Every day is opening night.

Ladies and gents,

As Manhattan teeters on the brink of a blizzard — our boots laced, our pantries full, and our long underwear unearthed from under-the-bed bins — I find myself reflecting on that most enduring dramatic device: the winter storm.

Let’s begin with Grey House, a ghostly thriller by playwright Levi Holloway, which made a chilling Broadway appearance at the Lyceum in 2023. Directed by Joe Mantello and starring Laurie Metcalf, it centered on a couple stranded by a car crash during a mountain blizzard, who stumble into a house filled with eerie children and even eerier truths.

Then there’s Bus Stop, William Inge’s classic diner-bound drama, where a snowstorm strands travelers in close quarters and forces emotional reckonings. I once saw a community theater version in which the snow machine overperformed so wildly, a character delivered her monologue under what looked like a meringue pie.

In The Rose and the Rime, a fantastical town is trapped in an eternal blizzard until one brave girl dares to break the curse. I can relate; I once spent a January in Buffalo.

And playwright David Lindsay-Abaire’s Snow Angel? It’s the biggest blizzard in 107 years, and a group of teenagers find their snow day turned upside-down by the arrival of a mysterious girl.

Blizzard ’67, by Jon Steinhagen, turns a real-life Chicago snowstorm into an existential pressure cooker.

Not technically a snowstorm but thematically storm-tossed, Swept Away, the haunting musical by John Logan (with songs by The Avett Brothers) sails through its own elemental reckoning with wind, water, and fate.

But let us not forget the pièce de résistance of theatrical whiteouts: the one-night Broadway wonder Moose Murders. Written by Arthur Bicknell, this 1983 comedy-thriller was set in an Adirondack lodge during a blizzard. Guests arrive, murders occur, and a moose — or something resembling one — looms over it all.

Elsewhere on the snow-dappled stage, we’ve had Frozen (Disney’s and Bryony Lavery’s), Almost, Maine’s arctic vignettes, and the encroaching Ice Age of Thornton Wilder’s The Skin of Our Teeth.

And so, as this city pauses before the flurries fly, let’s clap together our mittened hands to every playwright who’s ever used a little stormy weather to trap a cast and melt an audience.

Tidbits from around town…

Spied Lauren Graham at Commerce Inn with friends, cheerfully sharing a platter of pancakes.

Overheard Debra Monk at the West Side Market murmuring “The show must go on,” while stocking up on bottled water.

Saw Rachel Dratch lugging three different portable heaters from a hardware store on Amsterdam.

As always, a toast of something sparkling to you and yours!

Kisses,