Each theater season, at least a few London productions transfer to Broadway after earning breathless praise and, more often than not, an Olivier Award or two. Last fall’s crop ranged from the superb “The Hills of California,” a searing new play by Jez Butterworth, to “Tammy Faye,” a mess of a musical that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to mock American excess or revel in it.

For a people known for their discretion and reserve, the Brits don’t seem to mind theatrical bombast, particularly when song and dance are involved. Indeed, last autumn’s imports also included an aggressively creepy musical adaptation of “Sunset Boulevard” directed by Jamie Lloyd, whose penchant for superficially stripped-down overstatement has also shaped revivals of Ibsen and Pinter. And let’s not even get started on last spring’s U.K.-based, garish “Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club.”