THE CIDER HOUSE RULES
at Mark Taper Forum
Reviewed by Scott Proudfit
Taking a page from Brecht, directors Tom Hulce and Jane Jones have brought to the stage a true rarity in contemporary theatre: the issue play. More rare than the issue play, Cider House Rules is an even-handed, thought-provoking issue play, thanks in large part to John Irving's rich source material. Through its distinct style and challenging substance, this six-hour opus examines the American spirit--a combination of individuality, kindness, and stubborness--and the way it has been both reflected and distorted by the divisive mirror of abortion-rights legislation. Because of its sheer scope and depth of human understanding, Cider House Rules is the kind of intelligent, enormous, magical event that can still only be found in the theatre.
At the center of this American Dickensian epic is the struggle between a father and (adopted) son: Dr. Wilbur Larch (Michael Winters) and Homer Wells (Josh Hamilton). As head of an orphanage in Maine at the turn of the century, Dr. Larch delivers orphans and performs abortions, in accordance with each woman's choice. Both of these tasks he sees as "the Lord's work." Despite his purportedly clear conscience, Larch is an ether addict and, in a way, an emotional cripple, dedicated to the greater good but unable to connect on a personal level--that is, until an un-adoptable orphan, Homer Wells, becomes his ward and his prodigy. Wells is a passive hero with an active conscience. When he comes of age, he challenges Larch by insisting that despite the years of medical knowledge the doctor has imparted to him and the sympathy he has with the women who choose to terminate their pregnancies, he will never perform an abortion.
In the second part of the play, Homer goes out into the world, at least as far as the coast, discovering unsanctioned love and other moral dilemmas. He ends up running an apple orchard for his friend's family, becoming involved with his friend's girlfriend, and facing the tough decisions involved in overseeing a group of migrant workers who live by their own rules. What ties this all together is the theme of law-making, on the political and the personal level--whether any law, even one we make only for ourselves, is truly applicable to human experience.
The style of the play is similar to a Brechtian alienation technique: It simultanously reveals character's thoughts and feelings, as well as the narrator's voice. For example, onstage Hamilton as Homer says things like, "I love her, Homer thought," or "I don't agree, Homer said." This "as-if-they're-reading-from-the-book" style works best when it allows the audience to be emotionally involved, while keeping us at a certain distance, so we don't lose track of the issues at hand--Brecht's idea in the first place.
A scene in the operating room during surgery in which Homer reveals that he can no longer assist Larch in performing abortions is particularly powerful--perhaps the most compelling depiction of the myriad moral and political issues involved in abortion ever put onstage (or anywhere else, for that matter). Later, Irving and the directors show their hand a bit too much, leading the audience in a definite direction, which countermines the discussion and the style but certainly doesn't negate the first four hours of this wonderful production.
John Arnone's simple wooden circle of a stage allows the enormous cast of characters room to flex their muscles and concentrates the material on the performers, who rise to the challenge. Performance highlights include Kevin Jackson's dangerous yet controlled foreman of the cider house, Jane Carr's charmingly sentimental Nurse Edna, Brenda Wehle's no-nonsense Nurse Angela, Patrick Wilson's troubled Young Larch and his All-American-boy Wally, and Myra Platt's bewitching and melancholy young girlfriend of Wally's--and Homer's beloved.
In the leads, Josh Hamilton and Michael Winters are outstanding. Hamilton underplays everything, which is exactly right for this character. We are immediately drawn to the young orphan, wanting to see more of what's going on in his head. Hamilton also has tremendous comic timing, and knows when to lighten his perpetually dark aspect. Winters is the play's hero, a great man with a great man's failings. His emotional outbursts are effective because Winters also knows to hold back during the majority of the play. We long to see him break through and connect with Homer as much as Larch, the character, longs for human connection.
The other powerhouse of this production, and a personal favorite, is Jillian Armenante as Melody, Homer's first companion and the only other orphan never to be adopted. Armenante's outrageously tough physical performance has to be seen to be believed. She tempers this tomboy aggression with a heartbreaking, lost-girl sensibility. In many ways, Melody's desperation and idealism are the emotional core of the piece.
Of course, Cider House is an ensemble piece if ever there was one, and all of the excellent players deserve mention: Tom Beyer, Janni Brenn, Rebecca Chace, Jeff Daurey, Danyon Davis, Joy Gregory, Edd Key, Casey Lluberes, Dougald Park, Liann Pattison, Mike Regan, Mark E. Smith, Jayne Taini, and Shane West.
While the second half of the play diffuses some of the energy of the piece by moving beyond the tight-knit "family" of the orphanage, Cider House Rules is the kind of production that tests the limits of the contemporary theatre and respects its audience. It's a rare treat for Angelenos, and food for thought for all Americans.
"The Cider House Rules," presented by Center Theatre Group/Mark Taper Forum at Mark Taper Forum, 135 N. Grand Ave., Los Angeles. June 14-Sept. 27. (213) 628-2772.
POLAROID STORIES
at Intersection for the Arts
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
Naomi Iizuka's Polaroid Stories receives a blistering, brave, funny, and intelligent West Coast premiere at Intersection for the Arts, thanks to resident company Campo Santo's tight ensemble and director Delia MacDougall's kinetic and inventive staging.
A sort of cross between Larry Clark's film Kids and Ovid's Metamorphoses, Iizuka's script is also inspired by Jim Goldberg's photo essay on homeless kids, "Raised by Wolves," which was exhibited at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 1997. I didn't see the exhibit, but Iizuka cleverly and effectively weaves elements of photography into the subtext of her dense, at times overwritten, but ultimately absorbing and accessible script.
Just as speed and light determine the outcome of a photograph, Iizuka's mythical street kids, wandering the contemporary underbelly of San Francisco, rely on moving fast and in the shadows for their survival. Like primitive tribes fearful of the camera, the characters in the play live in fear of anyone capturing their soul at rest, and so Iizuka's script is peppered with phrases like "What do you see when you're looking at me?" and "I see in the dark. I read your mind." If anyone comes too close, these angels of anomie resort to the dismissive antiphon, "Yeah, sure. Whatever."
Though Goldberg's photos never literally appear in the play, many of Iizuka's vignettes are set apart by blinding flashes of white light, like a flashbulb going off. Fortunately, MacDougall keeps the action flowing at all levels of Pierre Clavel and James Faerron's gritty and menacing set, so the stage pictures never lapse into clichƒd tableaus. (Clavel also designed the lighting.)
