Arts In LA
Theater Reviews
Liana and Ben
Circle X at Atwater Village Theatre

Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder

Mara Marini and Kimberly Alexander
Photo by Tim Wright

The pedigree that came along with the announcement of this world premiere was instantly thrilling. Circle X, one of LA’s best, bravest, and most inexhaustible theater companies, was about to take on a new work by one of our town’s most breathtaking wordsmiths, Susan Rubin. And along for the rollercoaster ride of what surely would be an unregimented effort to bring Rubin’s Faustian-inspired epic to fruition was one of our most innovative directors, Mark Bringelsen, leading a world-class cast of heavyweight LA theatrical talent.
   Whatever went wrong, whatever might be learned from this effort, can hopefully benefit future productions of Rubin’s Liana and Ben, a play more than worthy of further exploration. Still, this production is an astonishingly unexpected disappointment. Perhaps a big part of this outcome is the staging, with audience placed on either side of a long, slender playing space dominated by two huge seesaws. It’s not difficult to see what an inventive idea this was on the drawing board, but to say it doesn’t work in actuality is a major understatement. Even while an audience might appreciate the ingenuity that went into creating the apparatus, it limits the actors’ playing space and is also a rickety distraction, particularly when on the move into another position.

As we stare ahead directly into the equally confused faces of patrons on the other side of the action—not to mention, on opening night, two brightly lit older gentlemen desperately struggling to stay awake in the front row—the gifted and quite courageously game quartet of players is surely directed to use the space. The result, however, is that the boldly gorgeous visual designs by Jason H. Thompson are lost as projected onto the floor and the walls on opposite ends of the playing area, while conversations between characters often are staged so far apart that one begins to feel like a ping-pong ball trying to take in both actors at once.
   Bringelsen further accentuates this divide by directing his performers to continuously make slow, motivation-free moves from one place to another, especially in the case of Kimberly Alexander as Liana, who repeatedly does so with sensually charged balletic movements.
   If there is a reference to Alexander’s time-traveling character having a history in dance during her 250-year lifespan, a result of a pact negotiated with Ben (Jonathan Medina), a guy who, it doesn’t take long to realize, is the busy boss-man of that infamously fiery mythological world down below, it’s not clear. As sweepingly poetic and jarringly insightful as Rubin’s script proves to be, the meat of the story—the quest for Liana to save her soul by proving to her nemesis that our world is worth saving—is obscured far too long and not really apparent until Act 2, when our heroine travels to Hades in an effort to sort things out.

There is no doubt the acting is committed and admirably risky; but again, the directorial eye to keep everyone and their individual styles on the same track is surprisingly absent. Alexander has the biggest challenge as she spouts Rubin’s classically tinged poetic observations on life, but it seems she is often reciting her dialogue without connecting with it or making any discoveries as Liana zips through her emotional life lessons.
   Perhaps the other even more omnipresent problem about mounting this play, with its rather foreseeable theme of good always being able to conquer evil peeping through its beautifully lyrical passages, is doing so at this point in our country and our world’s self-destructive race to trigger our own oblivion. “The truth lies in stories,” a character in Liana and Ben reminds us—or is it preaches? But sadly, where once was hope and faith in the future of our species, something inspirational when comfortably reflected in our art, there’s a lingering unshakable malaise that now overshadows so many scared and depressed people with a soupçon of intelligence.
   It’s painfully difficult in these precarious days to not to let those incredibly unwelcome feelings drown us in cynicism and disenfranchisement about how art and artists, as we’ve always been led to believe, can change the world. Art heals, yes, but sometimes the drip-drip-drip of water torture as it happens with such agonizing sluggishness is too much to bear.

February 20, 2017
Feb 18–March 26. 3269 Casitas Ave. Free onsite and street parking. Fri-Sat 8pm, Sun 7pm. $20-25.


Info and ticketing


For Piano and Harpo
Falcon Theatre

Reviewed by Melinda Schupmann

Dan Castellaneta and JD Cullum
Photo by Sasha Venola

Noted musician, composer, and author Oscar Levant was one of those larger-than-life figures prominent from the 1930s until his death in 1972. In his New York days, he was a member of the Algonquin Round Table along with Dorothy Parker, Alexander Wollcott, and Robert Benchley. He was a a sought-after concert pianist. He was a regular panelist on the radio show Information Please, providing mordant wit, which led to his later career in Hollywood, notably in films The Barkleys of Broadway and An American in Paris, playing an eccentric version of himself.
   Playwright Dan Castellaneta, himself an eclectic actor, comedian, and voiceover artist (The Simpsons, Darkwing Duck, Rugrats, The Tracey Ullman Show) has taken on the task of exploring a dark period in Levant’s life when he was frequently committed to mental institutions.
   Part vaudeville, comedy sketch, and melodrama, Castellaneta’s fluid foray into Levant’s life attempts to portray the figures who influenced Levant and the inner workings of his genius. From an autocratic father who certainly contributed to his neuroses to longtime friend George Gershwin, he traversed a life of celebrity and addiction. Sometimes confusing as the play morphs from past to present, it nevertheless presents an affecting picture of a man whose talents were frequently overshadowed by his psychological angst.

