T he last time I wrote about Twelfth Night at the Public’s Delacorte Theater, I took issue with a performance that sacrificed the play’s rich ambiguities for a relentless sing-along perkiness, a too-wide smile that,

There’s not a dud in the ensemble, from Sandra Oh’s flushed and impulsive Olivia to a scene-stealing turn by initialized performer “b” as Antonio, the sailor who rescues Sebastian from

The beloved Delacorte Theatre in Central Park has reopened as a sleeker, more comfy, more accessible version of itself. You could apply each of those adjectives to the show onstage as well.