The characters, who all retain their mythical Greek names (Eurydice, Persephone, Orpheus, Narcissus, etc.), are archetypal. Yet with rare exception, MacDougall's ensemble doesn't fall into the trap of playing stereotypes. Indeed, the finest performances in the show are those that tap into the perpetual adolescent need for adventure and self-dramatization, as well as the suspicions of these bruised, abused, and neglected souls of anyone professing knowledge of their longings and fears.
Eurydice (Dana Benson) alternately teases, taunts, and abandons Orpheus (Hansford Prince), who pursues her with scary intensity. While I felt Benson's performance to be a bit forced, Prince's is a gem, given the multiple layers Iizuka's text imparts to Orpheus: part hilariously pathetic clown, part stalker, and part earnest, lovesick poet. Prince manages to hit all these levels with subtlety, charm, and chilling ferocity.
Margo Hall's world-weary Persephone is another marvel, especially thanks to Hall's throaty quaver (like a broken cello) as she shares stories of her damaged life. Sean San Josƒ's swaggering yet scared hustler Narcissus and his sidekick Echo (Andrea Cristina Thome) prove to be wonderful counterparts--the former fighting his fading beauty and dying dreams of glory while the latter finds safety in shadows, literally echoing everything the object of her unrequited love says.
This cast delivers what are undoubtedly the most inspired and impassioned performances I have seen so far this year. And whatever Iizuka occasionally sacrifices in terms of subtlety, she gains through uncompromising compassion for her characters.
"Polaroid Stories," presented by Campo Santo and Intersection for the Arts at Intersection for the Arts, 446 Valencia St., San Francisco. July 8-Aug 2. (415) 626-3311.
SHAME ON THE MOON
at the Los Angeles Theatre Center
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
Last Friday night, in what must surely have been an omen of good fortune, a beautiful full moon smiled over the Los Angeles Theatre Center. Inside, in the Center's intimate Theatre #4, small stars glimmered from the darkened ceiling and walls. Battered street signs sprouted from a tight cluster of trees and a vibrant folk-art animal mural enlivened the wall beneath the stairs. A cutout moon was clothes-pinned to an old-fashioned pulley washline and wheeled halfway across the stage until it settled next to a blue-gelled light.
Then, beneath the soft moonglow, five women and one man came on cheering, clapping, and stomping in wild rhythms. True, their licentious dance was part of the onstage action. But it was also a celebration--an exuberant expression of this special night. The Ivy Theatre Company, and its inaugural show, Shame on the Moon, were finally, proudly, out in the world and presenting themselves to the Los Angeles theatre community.
The Ivy, L.A.'s first-ever lesbian theatre company, is named for famed lesbian activist Ivy Bottini. And Alicia Madrid's mythical, magical Shame on the Moon, first developed in 1996 through the Lesbian Theatre Initiative Workshop at the Celebration Theatre, is receiving its world premiere at LATC as the company's first production.
Shame is set in a working-class Chicano neighborhood in Highland Park, and tells the story of Sheena (Maria Russell), a lesbian construction worker who has a hard time dealing with the bombshell her girlfriend Flaca (Dianna Miranda) drops in her lap: Flaca is pregnant. And Sheena is the father.
Sheena and Flaca have traveled many roads together since childhood, but Sheena cannot accept this miracle of la luna. Because she is unwilling to believe, she loses Flaca to Jr. (Jossara Jinaro), a hard-edged homie with a special touch for growing things and, more importantly, faith in the moon's powers. Jr. takes the apprehensive Flaca to a place where she experiences a scary--but magical--inward journey, a letting go of her remaining childishness so she can truly enter adulthood and become a woman and loving mother. Sheena, too, must face her own fears and do her own growing up before she and Flaca can come back together and decide to reconcile or not.
Hope Alexander-Willis directs with a sense of whimsy and utter respect for the tale being told. There are scenes that demand more stillness to let what's happening sink in (such as when Flaca gives Sheena the startling news), and to understand what's being said. Some of the dialogue gets easily lost between the thick accents and rapid delivery.
Madrid's script is light, loving, and funny, and uses Chicano/Latino mythology to set up the unlikely story and deal with its results. The cast--which also includes Maria Bojorquez, Diana Yanez, and Daniel Rey--is uniformly accomplished, though Miranda, Jinaro, and Rey are particular standouts. Choreographers Deborah Lawlor and Abigail Caro and scenic artist/set designer Gillian Morris also deserve special mention for their distinct, imaginative work.
"Shame on the Moon," presented by the Ivy Theatre at the Los Angeles Theatre Center, 514 S. Spring St., Los Angeles. July 10-August 15. (213) 485-1681.
CERVANTES' INTERLUDES
at Stage Theatre Center
Reviewed by Polly Warfield
French is spoken here--also Spanish, sometimes Italian, and of course English, more often than not accented. Which is why for a time this was known as Stages Trilingual Theatre, and why it is no surprise to find here a pervasive European sensibility well-tuned to these Interludes from Spain's Golden Age, translated and adapted by Frenchman Paul Verdier, and directed and co-adapted by Florinel Fatulescu, a leading director in his native Romania until he fled its repressive Cold War regime. Assorted European talents serve up a delicious Stages melange of flavors to rescue Cervantes' Interludes from undeserved oblivion.
Actors Alan Goodson and Paul Verdier are seen as shadowy silhouettes of Don Quixote and his squire Sancho Panza in a brief introduction to the two mini-carnivals of color and movement, comedy and fantasy, that follow. Kathi O'Donohue's creative lighting provides circling shadow-wings of the gentle knight's fabled windmill to remind us that his spirit is present.
In the first interlude, The Sentinel of Love, Parisian actor Jean-Louis Darville is a wondrously Hispanic Soldier from Spain's past glory. Though armored with breastplate and helmet, and an even more enveloping code of machismo and dignidad, he burns and trembles with ardor and jealousy as he stands guard at the window of his beloved Cristina. When he addresses her other suitor, the mild-mannered Sacristan (a boyish Josƒ Vidal), his lip curls with the ineffable scorn of a true hidalgo. As the coveted damsel Cristina, Nicole Burleson descends from her eyrie and proves (or pretends) to be so extremely shy she must seek sanctuary behind the substantial legs of her Master (father?), played by Steve Ruggles. Allowed to choose between her suitors, the ninny picks the Sacristan. When given a choice, the Soldier wails, "Women always choose the worst!" We dare not conjecture what will become of him, since he is so given to excess.
