HAIR
at the Candlefish Theatre
Reviewed by Les Spindle
Like 1995's Rent, the 1968 flower-children musical Hair is a counterculture rock musical that defied conventional commercial wisdom to become a monster hit of its era. It is both the blessing and the bane of both shows that each tapped into the youthful temper of its respective time so precisely that they will likely be pigeonholed in the history books more as cultural artifacts than as classics. As such, it takes chutzpah to resurrect Hair, especially considering that the show's 1977 Broadway revival was a critical and box-office bust. So it is both a surprise and a delight to discover that the Candlefish Theatre has fashioned an imaginative and altogether bracing revival of this exuberant hippie lovefest.
As Broadway musicals go, Hair is anything but mainstream. The book (by James Rado and Gerome Ragni) is so skeletal that the show is more of a song cycle than a musical play. The soul of the piece is the kick-ass score (music by Galt MacDermot, lyrics by Rado and Ragni), which combines infectious rhythms with incisive lyrics that explore every imaginable issue of concern to the Woodstock generation: drugs ("Hashish"), sexual freedom ("Sodomy"), environmental abuse ("Air"), interracial sex ("White Boy Black Boy"), the insanity of war ("3-5-0-0"), unconventional grooming ("Hair"). Many of these issues remain relevant today, but the score bears the unmistakable stamp of the make-love-not-war era.
Director Mary Schafer and choreographer Bo Crowell compensate for the slight narrative by presenting each segment as a sort of mini-story in itself. Art Street's dazzling lighting design and Christian Nesmith's dramatic sound effects add to the excitement, and the five-member Adhesive Strips band does full justice to the rousing score. The production skillfully combines colorful characterizations and zestful environmental staging to convey the show's satiric and tragicomic points. Although this Vietnam-era musical makes trenchant antiwar statements, the predominant tone is sweet-spirited and optimistic.
Highlighting an exceptional ensemble, Douglas Crawford is superb as the rebellious but vulnerable draft inductee Claude, Walter Winston O'Neil exudes charisma as the joyous free spirit Berger, Agustine Pozo has a delectably funny turn as anthropologist Margaret Mead, and Dawn Worrall is hilariously on-target as the light-headed and pregnant acidhead Jeannie.
Although full-frontal nudity, raw language, and skewering of certain sacred cows are undoubtedly less provocative than they were in 1968, this is a remarkably potent production. On opening night, several members of the euphoric audience joined the cast onstage for a spontaneous and lengthy reprise of the spirited finale, "Let the Sunshine In." Although critical endorsements seem all but superfluous for productions that connect this strongly with their audience, this baby boomer critic absolutely tripped out.
"Hair," presented by and at the Candlefish Theatre, 1540 Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood. Aug 21-Sept. 27. (323) 660-8587.
TALLEY'S FOLLY
at the North Coast Repertory Theatre
Reviewed by George Weinberg-Harter
Some gentle magic permeating this deceptively slight two-character romance has made it about the most sturdily popular of Lanford Wilson's dramas, with a charm that the exquisite production currently at NCRT fully conveys. The play has held the stage for two decades, and part of this durability may lie in the ways it gracefully reconciles such diverse elements: the male with the female elements, of course, but also European with American, Gentile with Jewish, city with country, artifice with realism, and winsome persiflage with hidden heartache.
After some presentational moments that owe a little to Thornton Wilder, the play settles into straight representation of the final touch-and-go 97 minutes in the eccentric courtship of the immigrant accountant Matt Friedman (Charlie Riendeau) and the Ozark spinster Sally Talley (Heidi Wilson)--an oddly matched pair trying to awaken together from the nightmares of their histories.
Yet behind the folksy, realistic setting (rural Missouri in 1944) stands the solid structure of an archetypal fable. At bottom, Talley's Folly much resembles one of those fairy tales about a prince from a far-off land on a perilous quest to solve the riddle that will unlock the resistant heart of an enchanted princess. In short, the story of the play is essentially that of the opera Turandot in plainer clothes. They could sing "Nessun dorma" at the ending--though the difficult victory of Matt and Sally's love could hardly be more touching even if they did.
