The Grand Manner (Lincoln Center Theater, closes Aug. 1). Superbly acted by Kate Burton and Boyd Gaines and staged with sensitivity and wit by Mark Lamos, A.R. Gurney’s new play looks at first glance like a nostalgia-drenched valentine to Katharine Cornell and the lost world of old-fashioned theater. Don’t be fooled, though. The Grand Manner is really a searching, unexpectedly tough-minded portrait of the “lavender marriage” of a man and a woman who love but don’t desire one another. Smart, funny, poignant (TT).

Gian Carlo Menotti, The Consul (Heristal Entertainment). This hard-hitting opera about the horrors of life under totalitarian rule opened on Broadway in 1950 and ran for 269 performances, twice as long as Porgy and Bess. Alas, Decca’s original-cast album went out of print decades ago, was never transferred to CD, and is now a high-priced collector’s item. So what to do? Download this mp3-only reissue, savor the gripping performances of Patricia Neway, Marie Powers and Cornell MacNeil, and marvel at Menotti’s uncanny ability to cut to the dramatic heart of a scene. By the way, the “voice on the record” that you hear at the very beginning of the opera belongs to none other than Mabel Mercer (TT).

Kenneth Noland, 1924-2010: A Tribute (Guggenheim, 1071 Fifth Ave., up through June 20). Four carefully chosen canvases painted between 1959 and 1981 by one of the masters of the now-unfashionable Color Field style of abstract expressionism. Needless to say, Noland is sorely in need of a full-scale retrospective, but this anti-blockbuster show contains the root of the matter (TT).

Johnny Hodges: The Small Group Sessions 1941-1952 (Phantasm, three CDs). A wonderfully handy new collection of key recordings by Duke Ellington’s unflappable alto saxophone soloist, a universally admired yet inexplicably underrated instrumental master who was equally adept at sensuous balladry, hard-swinging riff tunes, and deep-dish blues. From start to finish, this set is packed full of unpretentious, deeply satisfying jazz (TT).

Anthony Julius, Trials of the Diaspora: A History of Anti-Semitism in England (Oxford, $45). This disquieting study of England’s most respectable prejudice argues all too convincingly that British anti-Semitism has not only failed to wither away but is currently experiencing an alarming upsurge. Not a pleasant read, but an indispensable one (TT).

That Face (City Center, closes June 27). No matter how suspicious you may be of prodigies, make an exception for Polly Stenham’s first play, a a tale of a grossly dysfunctional upper-middle-class family that she wrote when she was just nineteen years old. The New York premiere of That Face, presented by the Manhattan Theatre Club, is a superlative piece of work, staged with shrieking tautness by Sarah Benson and featuring memorable performances by Laila Robins and Cristin Milioti. Only time will tell whether Stenham has staying power, but this play bodes well for her future (TT).

Stagecoach (Criterion Collection). A “B” movie raised to the level of art by the impeccable direction of John Ford, this 1939 film defined the Hollywood Western and made John Wayne a star. Now it’s been remastered as handsomely as modern technology permits (the original negative no longer survives) and fitted out with all sorts of Criterion Collection-style extras. In any form, Stagecoach is a cinematic landmark–and one of the most purely enjoyable American films of the Thirties (TT).

David Mamet, Theatre (Faber & Faber, $22). In this hard-nosed little book, the author of American Buffalo and Glengarry Glen Ross concisely sets forth his explanations of what theater is, how it works, why most directors and all critics are idiots, and why people who don’t write plays like David Mamet are basically wasting their time. He also finishes the job of outing himself as a libertarian-flavored not-quite-conservative. Since Mamet is also one of the major American playwrights of the twentieth century, all this is of obvious interest to anyone who cares about theater, and it’s expressed so compellingly (if repetitiously) that you can’t help but get swept up in the current of the author’s absolute self-assurance. You may not like Theatre, but you’ll learn from it (TT).