Darville is superb. Vidal proves to be a pretty cheeky little Sacristan, after all. In the person of Barcelona actress Anna Lluch, Cristina's mistress--mother, whatever--is a vivid flamenco dancer type wearing a very emphatic spit-curl. Josƒ A. Garcia is beguiling as various characters, one of them a puppy.
Verdier and the Fountain Theatre's Deborah Lawlor enact directors of The Theatre of Wonders in the interlude of that name--type-casting of a sort, since both are just that in real life. This fanciful piece concerns a performance at the home of the Alderman, played by Antonio Yepis--but Lawlor, temperamental diva that she is, insists they must first be paid. Always a problem. The show does go on, and among wonders offered by the Wonder Theatre is a corrida fought with an invisible bull, "rampant lions and man-eating bears" on the prowl, a pas de deux host Yepis dances with castanets, and an unseen Salome. Finally, Spanish pandemonium ends in stately song and dance by the entire company and somewhere along the way Cervantes (or perhaps his adapters) gets in a little dig at his rival, the renowned Lopƒ de Vega. Bernadette Colomine is a piquant, waif-like pixie as the Wonder Theatre's sound person. Josƒ A. Garcia's Mayor speaks with an endearing East Indian accent; we don't know why, but we're glad he does.
Other pleasures include O'Donohue's jewel-toned lighting, Ingrid Ferrin's vivid costumes, and certainly the original music of composer Rodica Fatulescu, enhancing her husband's daring directorial genius.
In a concluding commentary, spoken by Goodson, Don Quixote reminds us he is the only and ever Don, who wanders "like a ghost in the darkness of the abyss for I am not the one history is about." Alas, it is so.
"Cervantes' Interludes," presented by and at Stages Theatre Center, 1540 N. McCadden Pl., Hollywood. July 11-Aug. 16. (323) 465-1010.
VICTOR/VICTORIA
at the 5th Avenue Theatre
Reviewed by
David-Edward Hughes
Can one be entertained by the stage version of Victor/Victoria without the formidable and commanding stage presence of Julie Andrews? The answer from this corner is an unqualified yes.
While the piece itself is an uneasy expansion of a film comedy with musical interludes into a full-fledged book musical, this production, featuring an exemplary set of leads culled from the original Broadway cast, is lavish, old-fashioned fun, and actually improves on the Broadway version in several ways.
It appears now as a true ensemble show, with all its members doing top-notch work, telling the farcical tale of down-and-out light opera singer Victoria Grant, who falls under the loving wing of gay showman Carroll Todd and is soon being toasted as a premiere Polish count-turned-female-impersonator named Victor. He/she is soon pursued by dashing American gangster King Marchand, much to the consternation of his previous bimbo girlfriend Norma, who betrays his alleged homosexual affair to his Chicago cronies, and sets up the happily-ever-after ending. The only substantial changes in the Blake Edwards script from screen to stage were to allow for inclusion of new songs by composers Henry Mancini and Frank Wildhorn (who stepped in after Mancini's death) and lyricist Leslie Bricusse.
After many opportunities to go on for the increasingly vocally distressed Andrews during the Broadway run as her understudy, Anne Runolfsson is utterly confident and charming in the title role. Her wide-ranging vocal skills alow her to point up the strengths of the new "Almost a Love Song" by Mancini and Bricusse, and especially "Living in the Shadows" by Wildhorn and Bricusse, which wins her sustained applause. The necessary chemistry between Victoria and Toddy is onstage in abundance, with Tony Roberts happily returned to the role and even more at ease in it than he was on Broadway, especially during their charming "You & Me" number. Michael Nouri has also grown more dapper as Marchand, and makes the most out of the rather lame solo "King's Dilemma," as well as of his duet with Runolfsson, whom he connects with most convincingly.
Though these are the actors who carry the story, the laughs in V/V are sustained by Tara O'Brien as Norma and Jody Ashworth as closeted bodyguard Squash. O'Brien does something altogether original and hugely comic with her portrayal of this ditzy dame rather than copy Leslie Ann Warren's film performance (and she is happily shorn of the New York version's "Paris Makes Me Horny," one of the worst songs in any recent musical). Ashworth is a lovable lug indeed as Nouri's right-hand man, who ends up as Roberts' bashful beau. The leads are supported admirably by Steve Routman's conniving Labisse, John-Charles Kelly's suave Cassell, and Noelle Player's delicate rendition of "Paris by Night" as a street singer.
Mark S. Hoebee's direction and Dan Mojica's choreography seem firmly based on the original. The original Robin Wagner set design and Willa Kim costumes are as eye-catching as ever, and the lighting by Diane Ferry Williams is also a fine achievement. My wish is for Julie Andrews to recover fully and dazzle her fans anew, and for someone (listening, Mr. Sondheim?) to give Runolfsson a dandy Broadway smash to call her own.
"Victor/Victoria," at the 5th Avenue Theatre, 1326 5th Ave., Seattle. July 7-26. (206) 292-2787.
THE CAPTAIN'S TIGER
at the Mandell Weiss Theater
Reviewed by Charlene Baldridge
Athol Fugard's new three-character play, The Captain's Tiger: A Memoir for the Stage, in its West Coast premiere at La Jolla Playhouse, is just that--a memoir. As with most memoirs, it helps when a famous person is telling it; otherwise the work usually fails to see the light of day (or stage) because of its intensely personal nature. We are interested in the forces that forged the sensibilities of the young Fugard, and we expect, and get, poetry; still, one wishes it were more a play and less a rumination.
The play, which received its U.S. premiere earlier this year at McCarter Theatre following its debut in South Africa, functions as several things: as an instructional guide to aspiring writers, as an homage to Fugard's mother, Elizabeth, and as an apology to the youthful author's friend, whom he uses, then sadly disappoints.
The acting is superb, and so is the poetry. Fugard plays his 21-year-old self, a would-be novelist. Felicity Jones captures the wraithlike but feisty character of Betty LaRue, a fictional representation of Fugard's mother, come to life from the woman's maidenly portrait. The writer aspires to give his mother the life she deserves, if only on the page, but finds it more difficult than expected. Immense and powerful, Tony Todd convincingly plays an illiterate Kenyan boilertender (Donkeyman) and nightly "audience" aboard the SS Graigaur, a steamer bound for the Far East.
The production, co-directed and designed by Susan Hilferty, evokes time and place beautifully. The storytelling is so luminous and vivid, I came away believing I had experienced other characters, particularly the Japanese prostitute who first teaches the author how to touch another human being. Fugard's magic, this fragile work's reward, lies in the mind and his use of language. The 105-minute piece is performed without an interval.