"This is a waltz," Matt tells the audience just before commencing his last, best pitch to Sally, "One-two-three, one-two-three " Indeed, under the musically sensitive direction of Howard Bickle, the varying moods and tempi of this triple-time romance could by turns be scherzo, saraband, gigue, minuet, and paso doble, as well. Besides doing his duty keeping a duodrama from turning visually static, Bickle also shows a master's hand in smoothly guiding his two appealing players through a range of modulating emotional dynamics, conducting the romantic ebb and flow like a Mahler symphony, from raucous hijinks through passages of pianissimo intimacy, into subito swells and agitatos of mutual misunderstanding, and at last to the legato diminuendo of the play's blissful finale.
Riendeau gives Matt the right balance of Ashkenazic levity and sorrow, and Heidi Wilson's Sally balances her necessary tantrums with spunky humor and real warmth. Peter Hashagen's sound design might have been subtler; and Marty Burnett's set design, together with Christopher Hall's lighting, delivered the needed mood in broad strokes. (Don't look too closely for the specified gingerbread jigsaw curlicues on the boathouse.) But these rough edges matter little when the focus remains rightly on the enchanted and enchanting pair.
"Talley's Folly," presented at and by the North Coast Repertory Theatre, 987D Lomas Santa Fe Dr., Solana Beach. Aug. 8-Sept. 13. (888) 776-6278.
DEAR LIAR
at the Waltmar Theatre
Reviewed by Kristina Mannion
It's been said that the art of correspondence by letter is in a sure state of decline. The desire for immediacy and the ease of modern communications have perhaps diminished the appeal of sitting down with pen and paper and lessened our drive to compose lines with earnest attention to the effects of language and descriptive detail.
With simple yet elegant style, Jerome Kilty's Dear Liar reminds us of the richness that can result from taking such epistolary care. Weaving original narrative with genuine material--the missives exchanged between playwright George Bernard Shaw and the stage/screen actress Mrs. Patrick Campbell--Kilty's work highlights the art of letter-writing at its poetic and intellectual best. More than that, Dear Liar offers a vivid glimpse of two headstrong personalities, a heartfelt love story, and a sincere account of the devotion that Shaw and Campbell had for one another.
In the hands of the Shakespeare Orange County company, all of these elements are handled with engaging charm and an obvious understanding of the play's two unique characters. Aided by the fluidity of Kilty's script, which takes us from the couple's first correspondence in 1899 to their last in 1939, director Carl Reggiardo and actors John-Frederick Jones and Laurel Kelsh Jones breathe vibrant life into Shaw's romantic but often provoking letters and Mrs. Campbell's spirited responses. Jones and Jones (whose onstage chemistry is perhaps enhanced by their real offstage roles as husband and wife) deliver Shaw and Campbell's words with feeling and energy, creating a living chronology of the pair's decades-long, scandalous relationship--one that survived and evolved through their respective marriages and professional ups and downs.
Skillfully portraying the blustery, somewhat pompous Shaw, Mr. Jones wrings out the most emotion when he quietly recites the letter in which Shaw eloquently describes the funeral of his beloved mother. In contrast, Mrs. Jones shines when she reveals Mrs. Campbell's feistiness--a quality that emerges most clearly when she's being criticized as an actress by the exacting, painfully honest Shaw.
Helping set the atmosphere, Craig Brown's scenic design and props give us a realistic context in which we can envision Shaw and Campbell conversing by letter. Wielding their pens, each is seated at his own personal study--Shaw at a sturdy wooden desk, Campbell at a delicate escritoire. Fortunately, astute director Reggiardo does not limit the action to these separate areas. Often, the two performers cross into each other's space, using a look or a touch to convey the emotion and intimacy that bound these individuals together in life and in letter.
