“Celebrate Diversity,” the bumper stickers advise, and one wishes one could. But, in a multicultural age, the enduring uniculturalism of the New York theater is a marvel to behold. In the American schoolroom, British novels, British poetry, British history have an ever-shrinking market share as teachers and school boards mandate more exotic pleasures by favored ethnic groups. But, on the American stage, the ultimate dead white guy’s culture is more secure than ever. Old plays? They’re British. New plays? They’re British. Hip stars? Likewise: no American theater actor has the cachet in Manhattan of, say, Natasha Richardson (Closer) or Alan Cumming (Cabaret). Foreign stuff? Insofar as any ever washes up in New York, it’s usually in British versions, from Art to Les Parents Terribles to Les Miserables. Token bits of multiculturalism? See how well all that critically admired African puppeteeri ...

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