"The Captain's Tiger: A Memoir for the Stage," presented by the La Jolla Playhouse at the Mandell Weiss Theatrer, UCSD Campus, La Jolla. July 12-Aug. 9. (619) 550-1010.
RED HAT AND TALES
at Playwrights' Arena
Reviewed by Madeleine Shaner
In Nick Salamone's new play, Paul (Salamone), a bisexual Peter Pan suffering post-natal depression some 30 years after his birth, lives in a closet and writes postcards, which he never sends, to his brothers and his ex-lover, who departed seven years earlier. His wife, Sheila (Elizabeth O'Connell, in the performance I saw), a Canadian ex-stripper who married him for a Green Card, is in aggressive love-and-hate with him as she suffers his mental meanderings, alternately stoking and squelching the wretched embers of his disordered brain. The two feed on each other lasciviously, playing the games of childhood as a kind of testimony to what they've lost to the trauma of living in a one-size-fits-all world that doesn't include them.
Sheila longs for live communication with Paul, not just the postscripts on a postcard; Paul wishes she would get rid of the ugly red hat, the color of Ragu spaghetti sauce, that she wears constantly, even in bed. Their traumas collide in flashes of black-light puppetry, which releases them for an unfettered moment from an eroded reality that is beyond unbearable.
Salamone's writing is unique and intensely personal; his Paul seems to have turned his brain inside out and is systematically spewing its contents in a logorrheic epic of catered despair. Getting into his stream of consciousness is essential to the enjoyment of Red Hat and Tales, but that isn't hard, given the actor/writer's direct identification with the material. Sheila's character is maybe as complex, but is grounded more firmly in a strictly female view of reality that can nurture the lost boy while hoping to find the man in her partner. O'Connell handily manages the fine balance between jogging to Paul's tune and leading the dance.
Director Jon Lawrence Rivera has had a lot of fun, evidenced in the brilliantly fast and funny light he has cast on this bizarre mating of commedia absurdity and pop realism, not to mention two bizarre mates. John H. Binkley's amusing set design of a huge, lace-covered mule, shoe-polish tin, and Neiman Marcus bag happily provides the overwhelming closet setting, suitably lit by Gerry Gregory Linsangan. Bill LaFleur's original guitar music and performance integrate well in the charming whole.
"Red Hat and Tales," presented by and at Playwrights' Arena, 5262 W. Pico Blvd., Los Angeles. July 3-Aug. 1. (323) 960-7756.
JULIUS CAESAR
at City Hall
Reviewed by Wenzel Jones
Shakespeare Festival L.A. may have come up with one of its more inspired cojoinings of text and environment with this visually stunning exploration of the celebrity politician. Sitting at the base of the City Hall steps staring up at the colonnade with the main building towering above, one can't help but feel like a wee citizen of an empire (or an extra in Superman).
Karen TenEyck has seamlessly added a flat performance area to the top of the steps and done the rest of her magic with set pieces and an upstage screen upon which the image of Caesar is projected in various permutations. Draping the streetlights in purple is an especially nice touch. There are even times when Downtown's ambient air traffic works with the piece (and, of course, many times it doesn't). Bob Howell's lighting does an excellent job of breaking the vast space into workable acting areas, as well as setting a variety of moods. His portentous thunderstorm momentarily makes you think: Damn, and me here with no umbrella. Beth Clancy shows an enviable eye for detail with the costumes, drawn from quite a few decades in the 20th century; again, the judicious use of royal purple ties them together thematically. She has even gone so far as to design a logo for the conspirators and put it on patches to adorn their red-on-red camouflage uniforms.
Dakin Mathews is masterful in the title role, arriving by limo with the Ivana-esque Calpurnia (Alicia Wollerton) and grandly autographing the Soothsayer's warning as it's handed to him on a flyer and passing it back. Alas, as Caesar is drained of life, so too is the play. Antony's (Tom Schanley) big speech, apart from not being terribly textured, is undercut by the citizens scattered through the audience, who exemplify the best of the must-read Michael Green tome, The Art of Coarse Acting. The evening devolves into yelling (oh, those Shakespearean battle scenes) enlivened only by the return of Caesar's ghost. Matthews just standing onstage silently is somehow infinitely more interesting than what's going on in front of him.
Andrew Tsao has trimmed this to a streamlined, intermission-free 105 minutes and, save for the odd decision to recycle Wollerton as the young male character Octavius when the stage is positively littered with actual young men, his hand is true and steady.
"Julius Caesar," presented by Shakespeare Festival L.A. at City Hall, 200 N. Spring St., July 11-19, (213) 489-4127; at L.A. City College, 855 N. Vermont, L.A., July 21, (323) 953-4336, and at South Coast Botanic Gardens, 26300 Crenshaw Blvd., Palos Verdes, July 23-Aug. 2, (310) 377-4316.
A DRIFT THROUGH TENNESSEE
at Golden Mean Theatre Company
Reviewed by Ken Pfeil
On first impression, the stage set for these Tennessee Williams-inspired adaptations--In Memory of an Aristocrat (adapted and directed by Shawn Tolleson) and Desire and the Black Masseur (adapted and directed by John Patrick Langs), respectively--seems claustrophobic, stopping about a foot shy of the low-placed seats. What appears as a close-quartered environment, however, proves an effective device for choreographing the action around the audience, so much so that one can imagine sitting from a peripheral vantage on a city street and watching these Southern urban tales candidly unfold.
Coupled with characters portrayed through subtle strippings-away of conventions and etiquette appropriated for their particular situations, A Drift Through Tennessee is a technically and thematically innovative view of commentaries on art, gentrification, and personal penance.
Both stories are narrated by Tom (Paul Gutrecht), a Southern writer who introduces himself as a constant recorder of life's evanescence and an objective participant in bohemian and often perverse New Orleans life. In Memory of an Aristocrat is Tom's account of himself, his rapscallion ally, Carl (Matt Scharf), and Irene (Klea Scott), a prostitute whose paintings are as profound as she is beautiful. Unfortunately for her, the livelihood which gains her notoriety ultimately keeps the eyes of a stodgy art elite blind to her talent.
In Desire and the Black Masseur, Tom is more removed from the action as he tells of Anthony Burns (Douglas Sutherland), a pained, fearful, and insular white-collar worker who forges a bond of erotic atonement with Jakob (Julian Starks), a powerful black masseur beaten and suppressed into the employ of sultry, subterranean bathhouses because of his color.