"Dear Liar," presented by Shakespeare Orange County at the Waltmar Theatre, Chapman University, 301 E. Palm, Orange. Aug. 13-Sept. 5. (714) 744-7016.
NEO CONFIDENTIALS
at Hudson Avenue Theatre
Reviewed by Ken Pfeil
I saw this show on opening night, with the house spilling out the door, hot and geared up for a bill that had better not disappoint. Happily, the Theatre Neo and the Hudson Group played a gig--six one-act comedies running together smoothly, with a combined cast of 20 or so--you'd be hard pressed to walk away from with anything less than belly laughs and lines you'll be quoting for a while ("You better gimme that purse or I'm gonna pull out this knife and stick you sumpthin' good," says Larry Michelson, as an inept mugger who essentially begs his muggee, played by Kirsten Vangsness, to just give him bus fare home).
Neo Confidentials is a showcase with maybe an overall thematic concern about misunderstanding, perhaps not. No two plays are written by the same person; they may have all fallen into the same bucket and just worked well together, but work as a collaborative effort they do. There is a gun-toting wife (Dee Freeman: sharp, beautiful, and severe in a silky blue get-up), a mildly racist trailer widow (Anne Mattingly), and a charming septuagenarian duo (Critt Davis as yin, and Weston Nathanson as yang) on the make in a supermarket check-out line, among other vignettes.
The production's elements don't sag in the second half--the low-lit set changes during story breaks are tales in themselves. Nothing really gets solved at the end of each short, and one gets the feeling of having been invited to throw in your own few lines which would fit in nicely with the whole night.
Credit Rod Britt, Lauren Cloud, Marla Cotovsky, Jay J. Levy, Paula Kay Perry, and Matthew Rauchberg with direction on this collection. Laughing aloud in this venue felt good, and I found myself wondering where I might catch the diverse talent represented in this huge but cohesive group again soon.
"Neo Confidentials," presented by Theatre Neo in association with the Hudson Group at the Hudson Avenue Theatre, 6539 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Aug. 18-Sept. 22. (323) 769-5858.
A CAN OF WHOOP-ASS
at the Stella Adler Theater
Reviewed by Michael Jordan
Good for many chuckles, this crew of quasi-Groundlings has a fun lineup of sketch comedy on deck. But with a title lifted from There's Something About Mary, the show lacks the inspired momentum and ferociously original hilarity expected of the best of the genre's exemplars. Appropriately "canned," this recipe lacks freshness, but still entertains.
Jim Rash consistently bangs out hard humor, especially in "Standing O," in which he plays a screen star who cannot read. Joining him on "FYI," a first date already in need of therapy, equally dependable Rachael Harris powers up the comedy with her kinetic energy. Strong in many sketches, Harris squares off with Laurie Ciarametaro to memorably battle as dueling Little Orphan Annies. David Sussin scores an audience tickler, conducting a business interview the way casting agents evaluate actors in "Callback." "First Night," the smartest vignette, gives Ciarametaro and Sussin a chance to flex creative metaphors to describe a relationship.
Juliana Morgan and David Gazzana deliciously spellbind in "World's Greatest," a spoof of the recent specials that have revealed the secrets of magic tricks. Chris Schiavo and Andy Bobrow masterfully create diametric nerds as two simpering cops in "Pressure," in which they grill a dangerous perp into boredom. Schiavo continues to show skill at playing with others in "The Skeckle Twins" with Warren Lieberstein. Both mine the 1970s lounge-lizard lava pit for laughs.
The company also includes Bonnie Cahoon, Larissa Michieli, and Pat Dade. Perhaps quicker scene changes would build the momentum of the high points for a stronger show.
"A Can of Whoop-Ass," presented by Whoop-Ass Productions at the Stella Adler Theater, 6773 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. July 21-Sept. 9. (323) 692-5523.
ENGAGED
at the Knightsbridge Theatre
Reviewed by Anne Louise Bannon
As the Gilbert of Gilbert & Sullivan, W.S. Gilbert is best known for his silly librettos to such pieces of fluff as The Pirates of Penzance and H.M.S. Pinafore. Engaged proves that this 19th-century satirist could be just as silly without music.
