Want to bookmark your favourite articles and stories to read or reference later? Start your Independent Membership today.
Join today
Already a member?
Log in
It’s hard not to think there’s something intentional about the timing of bringing Other Desert Cities back to Broadway. Opening about a month after the 25th anniversary of 9/11 and weeks before a critical midterm election, Jon Robin Baitz’s play – revived for the first time – is a post-9/11 story of political divides within a family home. Anxiety-fueled spats, broken relationships, isolation from loved ones, uncertainty about the future: these scenes will, for many, prove all too familiar.
The play, directed by John Benjamin Hickey, is one of the fall’s most highly anticipated productions, largely due to the cast. Seinfeld star Julia Louis-Dreyfus makes her Broadway debut as uptight family matriarch Polly Wyeth along with Stranger Things breakout Joe Keery playing her laid back son, Trip. They’re surrounded by stage veterans Allison Janney, Ed Harris, and Lily Rabe (who share four Tony nominations between them), playing Polly’s sister, husband, and daughter, respectively. After the death of her older brother, Polly’s daughter is looking to publish a memoir. Inevitably, this book poses an active threat to their domestic harmony.
But the cast, while stacked, doesn’t have the chemistry needed to sustain this family drama. Scott Pask’s stunning set design perfectly captures the wealth of the Wyeth family. The sprawling living room interior of their California desert home only draws more attention when the wood-burning fireplace on the right-hand side of the stage is lit about halfway through the first act. The fire flickers but never wavers, providing a steady constant as logs are added and cigarettes tersely tossed into it over the course of the drama. Real or not, it ultimately has more spark than the actors around it.

There are moments of the production that crackle – like the opening scene when the four nuclear family members and their distinct personalities are introduced through spirited dialogue – and jokes that land; but it’s mostly left to smolder. What’s more jarring is that the performances feel mismatched: Rabe is in a Shakespearean tragedy while Louis-Dreyfus and Harris are in a Neil Simon comedy. The uneven individual performances match the play’s broader theme of family discord, but just doesn’t work on the whole — especially when discussing serious topics like depression and death.
It didn’t help that the direction didn’t curate any sort of momentum. Pregnant pauses and awkward deliveries made for uncertainty – it’s never entirely clear what is a choice for dramatic effect and what’s simply a fumbled line. The stakes are briefly – finally! – raised around halfway through act two when the devastating plot twist is revealed. But getting there is, at times, more painful than the twist itself.


Still, Janney and Keery — both underutilized — deliver the two most grounded, fully realized performances. Their characters feel like real humans, not caricatures or archetypes. Keery is refreshing as Trip, providing a steady, level-headed presence while his family comes to blows. As the recovering alcoholic aunt Silda, Janney delivers zingers packed with personality, her comic chops on full display. But audiences will likely find themselves wishing for more moments with Janney or Keery in the spotlight, as they’re the strongest assets the production has to offer.
As the Wyeth parents, Louis-Dreyfus and Harris land quippy jokes and deliver emotional outbursts, despite stiff performances and awkward staging. But what may resonate most with audiences isn’t seeing beloved screen actors on a Broadway stage, rather the sad reality of the family’s political divide and the dramatic toll it takes.
Baitz’s play is ripe with opportunity for audiences to see themselves reflected onstage, regardless of which side of history they’re on. And they will when they see this production – even if it never fully ignites.
Other Desert Cities is at the Hudson Theatre through January 17, 2027