As Tom is the physical thread interweaving both tales, their address of submission to icons and their artifice is the contextual commonality. Fluid transitional elements and resurfacing symbolic motifs strengthen the cohesion of the two stories and increase the communication of unfathomable burdens assumed by the despondent and self-flagellating characters.
"A Drift Through Tennessee," presented by and at Golden Mean Theatre Company, 1714 19th St., Santa Monica. July 10-25. (310) 451-8996.
HALFWAY THERE
at the Hollywood Court Theater
Reviewed by Richard Scaffidi
It takes guts, friends, and talent (probably in that order) to successfully stage a new play in this town. That blend definitely applies to the Elephant Off Main Theatre Company, which has mounted an audacious, harmonious, and often skillful production of Halfway There, written by Michael Vaez with director Christopher Game.
It is the 11th original script for this group, whose core members came out of the theatre program at California State University, Long Beach. Key here is that the show was largely created by and for the company. Its premiere neatly accommodates this, as the play throws together 18 disparate characters who live in and around a Minnesota halfway house for substance abusers.
Particularly impressive about Halfway There is that each of these 18 roles is distinctive and memorable. It's true for the ensemble of principals who live in the house--notably playwright Vaez as an outwardly abrasive but essentially good-hearted long-term resident and Anthony Roman as an anxious, romantically inclined newcomer--as well as for peripheral characters like Curtis Brooks as a colorful, jive-talking neighborhood bookie. Yet it's also true for vivid one-scene portrayals, such as those tendered by Darryl Armbruster as a boorish drunk who gets caught in the house with his pants down, and David Fofi as another, even more unwelcome visitor.
Each of the latter two characters is hot after one of the house's newcomers, a somber and enigmatic young woman played by Donna Marie Miller in the show's most subtly compelling performance. Miller is natural and fascinating throughout. Most of the other roles are more strident, eccentric, or even a touch clichƒd. Still, a few of them are artfully drawn: That certainly includes Bill Stoddard as the deliciously wry, effeminate William, and Terrence M. Flack as the hotshot house alumnus visiting from California. The most original character, pulled off wonderfully by Pat McLoy, is a peculiar but wholly endearing resident who thinks he's Charlie Brown.
Undeniably, the whole concept of Halfway There has the air of an exercise to concoct an ensemble showcase more than a particularly provocative or unified thematic piece. Nonetheless, director Game and this spirited company make it work, at least as a potpourri of enjoyable and mostly fresh characterization.
"Halfway There," presented by Elephant Off Main Theatre Company at the Hollywood Court Theater, 6817 Franklin Ave., Hollywood. June 19-July 26. (323) 939-9220.
FOOL FOR LOVE
at the Ensemble Theatre
Reviewed by Kristina Mannion
Mapped out like a brief but explosive roller coaster ride, Sam Shepard's Fool for Love is an intense exploration of extreme passion, the unrelenting grip of a ruined past, and the emotional destruction that can result when those two elements collide. Mixing blunt realism with a surreal representation of the characters' shared history, this drama offers a dark glimpse at the stormy relationship between Eddie and May, two ill-matched lovers and half-siblings, destined for a life of heartache due to their father's indiscretion as well as their own.
Compact and aggressively direct--this Ensemble Theatre production clocks in at about 55 minutes--Shepard's play does not dwell on romance and tenderness. Instead, using a tightly wound blend of spare language and sudden bursts of violence, Shepard weaves an atypical and disturbing love story, one that vividly points up man's tenuous hold on morality in the face of forbidden desire.
In this staging, director Roosevelt Blankenship Jr. (who also created the spartan set, lighting, and sound design) and his cast ably capture the despair of Shepard's stark script. Despite trouble with a few uncooperative props and some bumpy scene transitions, this production skillfully walks the play's fine line between the uneasy, tense edginess displayed by the characters and the touching desperation of their situation, which comes to light throughout the course of a turbulent reunion in a rundown motel room. There, alternately goaded and importuned by the surreal presence of the Old Man, whom we learn is May and Eddie's father, the two lovers verbally and physically bully and beseech each other until, exhausted, they part ways once again.
Vern Urich and Terri Smith make a good team as the volatile, lovesick couple. Urich plays Eddie with a combination of barely restrained menace and vulnerability that makes us feel sorry for him, despite an intimidating demeanor that deteriorates as he descends into a state of agitated drunkenness. Smith's May is equally combative. She gives as good as she gets, sometimes besting Eddie with her defiance, and sometimes wilting under his heavy-handed attempts to charm her back into his life. Bringing these characters' past into focus is James Dolan, who portrays the Old Man with perhaps a bit less vigor than this role deserves. As he reveals the painful truths of Eddie and May's parentage to the audience, he does less to engender sympathy than do Urich and Smith in their portrayals.
Rounding out the cast is Ian Downs as Martin, the luckless young man who arrives for a date with May, and ends up entangled in her struggle with Eddie. Though his part is smaller and less intense than the others, Downs is nevertheless a compelling presence due to his soft-spoken and soft-hearted manner, which serves as an effective contrast to the brashness of the other characters.
Because the simplicity and the boldness of Shepard's language play such an important part in this drama, it's unfortunate that some distractions crop up in this production--most notably in the form of some uneven light cues and a wobbly table that threatens to collapse at any time. These minor diversions, however, do not take away from the overall skill of the cast and the ultimate impact of this anti-love story.
"Fool for Love," produced by Eastern Boys Productions and R.A. Blankenship Jr. at the Ensemble Theatre, 844 E. Lincoln Ave., Orange. July 10-Aug. 1. (949) 559-4879.
AS YOU LIKE IT
at the Lowell Davies Festival Theatre
Reviewed by George Weinberg-Harter
When Shakespeare has Jacques repeatedly styled as "melancholy Jacques," the playwright might have meant by it what we would call "manic-depressive." And director Stephen Wadsworth seems to take the term as a concept to frame this As You Like It, for the production is staged in a most bipolar mood. Just as Jacques (played as more peevish than profound by Ivar Brogger) himself is happiest when he is sad, so Wadsworth appears most pleased to emphasize, or bring into starker contrast, the bleaker aspects of this pastoral comedy.