Fortunately, director Karesa McElheny puts her Knightsbridge Theatre cast through their paces with a strong sense of the farcical but without brutalizing the brittle Victorian sensibility of the play. The play, set on the border between Scotland and England and later in London, revolves around a young man of property, Cheviot Hill (Marc Hart), who immediately proposes marriage to every sweet young thing he sees. His friend Belvawney (Christian Noble) has a serious income dependent on Cheviot staying single. Cheviot's uncle, Mr. Symperson (Andreas Renell) gets Belvawney's income as soon as Cheviot gets married. And in spite of Belvawney's best efforts, Cheviot still finds himself engaged to three young women, one of them Belvawney's intended.
The Scottish brogues are a bit thick in the opening scene; understanding how Scots eat haggis would be easier than deciphering the dialogue. There is no reason the accents couldn't be softened, as they are once the Brits make their appearance on the scene. Beyond that quibble, the performances are delightful, especially from Hart, who convinces us he's charming enough to get multiple ladies to plight their troth to him in spite of his wandering eye. Piper Henry, one of the aggrieved ladies, gives her role that "mellerdramer" touch, which works marvelously.
The costumes, by "costume magician" Sylvia Stachura, are distracting--workable 1870s in the first act, then an amalgam of 19th-century later. And there has to be a better way to disguise that old disco-era Angel's Flight jacket from Act III.
One last niggling irritation: Laura Russell has the innocent conniving of the sweet lassie Maggie down well, but the next actress I see walking with a bouncing little mince to indicate empty-headedness I'm going to haul off and belt. It's a dumb move. It has never worked and it must stop now.
"Engaged," presented by and at the Knightsbridge Theatre, 35 S. Raymond Ave., Pasadena. Aug. 14-Sept. 20. (626) 440-0821.
WHAT DOESN'T KILL US
at the McCadden Place Theatre
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
OK, finish this sentence. What doesn't kill us, a) drives us crazy, b) drives those around us crazy, c) makes us grateful, stronger, happier, or d) all of the above. For Joy (Michelle Stafford), an advertising executive who has miraculously survived a deadly drunk driving accident, the answer is d)--and then some.
Just a year ago, Joy was taking a cab across Manhattan when a drunk driver plowed into it, killing both himself and the cab driver, and leaving Joy critically injured with a five percent chance of survival. After a month in a coma, she finally awoke. But for Joy, beating the odds came with a high price. Physically, she was plagued with seizures. Emotionally, she was in deep denial and began exhibiting rather reckless behavior. What Doesn't Kill Us, now making its West Coast premiere at the McCadden Place Theatre, begins on the one-year anniversary of the accident that changed Joy forever, and takes a darkly humorous look at what her survival has cost not only her but the men in her life.
Joy is still compelled to ride the sharp edge of life. Though she loves her writer boyfriend Karl (playwright Dan Remmes), whose apartment she shares, she begins cheating on him with an architect named Byron (Geoffrey Lower). Coincidentally, Karl and Byron work in the same building and casually know each other. When the men get trapped for three hours in an elevator, Karl figures out that Byron is Joy's lover. Soon after, Karl kicks Joy out of the apartment. Then Byron dumps her as well. Joy finally ends up in therapy, only to find that her shrink (hilariously played by Suanne Spoke) is an even bigger nutcase than she is.
Humor is a common defense mechanism for handling tragedy--you know that overwhelming need to laugh at your grandmother's funeral? Remmes wrote What Doesn't Kill Us after he himself was involved in a 1993 accident in New York City that left doctors doubting his chances for survival. The tale is told in a straightforward manner, but Joy (and occasionally other characters) break the fourth wall to come forward in between scenes and talk to the audience. Though it disrupts the flow, the standup comedy feeling of the action reminds us that when you're sick (emotionally and/or physically), laughter is often the best medicine.
