Los Angeles

Photo/Joan Marcus

Considering that I just bashed Howard Katz as being a masturbatory show about watching someone self-destruct (and that being a far-better acted and written script), I shouldn't be saying positive things about Los Angeles. The difference comes down to intimacy: at the Flea Theater, where the Off-Off-Broadway experience is alive and well, you feel like you're a part of the action. The cast here is also young, all part of resident company The Bats, which makes the few standouts (like Ben Beckley and, at times, Katherine Waterston) all the more thrilling to find. Julian Sheppard is a vibrant writer, mining cliches for the diamonds in the rough, and Adam Rapp has used the space brilliantly, skewing the world into a landscaped hell (lit with neon lights) and seamlessly interweaving Amelia Zirin-Brown's musical cabaret into the transitions. It's not brilliant theater, but I felt connected all the same.

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Curtains

photo: Craig Schwartz

There's plenty that already works in this backstage murder mystery musical which kicks off with the hilariously dreadful leading lady falling dead during her bows. A lot of gold is mined from the clever idea that the police lieutenant investigating the murder is an ardent musical theatre fan who devotes as much time to tinkering with the show as he does to solving the crime, and David Hyde Pierce is so affable and charming in the role that he might be walking away with that Tony thought previously to be pre-engraved for Raul Esparza. There's a colorful cast of characters besides and a solid cast to play them: Debra Monk is a hoot and a half as a ballsy, tough-talking Broadway producer who celebrates not the art but the business of theatre in the show's best number, and Noah Racey is a certifiable dancing demon as the show within the show's leading man. Okay, so the Kander and Ebb score (augmented by Rupert Holmes) is a mixed bag but it can pass, especially when showcased as it is here with nifty choreography and musical stagings that build the numbers to crowd-pleasing heights. What doesn't pass so easily is the book, which too often asks the performers to wring laughs out of thin air. There are changes going into the show on Thursday and if the theatre gods are smiling they will include a trim of the first act, sharper jokes to punch up the book throughout, and more attention to the whodunit plot. The potential is here for a big fat Broadway hit. Smile, theatre gods, please?

it is said the men are over in The Steel Tower

I understand that Hideo Tsuchida must have written it is said the men are over in The Steel Tower to be purposefully mundane, but whatever universal elements of war he may have captured in the original have been lost in translation, and done a disservice by its performance. Japanese to English, then adapted into American, then blandly directed . . . I hate to criticize the work itself, but what I saw was an unpolished collection of men squabbling, using dialogue that sounds improvised (it's just written that way) to make a series of unimportant points. The vaudeville troupe at the heart of this play doesn't actually perform at all (and they're meant to be mediocre); they just worry about being caught between the army they've deserted (as relief-show performers) and the guerrillas the army will attack within the week. The play is mired in worry, which is the point, but it's not enjoyable theater. It's empty: drowned out by an excess of subtlety, it winds up not being subtle at all.

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Carnival!

photo: Joan Marcus

The Kennedy Center's production of Carnival! opened to raves last week. Did they see the same show I did? Yes the sound of that full orchestra quickens the heart and yes the circus-themed sets and costumes are all kinds of eye-poppingly wonderful. But it all seems an embarassment of riches spent on this oddball antique of a musical that time has not been the least bit kind to. The book (cut by about half an hour here) tries to balance the sweet naivete of its heroine with the hard-knock cynicism of the carnival performers she takes up with: the naivete is laid on so thick (she talks to hand puppets) you may feel you're choking on cotton candy, and the cynicism isn't dark and dangerous enough. What I can rave about are the performers in this production's B-story, Sebastian La Cause and Natascia Diaz. He, as pompous ladykiller magician Marco The Magnificent, effortlessly blends arrogance and charm; paging Drowsy Chaperone when another Adolpho is needed. She, as his lovelorn assistant who tries to make him stay by threatening to leave him all evening, is vividly passionate and funny. Their eleven o'clock duet, in which the magic act seems to split her in three, is easily this Carnival!'s niftiest attraction.

Vigils

photo: Stan Barouh

DC's Wooly Mammoth Theatre has just ended a run of Vigils, a fun, high-concept comedy by Noah Haidle in which a widow traps her husband's soul in a box in her bedroom. Two years since his death and she's (literally) still not ready to let him go, but he's had enough and wants out: he's increasingly tired of having to act out her changing memories of some of the key moments of their relationship over and over again, sometimes with the new boyfriend hanging around. The sometimes silly (and often very smart) absurd comedy hits a lull or two, but this production so expertly balances the play's absurdism and its compassion that a couple of dead stops on the reollercoaster ride hardly matter, especially by the time we reach the bittersweet end. I had a great time and I'd love to see another good, judiciously directed and acted production of this play.

Defender of the Faith

I like seeing shows at the Irish Repertory Theater; their focus may be narrow, but the slice of theater they've chosen to present is always rich, generally natural, and very well presented. Defender of the Faith, a slim, 90-minute play is no different. Deftly directed by Ciaran O'Reilly, this show is the serious version of The Lieutenant of Inishmore. The terrorists here aren't crazy, just inured to the necessity of their life, and they aren't out to kill people over cats -- but they are on the hunt for rats. The show is one-part witchhunt, as the quiet, soft-handed J.J. (David Lansbury) and the bullying Joe (Anto Nolan) try to suss out the tout; the other part is family drama, as Joe's son, Thomas (Luke Kirby) is forced to cross his father to defend the old farmhand, Barney (the excellent Peter Rogan). The play sags a bit at the end, and Kirby's accent ducks in and out of brogue, but otherwise, Stuart Carolan's Defender of the Faith is a fine piece of theater.

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