Rosalind (in Francesca Faridany's spirited and a bit haughty portrayal) and Celia (Margaret Welsh) are here less a pair of larky, footloose chums than orphans of the storm as they flee the psychotically suspicious Duke Frederick (James Carpenter, whose harsh character is allowed here a softer reprise in the person of Hymen). References to the "winter wind" and "man's ingratitude" are not merely song lyrics, but part of the cold undercurrent which tempers the customary sunny disposition of the play. This cooler mood is achieved by formalized blocking that has the players often speaking past each other and performing such abstract tricks as walking in ring-around-the-rosies (somewhat overdone) and by delivering speeches in straight-through bursts, and it's sustained by a repeated connecting passage of grave Renaissance dance music (part of Jeff Ladman's sound design).
Indeed, there is much of the operatic style in this formality (and more of baroque opera than grand), so that one is not surprised to learn that Wadsworth is also a regular directorial presence in the world's opera houses. The play's songs are provided with muscular tunes by Larry Delinger, and are sung a cappella in the clear, straightforward voices of Chris Pedro Trakas (as Amiens) and Heather Raffo (as Audrey). Moreover, even some of the spoken passages are staged as if the director wished they were sung, as when Rosalind, Orlando (Jared Reed), Silvius (Christopher Liam Moore), and Phebe (Leslie Kalarchian) line up in a row for the "And I for " scene (indeed very like a concerted passage), seeming as though they might break into "Bella figlia dell'amore" instead.
After the midpoint intermission, the show's tone brightens considerably, though it never achieves anything close to the hothouse hilarity it is popular to impose on Shakespearean comedy nowadays. Richard Easton as a philosophically bucolic Corin (and earlier as a punctilious Le Beau), Jack Banning as the old retainer Adam, and even Laurence O'Dwyer as a smug and roly-poly Touchstone all portion out the comedy's humor with easygoing restraint. But there is a tendency among certain players to rush through some of the jokes (especially Shakespeare's bawdier ones) too swiftly for reaction. And as funny as anything actually in the outdoor production were some impromptu outbursts by a garrulous sea lion overheard from the adjoining San Diego Zoo.
Purposefully sober are James Patrick Stuart as Orlando's spiteful brother Oliver, as well as J. Michael Flynn as a gracious Duke Senior. Thomas Lynch's scenic design blends seamlessly into the park surroundings, and Anna Oliver's costumes are sumptuous in the late Elizabethan style, with Rosalind, in a farthingale and her red hair done up, even resembling a young Queen Elizabeth.
"As You Like It," presented by the Old Globe Theatre at the Lowell Davies Festival Stage, Balboa Park, San Diego. July 11-Aug. 15. (619) 239-2255.
MAYHEM AT MAYFIELD MALL
the Donald M. Jones Memorial Drive-In Playhouse
Reviewed by Anne Louise Bannon
Maybe it was the cannabis wafting over from the other car, but I kind of liked the Wolfskill Theatre's nutty little spoof of B-movies and drive-in theatres.
The production is high-concept with a hey nonny: You literally drive into the "house," a small parking lot wedged between industrial buildings with a raked stage at the end, and view the play from your car. Joel Bloom's play, unfortunately, isn't that good; little things get lost in the concept--like, say, a plot. But the whole set-up, including the play, is so wacky you almost don't mind.
The story, as in most B monster movies, is indeed minimal. The evil developer J.C. Bullock (Michael Caldwell) has erected a mega-mall right over a toxic waste dump. The dump, however, has spawned Tommy the Toxic Waste Monster (masterfully manipulated by Damien Repasi and C.J. Mills), which happily devours any luckless shopper who comes its way. Intrepid reporter Melissa Mann (Tamar Fortgang) is out to expose Bullock, but gets sidetracked by the man she loves, absent-minded science teacher B.B. Wingate (Steve Andrews). The first act, which covers the first few devourings as everyone realizes something nasty is afoot, could use some serious trimming. The set-up is far too time-consuming and occasionally repetitive. Wingate's little gas-mask invention is pointed up at least three times. We only need to hear about it once.
Nonetheless, the performances, done in campy old-tyme mellerdramer style, are quite fun, especially Fortgang, who should be studied as an example of what commitment to a role means. Similarly, Rob Farrior and Jeremy Green, as yuppie shopping hounds getting more and more aroused with each ridiculous purchase, make ludicrous roles worth watching. It looks easy, but it is no mean trick to pull off this kind of silly, bad-acting type of performance. The directors are Michael Shamus Wiles and Karen Maria Schleifer.
Kudos in particular belong to sound engineer Lee Popa for making the actors audible inside the cars. Rick Hudson's neon set works well, but the real star, as in the real B-movies, is Repasi's huge puppet monster.
The idea behind drive-in drama, we're told, is to replicate the whole "drive-in experience." Unfortunately, I had to review the show, so my husband and I couldn't. But drive-in drama is worth doing at least once in your lifetime, and if you have a designated driver, a pitcher of margaritas is highly recommended.
"Mayhem at Mayfield Mall," presented by Wolfskill Theatre at the Donald M. Jones Memorial Drive-In Playhouse, 615 Imperial St., Los Angeles, July 11-Aug. 2. (213) 613-0986.
THE KING AND I
at the Marian Theatre
Reviewed by D.L. King
Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts (PCPA) guest director John Loschmann should be commended for digging below the surface theme of "East meets West" in this beautiful production of the well-loved Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II extravaganza. For, as Loschmann (a former conservatory executive director for A.C.T. in San Francisco) and crew so aptly demonstrate, the story defends Western ideals of sentimental love vs. possession and domination of woman by man, while capturing the complicated friendship and passion between two very different, very strong-willed people.
Though the play was originally conceived about Anna Leonowens and designed for star Gertrude Lawrence, Yul Brynner's definitive stamp on the role of the King long ago changed the focus of the play from Anna to the monarch. And Dom Magwili, familiar to Los Angeles theatregoers for his work with the East West Players and other companies, is absolutely spell-binding in his interpretation. Though his singing tends to bottom out a bit in the lower registers, in every way Magwili is regally commanding: By just marching onstage, he fills the theatre with an electrifying presence.
The other "star" of the PCPA revival has to be the majestic scenic design by R. Eric Stone. Just when we think that he can't top himself (i.e., the awe-inspiring beauty of his stained-glass set for last winter's The Sound of Music, or his haunting cathedral for The Hunchback of Notre Dame), he blows us away with an absolutely breathtaking palace. My telling you how amazing this set is will in no way spoil the surprise when the fully blown sail-and-mast on the deck of the Chow Phya comes down to reveal the splendid gold-leafed backdrop and stage.
