The Broadhurst stage is at once a stable, Greek temple, church with smoky incense curling up from floor vents, auguring something primitive, carnal, and spiritual. Much has been written about this revival of Peter Shaffer's 1973 "Equus," a drama in the classic sense, about a boy played by Daniel Radcliffe, known for the Harry Potter franchise, who comes of age by doing something very creepy, criminal--to horses. His shrink--Richard Griffiths of "History Boys" in the role--envies his passion. The play is based upon the kernel of a true story, embellished psychologically, eroticized. The horses are believably portrayed by six well-hung men in horse-shaped masks and hoofs of spun silver. See it for the suspense, the masterful unravelling of a crime, but more, for emotional pitch, the pandemonium of steeds gone wild. When theater as spectacle is done this well, it is simply thrilling.
Equally thrilling is the new production of David Mamet's 1988 "Speed-the-Plow" at the Barrymore, where sex--in the four-letter word banter of "Entourage's" Jeremy Piven, "Mad Men's" Elizabeth Moss, and Raul Esparza, recently so fine in "The Homecoming"--is the opposite of holy. It is commerce as the men, Hollywood bottom feeders plan the ultimate pitch. Unlike "Equus," no one in this stark office set need remove a stitch. The foreplay of characters completing one another's sentences makes this hour and a half a speeding bullet of ego inflating patter and audience-arousing seduction.