—who give up with such grace,” go Maggie’s memorable last lines to Brick. “What you want is someone to take hold of you. Gently, gently with love, hand your life back to you, like somethin’ gold you let go of.”

Anika Noni Rose is a wonderful Maggie. You might remember Ms. Rose’s breakthrough role in the Tony Kushner-Jeanine Tesori musical Caroline, or Change (2003)—since followed by more traditional stardom in Dreamgirls. Ms. Rose is young and sexy and unafraid. She’s a stage natural whose innate musicality serves her very well as Maggie, with lines—according to Williams’ ornate stage directions—that are meant to be “almost sung, always continuing a little beyond her breath so she has to gasp for another.”

Ms. Rose doesn’t exactly gasp; she races and electrifies in a necessary tour de force. The play stands or falls on Maggie’s complete domination of the entire opening act in her near-monologue, with the silent Brick laid up with a broken leg on the white pillowy bed, or hobbling on a crutch to the bar for the solace of oblivion.

Williams famously wrote great roles for women, but it’s often overlooked how intelligent his women are. “When something is festering in your memory or your imagination, laws of silence don’t work,” Maggie tells Brick. “It’s just like shutting a door and locking it on a house on fire in hope of forgetting that the house is burning. But not facing a fire doesn’t put it out. Silence about a thing just magnifies it. It grows and festers in silence, becomes malignant.”

“Give me my crutch,” Brick demands.

“Lean on me,” she begs.

Ms. Rose hits all the right notes—save for an unavoidable one. As an actress, she can’t help herself: She’s gloriously alive in all she does (as Maggie declares herself to be). She’s unable to convey Maggie’s “anxious lines on her face” (as Williams describes her). But it doesn’t spoil things. Ms. Rose is giving a fantastic performance.

Terrence Howard’s fallen golden boy is the most broken and uncompromisingly drunk portrait of Brick I’ve seen. Mr. Howard is, of course, the handsome Hollywood star of Crash, and when we first glimpsed him onstage at the Broadhurst Theatre taking a shower behind a transparent curtain, the screams from the balcony seemed only right. But he’s made a remarkable, chancy contribution as Brick—the more so when one realizes that this is his stage debut.

Mr. Howard captures the self-loathing misery of Brick’s fatal duality of body and soul. This is a portrait of someone who had it all, now committing suicide publicly. It’s the fragility of lives, and loves unfulfilled and found disgusting that goes to the heart of Mr. Howard’s touching performance. Some might consider him too vulnerable and weak as Brick, particularly as he’s playing opposite the magnificent James Earl Jones as Big Daddy—a legendary actor playing a mythic role. But it’s the beloved Mr. Jones who restrains Big Daddy’s bullying, animalistic fury, and ultimately sentimentalizes the central “mendacity” scene.

Still, it’s always a pleasure to see James Earl Jones onstage. If you ever experience in a theater the wave of love for an actor that he received on his entrance, you’ll count yourself lucky. The great man, majestically preceded onstage by his paunch and cigar, was greeted with an ovation. And how good it was to hear his baritone voice delivering Williams’ cruder lines as he wrote them (not as the original director Elia Kazan censored them, to suit more theatrically sensitive days). The director of this production, Debbie Allen, has returned to Williams’ original text like a Shakespeare scholar to the First Folio. Big Daddy doesn’t say “ducking” any more. “Fuck the goddamn preacher!” Mr. Jones booms with such relish that he brings down the house. One forgets how funny the play can be, if they let it.

But how funny, and how broad, should it be? Big Daddy’s 65th birthday scene has always been a potential riot with those dreadful, singing short-necked grandchildren of his—and it’s never been funnier than it is in Ms. Allen’s exuberant staging. As far as I know, this is her first stage production as a director, and she makes a number of elementary mistakes.

No matter that the ambitious idea of an all-blac
k cast performing Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is an obvious contradiction in terms. (In the Mississippi of the 1950’s, it had to be rich white folk who owned a palatial plantation.) What’s weirdly wonderful is that the concept works. Not so wonderful is the re-setting of the play in some vaguely contemporary time zone, or the broad acting as a whole (including Ms. Allen’s sister, Phylicia Rashad, as Big Mama), or the assists the director needlessly gives the play by melodramatically dimming the lights during three big solo speeches.