Though the opening scene ("I Whistle a Happy Tune") is not as touching or musically "pretty" as might be anticipated, and some of the musical design by Kevin Robison seems to pit the vocalist against his instrumental accompaniment (Magwili's valiant effort in "A Puzzlement" is the strongest case in point), the rest of the play measures up to the vision set by Loschman and Stone. Heidi Ewart as Anna is properly, primly British, and brings a strong voice and demeanor to her portrayal of Anna.
Another decisive, all-important element to the success of this production is its extraordinary supporting cast: Michael Tremblay's forbidding Kralahome makes the audience just a little uneasy with his sharp delivery, and another Tremblay, Julie, promotes a new-found respect for the role of the long-suffering Lady Thiang with her singular singing. Jacqueline Maraya's lovely voice suits her equally lovely acting as Tuptim, while Timothy James Karasawa delights as Prince Chulalongkorn readies to fill his father's royal shoes.
"The King and I," presented by the the Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts at the Marian Theatre, Allan Hancock College Campus, 800 S. College Dr., Santa Maria. July 10-25. Continues at the Festival Theatre, 420 2nd St., Solvang. July 30-Aug. 15. (805) 922-8313.
SYLVIA
at the Ricketson Theatre
Reviewed by Dianne Zuckerman
If a dog is a man's best friend, what happens when an unfulfilled, middle-aged male meets a feisty, cute-faced mutt with a female moniker? Or as one savvy character sums it up, "Give a dog a woman's name, and you treat her like a woman."
A lost pooch found in New York's Central Park becomes a clever device to reflect human relationships in Sylvia, A.R. Gurney's comedic triangle about a man, his mate, and her youthful canine rival. The Denver Center Theatre Company's regional premiere, directed by Randal Myler, has bigger laughs than the New York production I saw. But the DCTC's version has a tendency to milk some scenes, periodically slowing the pace of this light, smart look at contemporary life.
Enhanced by Bill Curley's attractive urban setting, Sylvia starts with a bound, as the eponymous pooch bursts into her new digs accompanied by her new master, Greg. Trouble starts with the arrival of Kate, Greg's schoolteacher wife, whose challenging, empty-nest career doesn't include time for a rambunctious pet. The trio's convoluted relationship is perfectly captured in a humorous, sweetly sung musical interlude.
A bustle of high-strung energy, Stephanie Cozart's Sylvia is a coy charmer whether shivering with leg-trembling apprehension or strutting seductively in pursuit of uninhibited doggy diversions. Robert Westenberg's uptight Greg is appealing and effective, but his deliberately drawn-out syllable patterns, funny at first, lose their punch with repetition.
Annette Helde (beautifully costumed by David Kay Mickelsen) gives a layered, sympathetic portrayal as Kate, a role that could get lost in the shuffle. As Sylvia takes potshots at our penchant for over-analysis, self-help books, and the like, the show's most hilarious moments are provided by Jamie Horton, a hoot as a macho dog owner, a bizarre, androgynous therapist, and especially as Kate's malapropism-prone female college chum.
"Sylvia," presented by the Denver Center Attractions` at the Ricketson Theatre, Helen Bonfils Theatre Complex, 14th and Curtis Streets, Denver. June 25-Sept. 12. (800) 641-1222.
THORN AND BLOOM
at the Court Theater
Reviewed by Scott Proudfit
There's nothing wrong with mixing comedy and drama. In fact, a number of great plays--the majority of Shakespeare's, most notably--do just that. What no one likes to see, though, is something like "A Very Special Episode of Family Matters." Urkel may have big, emotional issues in his life, but few care to see him tackle them on primetime. The wacky sitcom format does not comfortably support a dramatic turnaround in tone and style. Tears and "messages" come across as forced and shallow.
Michael Patrick King's two one-acts Thorn and Bloom suffer from this kind of over-reaching. Thorn has a very funny set-up, in the tradition of David Ives: An L.A. screenwriter is meeting Jesus for lunch to confess that he's gay. The material is sharply satirical and strictly for laughs as the harried writer contends with a neglectful waitress (Amy Aquino) and a loud-mouthed agent (Allan Wasserman) before confronting J.C. Though it doesn't have a strong arc, a clear build of comic emotional intensity, there are enough big laughs parceled out to keep the audience's attention. Unfortunately, the end of Thorn attempts to deal with Jesus and the writer as real people. With a melodramatic monologue that seems torn from the pages of another play, King tries to find the play's peak in an incompatible style. Rather than involving us more deeply, which is no doubt the intention, the play alienates us with this unsupported outpouring of genuine emotion.
Bloom is even less successful, simply because the material is more slight. Joanna Gleason as No. 7 leads a seminar in Heaven, preparing new souls for their trip to earth and the drawbacks of the physical world. The laughs aren't as big here, which makes us less forgiving when the material again turns "serious" and we're supposed to get teary over the guide's true appreciation for our world. King as director doesn't help much by not fully exploring Gleason's physical awkwardness with her "new body."
The true disappointment of these plays is that the acting is first-rate. We wish the material were stronger, because the performers are up to the challenge. Wasserman, with his flashy, neurotic archetype of Hollywood agents and his mantra of "Jew boy," is delightfully scary. Aquino as the brutally frank waitress milks laughs like a pro out of a stereotypical role. Donald Berman as the panicked writer is right on in his combination of indignation and shame, in a career which, in Hollywood, warrants both.
Chris Sarandon is a charming Jesus: Serene but never stoic, his matter-of-fact delivery and laidback attitude give the evening its funniest moments. Even Gleason, though weighed down by a schizophrenic characterization, is nevertheless radiant at times, and truly funny when she gets the rare chance.
"Thorn and Bloom," presented by arcade at the Court Theater, 722 N. La Cienega Blvd., W. Hollywood. July 9-Aug. 16. (323) 660-8587.
FIDDLER ON THE ROOF
at the La Mirada Theatre for the Performing Arts
Reviewed by Les Spindle
Fiddler on the Roof (vintage 1964), based on the Russian folk fables of Sholem Aleichem, is among the most durable of Broadway musicals, by virtue of Aleichem's flavorful ethnic humor, the vibrant score by Jerry Bock (music) and Sheldon Harnick (lyrics), and Joseph Stein's literate book, with its heartrending depiction of universally relevant themes. The hardboiled film critic Pauline Kael aptly spoke of this musical's "operatic power." Musical Theatre West's moderately enjoyable revival of Fiddler is colorfully etched in larger-than-life operatic strokes but skims over the passion in this bittersweet musical allegory.