There are still a few bumps in Remmes' script--like why Joy continues paying $150 an hour to an obviously wacky therapist, or why Byron does an abrupt about-face in his relationship with Joy and suddenly shows himself to be a bit of a cad. But What Doesn't Kill Us boasts strong performances (including Larry Cox as a patient and sometimes bewildered waiter) and an engaging story, and above all makes us laugh.
"What Doesn't Kill Us," presented by Joe Salazar and Lawrin Goulston in association with Sebastian Productions at the McCadden Place Theatre, 1157 N. McCadden Pl., Hollywood. Aug. 14-Sept. 20. (213) 850-8643.
DAMAGED CARE
presented by the San Francisco Mime Troupe
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
For its annual summer show in the parks this year, the venerable San Francisco Mime Troupe takes on the issue of health care--or, more accurately, the lack thereof--in the United States. But while Damaged Care certainly scores a few satirical points against the merger-maniacal, cost-cutting world of HMOs, the show suffers from a lack of focus and spirit. Perhaps this show would have worked better four years ago, before the defeat of Prop. 186 in California showed just how deeply distrustful large portions of the public are about any form of state-sponsored health care, despite their palpable displeasure with the current state of affairs (voiced so memorably by Helen Hunt's character in As Good as It Gets).
In fact, exploring the reasons for that distrust would have given a sharper edge to Joan Holden and Karim Scarlata's script. As it is, there is little in the show, aside from half-hearted appeals to the audience to break out of their "apathy" and join the fight for universal health care, that suggests alternatives to the current sad state of managed care. None of this can be blamed on the actors, who give energetic performances with more nuance than one might expect from outdoor commedia-style political theatre. Dan Chumley's direction is well-paced, for the most part, though the show feels too long for its ultimately thin message.
The plot concerns the decline of Bologna Central Hospital, once a reputable public institution and now the newest jewel in the crown of managed-care conglomerate Capacare, run by the nefarious Doctor Capitano (Ed Holmes, giving a suitably Snidely Whiplash-inspired performance). Capitano slashes services and staff until the hospital is reduced to three employees: a goodhearted but ambitious intern, Dr. Hemostat (Keiko Shimosato); an orderly given an absurd promotion to "medical associate," Zanni (Amos Glick), and the heroine, Nurse Basil (Velina Brown, who gives the most solid performance of the ensemble), a noble "addict to care-giving" who knows how bad things are and is desperate to leave but whose conscience keeps her working with her ever-growing load of ever-sicker patients.
Instead of developing the intriguing angle of women as the foot soldiers of health care reform, the script opts for a silly romantic subplot between Basil and Arlecchino (Michael Gene Sullivan), a "content-starved, junk-food-crunching, part-time videogame tester" without insurance, who suffers from a "frog ball"--a growing lump that smells like cheese, speaks French, and is highly contagious. He joins forces with Basil, Zanni, and Hemostat to bring Capitano to his knees.
There are plenty of good comic bits in the show, and the live band (Eric Crystal, Liberty Ellman, and Derrek Philipps) adds some wonderful textures. But the songs themselves are far from memorable, and tend to bog down the proceedings. Huy Tran's costumes, Kate Chumley's props, and the puppets by Donna Keiko Ozawa and Keiko Shimosato add visual delight to a show that needs more teeth to really take a bite out of the tangled web of our health-care system.
"Damaged Care," presented by the San Francisco Mime Troupe at various California locations; remaining dates include Live Oak Park in Berkeley (Aug. 29-30); in San Francisco, Pioneer East GG Park (Sept. 5-6) and Dolores Park (Sept. 7); Adams Park in San Diego (Sept. 26-27); the Los Angeles Theatre Center, 514 S. Spring St. in Downtown L.A. (Oct. 8-11), and at UCSB Campbell Hall in Santa Barbara (Oct. 14). Run began on June 5. (415) 285-1717.