On the other hand, if you catch Mark Morris’ new version of Purcell’s 17th-century opera, King Arthur, you’ll see no time zone anyone can pin down or any consistent costume style—except for the one known as camp. And if you take in any Shakespeare in the Park starring Liev Schreiber, you’ll invariably see the lights dim as Mr. Schreiber delivers his soliloquies in a spotlight.

But those productions are called Art, and Debbie Allen’s isn’t. For me, she has produced a Cat on a Hot Tin Roof that, for all its flaws and rough edges, is a winning example of truly popular theater. “I’m trying to capture,” Williams wrote in the script, “the true quality of experience in a group of people, that cloudy, flickering, evanescent—fiercely charged!—interplay of live human beings in the thundercloud of a common crisis.”

In many ways—some as theatrically blatant as that thundercloud—Debbie Allen has come close to Tennessee Williams’ intentions.

Here are my informed, utterly biased Tony tips for the big night. And the envelope, please …. Oh my goodness, we have a shock for Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical! It's Hugh Jackman!

True, the only competition for his brilliant performance as Peter Allen in The Boy from Oz is Alfred Molina as Tevye, the most famous Jewish milkman in the world. But we shouldn't blind ourselves to the pleasure of Mr. Jackman's thrilling achievement. Simply put, he's given us one of the best performances in a musical we could wish to see.

Leading Actress in a Musical is a tough one, though. I'm a little off the audience favorite, tiny Kristin Chenoweth of Wicked , since she mugged and screeched her cute little way through the New York Philharmonic's recent concert version of Leonard Bernstein's Candide . Still, anyone can have an off night, and it's no reason not to vote for her, of course.

The excellent Idina Menzel, also of Wicked , will deplete Ms. Chenoweth's support, however. Donna Murphy of Wonderful Town has won a Tony twice before, and the show itself is struggling. Which leaves the newcomer Stephanie D'Abruzzo's Kate Monster and Lucy T. Slut of Avenue Q versus Tonya Pinkins' stunning black maid of Caroline, or Change .

Do not be too surprised at an upset in favor of Ms. D'Abruzzo. But when it comes to the infantilized charms of a puppet or a real, live, extraordinary human being, I'll take the human being every time. Ms. Pinkins' performance is magnificent. Her ultimate song and howl of grief and desolation to an indifferent God reminds us that even a musical on Broadway can burn a tragic way into our memory.

I'm glad to be biased in favor of Caroline, or Change , and I'm looking forward to a surprisingly good night at the Tonys for the musical nobody likes. Who is this "nobody"? (He's nobody!) Revisiting the show recently for first time since it transferred to Broadway, I found the house full and enraptured (and Ms. Pinkins received a thoroughly deserved standing ovation). The retrograde idea that there aren't enough intelligent people left on earth to appreciate a serious musical is grotesque and defeatist. Caroline changes the rules governing what a musical should be. Let's support the new.

Except in the case of Doug Wright's I Am My Own Wife , which will win Best Play.

This hasn't been a good season for plays on Broadway, when we recall the one about the gorilla who was taught sign language by a deaf anthropologist ( Prymate ), among a handful of other bizarre choices that would blow your mind. All the best work comes, as usual, via Off Broadway, which produced my favorite play of the season, Lynn Nottage's lovely poem of imaginative restraint, Intimate Apparel . It's unlikely the Tony voters will give the award to Frozen , the grim British import about a murderous pedophile who hangs himself. The other nominations this year, the mediocre The Retreat from Moscow and Anna in the Tropics , have long since closed. I Am My Own Wife , Mr. Wright's wildly overpraised monologue about a Nazi collaborator and transvestite-described by the author as "Notes toward a play"-is therefore the easy winner.

The competition for Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Play is stiff, but Kevin Kline in Henry IV and Christopher Plummer in King Lear were seen in limited runs earlier in the season. It's likely that a good proportion of the 735 Tony voters-particularly the decisively powerful bloc of out-of-town voters-won't even have seen Mr. Kline's fine portrait of Shakespeare's old tosspot, Falstaff, or Mr. Plummer's less admired, choleric comedy of old age as the "ruin'd piece of nature," Lear. There ought to be a rule compelling Tony voters to return their ticket stubs with their ballots, thus proving they've actually seen all the nominees in the category they're voting for. Let's tighten things up here! No ticket, no vote.