Fiddler's narrative and songs have mythic resonance. In 1905 Czarist Russia, the beleagured Jewish peasant Tevye struggles to cope with poverty, a bigoted and oppressive government, and the defiance of his three eldest daughters, who all dare to violate sacred cultural traditions in their pending marital plans. As a symbolic Everyman, Tevye struggles with the challenges of a changing world, while the omnipresent fiddler lingers in the background--a spiritual reassurance to Tevye that his cultural heritage will endure.
Director Bill Shaw deftly stages the broad comic bits and big production numbers, but his superficial interpretation lacks dramatic nuance. The trigger-happy first act curtain, for example, shortchanges Tevye's poignant gesture of futile bewilderment toward the heavens. Other opportunities for compelling dramatic crescendos seem similarly rushed, such as the potentially emotional moment when Tevye mumbles a few words to let his previously disowned daughter Chava know that all is well. Shaw needs to sharpen such moments. This is, after all, a seriocomic musical play, not a cotton-candy extravaganza.
Heading a generally solid cast, Gary Gordon is appealing and funny as the befuddled milkman Tevye, but plays the role a bit too softly. Tevye is a grizzly bear whose bark is worse than his bite, but Gordon's Tevye displays little bark and even less bite, which robs several scenes of their punch. Marcie Lynn Ross is credibly domineering as Tevye's wife Golde, while Lyndie Renee, Jeanne Castagnaro, and Jill Lewis all have effective moments as the betrothed daughters. Likewise, the sisters' fiancƒs are skillfully portrayed by Daniel Thomas, Tyler Walz, and Ryan Black. But there's more Rosie O'Donnell stridency than Molly Goldberg eccentricity in Laura Ware's take on the Yiddish matchmaker Yente. Notable character work in supporting roles comes from Hank Wilson, Billy Beadle, and Josie Daper.
The rented storybook sets and period costumes are serviceable. Jacqueline Jones Watson's versatile lighting effects are impressive, especially in the dazzling dream sequence. Lee Martino zestfully mimics Jerome Robbins' wonderful original choreography, vocalizations are mostly strong, and musical director Stephen Gothold provides rousing orchestrations. Expect this show to set your toes to tapping, but you won't get much exercise for your tear ducts.
"Fiddler on the Roof," presented by Musical Theatre West at the La Mirada Theatre for the Performing Arts, 14900 La Mirada Blvd., La Mirada. July 10-26. (714) 521-4849.
AND THE WORLD GOES 'ROUND
at the Actors Alley at the El Portal
Reviewed by Michael Jordan
Among the hit musicals in Kander and Ebb's body of work are Chicago, Cabaret, and New York, New York. While they're still producing new shows, this show commemorates many of their historic and intelligent songs exploring the human experience. Musical revues tend to focus not only on the pithy, funny material, but on the abilities of the cast. Unfortunately, inconsistent and sloppy performances render this Actors Alley effort subpar. Still, the actors perform with so much energy that one hardly minds the variety of technical faults.
David Mingrino's choreographic direction has mixed results. Cramming 10 people onto a tiny stage, the company numbers crowd shoulder to shoulder. But he cleverly lifts Bob Fosse's celebrated "Steam Heat" hat tricks, placing them in "All That Jazz," effectively representing the legendary choreographer's contribution to Kander and Ebb's success. Debbie Sherman's musical direction faces difficult odds: With a chorus short on men, imbalanced harmonies and complex jazz arrangements falter in ragged tuning.
While no Liza Minnelli on the title song, Marcia Rodd and super-alto Nora Linden fare best in the cast, flexing a healthy helping of style, but both singers have weak spots in their ranges. Jonathan Mallen and Lori Allen Thomas show theatrical magnetism and good dance moves, but his voice quavers and hers flings wildly out of key. Conversely, Carol Keis and Alan Altshuld both have comfortable stage presences and skill with comedy but want charisma.
Despite her enchantingly special soprano quality in "My Coloring Book," Barbara Haber looks stiff on the boards. Strong character actor Joe Garcia reaches painfully for high notes, and Karen Reed's pleasant talent disappears behind her colorless expression. Underused, Bobbi Stamm efficiently completes the backup of several numbers but gets no real chance to shine in the cluttered, noisy staging of "Ring Them Bells."
Richard Scully's clean set fails to address the problematically congested stage, and Peter Strauss' obvious lighting design occasionally detracts from the actors' storytelling. Costumer Diane Ross religiously maintains a strict color code, which neatly helps the audience relate to the performers.
"And the World Goes 'Round," presented by and at Actors Alley at the El Portal, 5269 Lankershim Blvd., N. Hollywood. July 10-Sept. 6. (818) 508-4200.
CRIME SCENE
at the Heliotrope Theatre
Reviewed by Brad Schreiber
Crime Scene is an ongoing serial of three different storylines each week, with three different writers and directors frenetically putting up each show. While acknowledging the size of the, ah, undertaking, sitting through it can be murder.
Slasky and Wolf, written by Howard Rabinowitz and directed by co-producer Scott Rabinowitz, works best, as the calisthenic, masked El Gatto (Rob Crites) plans to teach Little Davey (Paul Plunkett) his "gift," which may have something to do with the crime wave in Hollywood, a collection of cats, or the dark art of making balloon animals. This should have been the entire late-night offering, pared down to an hour or less.
Speaking of less, this section is interspersed with Toasted Cavendish, written by David Rosenthal and directed by David Moore. Here, a detective and a shrink, the latter with a pathetic attempt at a Teutonic accent, have both slept with slinky Selma (Tiffany Puhy), whose projection is so weak we wonder what she's saying half the time. There's a nominal forensic link to the titular type of tobacco showing up in a cadaver, but, save for the perversely amusing idea of a doctor who gets stiff over stiffs, there's little here to dig into.
The third storyline is Kidnapped, written by Todd Alcott and directed by Tina Kronis. Tonally out of synch with the rest of the show, this is supposedly a hard-hitting, nail-biting resolution to a hostage situation. There's lots of swearing and yelling and angst and gunfire, and most everyone winds up shot. Which might have been more acceptable if the gunshot sound effects weren't reminiscent of someone hitting a piece of wood with a hammer.
It should be emphasized that this program, in its conception, is a terrific idea, but is given the deep-six by undisciplined acting and writing, a lack of rehearsal, and the inability to improvise well when things go inevitably wrong onstage.
"Crime Scene," presented by the Sacred Fools at the Heliotrope Theatre, 660 N. Heliotrope, Hollywood. May 30-Indef