LITTLE MURDERS
at the Odyssey Theatre
Reviewed by Wenzel Jones
Jules Feiffer's late-1960s script, a view of society so unremittingly bleak that its original Broadway outing was an unmitigated failure, now almost seems, well, quaint. This frolic through nihilism is draped around the story of Patsy Newquist (Erin Noble), one of those profoundly self-analytical young women who abound in urban fables, and her marriage to the photographer Alfred Chamberlain (Kenneth Dolin). Patsy's parents, played by Jacque Lynn Colton and Tom Lillard, bustle about and yell a lot, but they, along with the character of their sexually ambiguous son (Michael Faulkner), are figures who all became stock the better part of a decade ago.
There has been an attempt to update this script ever so slightly, but the Gulf War and Vietnam are hardly synonymous and the character of Henry Dupas, the man who promises to marry Patsy and Alfred while avoiding all mention of God, is hopelessly atavistic in spite of the freshness and verve of Christian Gossett's performance. The first murder, which is very neatly staged by Ron Sossi, doesn't occur until three-quarters of the way through the show, at which point the play leaps from domestic comedy to urban burlesque and reality flies out the shattered window. It suddenly becomes very Balkan.
There's certainly no fault to be found with the performances, especially those of Noble and Dolin. They make, if ever so briefly, a perfect amalgam of opposites, she attempting connection, he delightfully disengaged yet not uncaring. John P. Connolly, as the policeman/vigilante toward the end, displays not only admirable committment to an underwritten character but also the most astonishing ability to make his head turn red.
Victoria Profitt's set shows her excellent eye for detail, creating a reality that can be seen inside closets and down offstage halls, while Kathi O'Donohue's lights never intrude and only enhance. Alas, this cautionary vision of a culture defined by tribal violence and edging toward mass surveillance as a solution has little plangency in a city where wardrobe colors can define a target and people wear corrective makeup to the 7-11 so that they look good on the monitor.
"Little Murders," presented by and at the Odyssey Theatre, 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., Los Angeles. Aug. 22-Oct. 4. (310) 477-2055.
THE CLEARING
at the Gene Bua Theatre
Reviewed by Scott Proudfit
Historical drama works best when two narrative lines support and illuminate each other: the small personal story and the larger political story. Arthur Miller's The Crucible is one example of this relationship when it really works, as are the majority of Shakespeare's history plays. Helen Edmundson's The Clearing gives us a little more than half of this formula: a compelling context, but a soft individual plot within it.
The play recounts an episode in Irish history in the 1650s, when the English Parliament transplanted any Irish--or English settlers--whose loyalty to Cromwell was in question to the unwelcoming province of Connaught. Within this backstory, a young English gentleman with an Irish wife must decide where his loyalties lie.
The majority of the performances are first-rate, limited only by the occasionally shaky text. Eric Drachman as the weak young Englishman who clings to the one thing that he truly believes is his right--his estate--is infuriating in his cowardice but understandably human. His earthy spouse, who becomes the heroine of the piece, is played with a little too hard an edge at first by Leslie Baldwin, who is quite powerfully on-target in later scenes.
Barry Lynch and Rebecca Wackler, as the older couple of English landowners whose fate is first called into question, are quite good. Lynch is nobly clearheaded without appearing sentimentally heroic, while Wackler's is the toughest and perhaps most realistic portrayal in the show--a hard-headed but not hard-hearted woman who has experienced enough loss and pain to know who she is and what she wants.
Carolyn Palmer has the most difficult role--as the Irish wife's best friend-turned-servant, who has little to look forward to in her own personal life. Palmer is darkly fascinating. Her performance rarely reveals her inner life, but when she allows the audience a glimpse, the results are heart-wrenching. Andrew H. Leman as the terrified English governor is also excellent; his genuine discomfort and disgust with the Irish never devolves into camp. It helps that his scenes are the best written in the play. In fact, there is more genuine tension in the scenes between the severe governor and the confused landowners than in the simplistic, underexplored relationship of the young couple.