Which leaves one of England's leading actors, the portly Brit, Simon Russell Beale, as Best Leading Actor for his star turn in Tom Stoppard's nearly incomprehensible Jumpers , the only farce ever likely to be written about logical positivism and Wittgenstein. But did the Tony voters get the joke? There was also a surprise nomination for audience favorite Frank Langella for his ability to knit with limp wrists in the campy thriller Match (recently closed). Jefferson Mays, looking as prim as a nun in a string of pearls, plays over 40 characters in I Am My Own Wife , and Mr. Mays will take the award for Leading Actor.

The award for Featured Actor in a Play will go to the remarkable, scary Brian F. O'Byrne for the unrepentant killer in Frozen .

Best Actress? I admired Frozen 's Swoosie Kurtz above all other nominees for her brilliantly contained performance, which cauterizes a damaged mother's unbearable grief. Tovah Feldshuh as Golda Meir in Golda's Balcony is a popular favorite. But the award will go to Phylicia Rashad's moving performance as the stoic matriarch in the revival of Lorraine Hansberry's 1959 A Raisin in the Sun .

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Play? It's hard. Sanaa Lathan and Audra McDonald of A Raisin in the Sun could easily cancel each other out. Or either of them could win. I'm going to take a gamble on delicious Essie Davis of Jumpers .

Best Revival of a Play? See above, A Raisin in the Sun .

Tony voters always vote for Stephen Sondheim. It's like voting for God. The Best Revival of a Musical will be Assassins -or my name isn't Frank Rich.

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical is between Denis O'Hare for Assassins and Michael McElroy for Big River . The pity is that Big River is long gone. Mr. McElroy would be my sentimental vote. Mr. O'Hare, mugging his way to the mad assassin's gallows in the sky, is likely to win.

Come what may, I'm voting for the beautiful young newcomer, Anika Noni Rose of Caroline, or Change , for Featured Actress in a Musical. She's up against formidable opposition, including Tony favorite Karen Ziemba for Never Gonna Dance . But if ever there was a star in the making, it's Ms. Rose. She doesn't make a false or showy move. She's modest and lovely and sings like an angel. Anika Noni Rose is the one .

Things are hotting up! Best Book of a Musical is between Tony Kushner for the musical tragedy Caroline, or Change and Jeff Whitty for the musical cartoon Avenue Q . Watch out for Winnie Holzman of Wicked , though the story wasn't its strong suit.

If I were in my right mind, I'd bet on Mr. Whitty. But my heart's not in it. My vote goes to the libretto that breaks the showbiz rules. I'm betting on Mr. Kushner's poetic libretto, which isn't consciously "poetic" but unadorned and muscular, speaking the language of essential truth.

Best Original Score? Right mind: Wicked . Out of my mind: Caroline, or Change .

Best Musical: The heart wants what the heart wants. But I need to recoup. The winner will be Wicked .

Best Direction of a Musical: George C. Wolfe did his very best work on Caroline , but the winner will be Joe Mantello, who didn't, I regret, do his best work on Assassins .

Finally, Best Direction of Play is between Moises Kaufman for I Am My Own Wife and Jack O'Brien for Henry IV , with David Leveaux a long shot for Jumpers . Let it be said that the critics loved Mr. O'Brien's hack production of Henry lV . But whatever we think of the provincial values of the show itself, I can't vote for a director who believes we're inferior to the British. In a staggering announcement, Mr. O'Brien explained why he condensed parts one and two of Henry IV into a single play for us at Lincoln Center. Although it's commonplace for both parts to be staged in England, it would be too much-said Jack-for Americans.

I still haven't gotten over it. We don't have enough intelligence, you see, to appreciate anything except Shakespeare lite. And how, may I inquire, does it feel to be less intelligent than the British?

The Best Direction of a Play Award goes to Moises Kaufman for I Am My Own Wife . You know what I think of the play. (Or notes toward a play.) But Mr. Kaufman has done first-rate work with I Am My Own Wife -and besides, he hasn't patronized anyone. I'm happy to say Mr. Kaufman takes the Tony.