Director Sean Branney breathes life into a text that might have been played drily in less skilled hands. He also keeps the lid on the histrionics this emotional material might inspire. His direction is supported by a driving, animalistic sound design by Erik Hockman. But not even the powerful score can energize the long, episodic second act, which clearly needs trimming. The context of this play is fascinating and ripe for dramatization. If only Edmundson's human-sized plot had been as compelling as the larger historical events. In Theatre Banshee, she certainly would have had a company up to the challenge.
"The Clearing," presented by Theatre Banshee at the Gene Bua Theatre, 3435 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank. Aug. 7-Sept. 13. (818) 380-7135.
GREASE II
at the Actor's Lab
Reviewed by Polly Warfield
Grease II is a hymn to that peculiar temporary state known as advanced human adolescence (which, however, can become permanent). It is also a madcap musical foray into the Fab Fifties. No author is credited, but it is enthusiastically put onstage by Jennifer Thibault and Shannon Hall, under the auspices of the new Troy Rep company, which is made up of recent grads, ex-students, and associates of the USC Theatre Arts department. Troy Rep debuted last January; Grease II confirms the promise of its opening. If material resources are in short supply here, ingenuity, talent, and zeal are not.
It's conceivable you didn't know that Grease II followed the hit film Grease. It did--as a rather obscure cult classic which we now see reprised as this "lip-synch parody." It is not lip-synched, in fact, but is sung along to the recorded voices of Michelle Pfeiffer, Maxwell Caulfield, Adrian Zmed, Lorna Luft, et al. The Troy Rep kids of the cast just can't help singing--and dancing and cutting up, because they're having so much fun. And, unless you are determined not to be pleased, so are you.
What's inconceivable is that these perennial adolescents will ever achieve maturity. Certainly their teacher/mentors never did. Nicole Feenstra's kittenish Miss Mason, the Connie Stevens role, and Lew Casey as boyish Mr. Stuart (played by Tab Hunter in the film) are not particularly grown up. Presumably adults, they're as hormone-driven as their frisky charges.
The black leather-jacketed T-Bird gang guys posture, preen, and slick back their hair in a mating dance their auxiliary Pink Slut sisters find charming. Eric Russell ("as Adrian Zmed as Johnny") is the T-Bird's cock-of-the-walk, who snarls petulant threats ("He's a dead man: D-E-D") when an English newcomer ("as Maxwell Caulfield as Zach") catches the eye of the campus queen, who happens to be Johnny's girlfriend (an incisive Shannon Lynn Hall "as Michelle Pfeiffer as Stephanie"). How cool is Stephanie? He: "Are you free after school tonight?" She: "I'm free every night. It's in the Constitution."
Matt Rimmer is rakish "as Peter Frechette as Mooch." His scene of attempted seduction fails, leaving Jennifer Thibault ("as Maureen Teefy as Sharon") blithely oblivious and no less virginal than before. Ally Freund is pleasingly zaftig "as Lorna Luft as Paulette." Christina Montoya is a Latina lollipop in a pink cotton candy wig "as Didi Conn as Frenchita."
Jennifer Kamstock, Meredith Weiner, Steve Oreste, and Zoe Benston (as a T-bird guy who's really a gal--you can't fool us) complete the energetic cast. Matt Berger is responsible for the minimalist set, which relies on a couple of pink sawhorses, a pink stepladder, Keith Morrison's lighting, and little else. Given Thibault's expert choreography, no more is needed. Life-size T-Bird dudes tool around the stage on kiddie cars; Michael, however, gets a minibike, on which he rides a rocky road to romantic bliss with Stephanie and gains admission to the club. And new kid on the block Troy Rep gives notice that it is probably here to stay.
"Grease II," presented by Troy Rep at the Actor's Lab, 1514 N. Gardner, Hollywood. Aug. 15-Sept. 19. (323) 769-5211.
EXILES IN HOLLYWOOD
at Theatre of NOTE
Reviewed by Brad Schreiber
"A compliation of thoughts, words, songs, and sounds of Bertolt Brecht and his contemporaries" may seem on its face a worthy experiment. But when two performers try to not only co-conceputalize and co-produce but also co-direct, what one needs most is coordination.
Dan Mailley and Kathleen McGovern have chosen some lovely songs and writings of Brecht, Kurt Weill, Maxwell Anderson, Ogden Nash, and W.H. Auden and whipped up a 45-minute succotash of a cabaret in which flashlights, candlelights, bared brassierres, and dark clothes substitute for the pleading, angst-filled recitation these words demand.
Mailley is directly responsible for an abominable misinterpretation of Brecht and Weill's achingly beautiful song "Surabaya Johnny." Nobody's expecting Lotte Lenya or Dagmar Krause here--but point one, it's written for a woman, and point two, it's a dramatic song, not an opportunity to be campy. Point three, grabbing the lapels of a member of the audience for supposedly humorous effect is an abrogation which shows a lack of the most basic theatrical understanding.
The less-than-dynamic duo's directing is muddled, with lumpy pacing, occasionally inaudible whispered words, and noisy transitions. Why Mailley and McGovern (the latter giving herself a rather unique "compilation" credit) felt they could direct this and simultaneously be in it is a mystery far beyond mortal comprehension.
In a rare moment of effectiveness, Frank Crim, carrying a red worklight, provides a lovely a cappella rendition of "Lost in the Stars." But the ill-considered lack of intensity among the cast in general clearly undermines this "gab-aret." Despite the overall concept having potential, Mailley and McGovern should consider at least part of Brecht's advice, per the piece "Everything Changes": "You can make a fresh start with your final breath."
"Exiles in Hollywood," presented by and at Theatre of NOTE, 1517 Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood. Aug. 15-Sept. 19. (213) 856-8611.
ACME SENSELESS
at the Acme Comedy Theatre
Reviewed by Zach Udko
Calling this latest offering from the Acme main company "senseless" is being kind. Indeed, this mess of a show seems to catch the eight talented players in a coma. Maybe there are a couple of giggles stuck in this two-hour waste of time, but it doesn't seem worth the effort to try and find them.
Take Carolyn Hennesy's "Crisis Connection": Two counselors in a rush are addressing a high school that has just been struck with the tragic deaths of several students, and in the process they kill each other. While timely events tend to make great sketch inspirations, taste and decorum should always be considered. Monica Lewinsky? Funny. Jonesboro, Arkansas? Not.
Other chronically unfunny bits include Jeff Lewis' "Doctor, Doctor," in which a dermatologist (Alex Alexander) confronts a man (Lewis) about excess masturbation, and Todd Rohrbacher's "All About Art," in which a public access talk show host with a strange accent enjoys rubbing works of art against his rear. Lewis' "Bored Room," about an over-simplified job made complicated, probably won't make you bust a gut, either.
Unfortunately, three out of four salvageable scenes appear in the first half of the show, making for a very tedious second act. Stefanƒ Zamorano and Alexander's "The Reception" cleverly depicts Cinderella's step-sisters at the big wedding, as they try to attract the eye of Prince Adequate. Alexander also shines in "Cable Is Dirty," in which a couple of prudes return a cable box because of its inappropriate content, and Zamorano scores as a mumbling elderly teacher about to retire in her loosely written "And Now Mrs. Gronnimeyer." Susie Geiser is also a riot in "Reba," with the country star singing her hits in German as part of her world tour.
But director M.D. Sweeney lets the material go on way too long, until any comic potential gets lost in repetition. Cute video interludes that are related to previous skits are nice additions to the show's format, but not enough of a distraction from the unacceptably bad writing. I know this group can fill a house with guffaws when it wants to--I've seen it happen before. My advice: Wait until it comes back to its senses before you run out and see its shtick.
"Acme Senseless," presented by and at the Acme Comedy Theatre, 135 N. La Brea Ave., Hollywood. July 25-Nov. 28. (213) 525-0202.