As Levant, Castellaneta is suitably funny and tragic. In Act 1, the story is theatrical as well as expository with a fine cast of characters—JD Cullum, Deb Lacusta, Gail Matthius, Phil Proctor, and Jonathan Stark—playing multiple roles as Gershwin, Levant’s wife, Harpo Marx, Levant’s parents, Jack Paar, and others. Because the piece is structurally complicated, it is tough going at times for the characters to make seamless switches from person to person, so sometimes there’s a glitch or two. Act 2 is more measured, and during this interpretation of Levant’s life the emotional heft of the story is most affecting.
   Cullum is particularly notable as Charlie, a mute patient Oscar meets as he spends time in the hospital. Many of the best moments of the story are played out in their exchanges. He also adds considerable humor as Harpo. Lacusta is affecting as his wife, and Matthius has funny moments as Fanny Brice and a fellow mental patient. Proctor is a reliable character actor who does yeoman work as Levant’s father, Harpo’s butler, and others. As Paar, on whose show Levant was a frequent guest, Stark is noteworthy. He also fills in as doctor and Gershwin.
   Music supervisor–pianist David O provides Levant’s musicianship only partially concealed behind the scenes, and harpist Jillian Risigari-Gai delivers Harpo’s music as the two characters mime the music in the foreground. It is a significant addition to the play’s overall mood. Also striking is Jean-Yves Tessier’s lighting design, transforming the nearly bare stage into multiple settings like Harpo’s home where Levant spent much time, the hospital with its struggles, and his home with his wife.

Director Stefan Novinski balances the comedy with adversity nicely as he maneuvers his cast through the many overlapping scenes. As Levant was noted for his one-liners, including “I knew Doris Day before she was a virgin,” Novinski makes their many inclusions in the script seem believable as dialogue.
   Though the play challenges the audience to keep the time periods and events sorted out, it works best as a theatrical endeavor when it focuses on the human aspects of the story rather than the biographical. The ensemble’s considerable talent makes for a worthwhile exploration of this complex and intriguing man.

February 14, 2017
Feb 10–March 5. 4252 Riverside Dr., Burbank. Wed-Sat 8pm, Sun 4pm. $30-$45. (818) 955-8101.



Grimly Handsome
City Garage

Reviewed by Dany Margolies

Anthony M. Sannazzaro and Lindsay Plake
Photo by Paul M. Rubenstein

Everyone involved in bringing Grimly Handsome to life at Santa Monica’s City Garage has done all the necessary work. Still, the play will feel like a farrago, unless the audience is willing to patiently dig in to sort out the threads.
   Julia Jarcho’s script, the 2013 Obie-Award winner, now in its West Coast premiere, is an intermissionless three-parter. First, on a frigid evening, two men wait for customers at a Christmas tree lot in New York City. They are Gregor (Andrew Loviska) and Alesh (Anthony M. Sannazzaro), each an Eastern European. We find this out when they speak heavily accented and hesitant English, though when they’re speaking in their native tongue, we hear it as flawless English.
   Alesh wants to be an American policeman. Gregor, wearing an eye patch, chides him with a reminder of police corruption back home. Or, is “the village” they refer to “The Village?”
   A girl, Natalia (Lindsay Plake), looking like Red Riding Hood browses the trees. She’s stunned at the high prices, so Gregor, with apparent sarcasm, gives her a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
   When she leaves, Alesh and Gregor role-play picking up women. And then they role-play drugging, raping and killing them.
   We next see Natalia curled up on her sofa, the tiny awkward tree on display, as she reads a detective novel. And then she returns to the lot, where she takes a cup of tea from Alesh the way Snow White trustingly took an apple from the queen. Alesh carries her lifeless body away.

So far, so grim. Or, should that be “Grimm?”
   Director Frédérique Michel gives this first scene high style and deliberate pacing, so the work feels suspenseful. She then choreographs her use of Josephine Poinsot’s costumes, so Plake quickly re-emerges from backstage to start putting on the bits of costuming Sannazzaro had taken off: cap, flannel shirt, scarf.
   Plake’s Natalia thus transforms into Nally, an easily distracted man called in for interrogation by New York Police Department detectives Greggins (Loviska) and Alpert (Sannazzaro) as they investigate a series of Christmas slayings.
   Except, under Michel’s hand, it’s not clear that they truly are detectives. The words they say could pass for cop talk, but here, again, they speak with high style and deliberate pacing. Is Natalia dreaming them up? Note the dial phone in the room.
   More twists and surprises follow along these lines. Themes of identity and identifying with, interrelatedness, and natural evil waft through the 90-minute work.
   But most surprising, and certainly a highlight of the costuming, is the third segment. It seems to leave us with the idea that animals have better ethics than we do—or at least that they learn from their collective unconscious. Ignorance will be our downfall, we are warned.

February 6, 2017

Republished courtesy of Daily Breeze
Jan 27–Feb 26. 2525 Michigan Ave., Building T1, Bergamot Station, Santa Monica. Fri-Sat 8pm, Sun 3pm. $20-25, Sundays are “pay-what-you-can” at the door only. (310) 453-9939.



Future Sex, Inc.
Lounge Theatre

Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder

Briana Price, Tanya Alexander, Erica Ibsen, Jolie Adamson, Natalie Polisson, Sean Leon, and Elise Zell
Photo by Ed Krieger

When a malevolent Trump-like conglomerate called Monocorp falsely alarms the public that sexual activity must be stopped due to an impending epidemic, the prospect of future sex for our species is jeopardized. The only solution is strapping on—the wrist…what were you thinking?—a little apparatus Monocorp manufactures called the Love Light, which, when activated, stimulates an orgasm of epic proportions. In offering this product for worldwide utilization, Monocorp can soon, of course, control the planet.
   With an infectious score that, as a character tells us with tongue firmly in cheek, runs the spectrum all the way from hip-hop to rap, this outrageously X-rated pop musical melds Arthur C. Clarke, Lady Gaga, and a North Beach-y peep show vibe with surprising success. The weakest part is writer-composer John Papageorge’s predictable and rather silly script, which has the feeling of being created on the spot as the play progresses and oddly makes one wish, if he wanted to go for adult humor and off-color double-entendres, he’d gone a little further.
   Still, the music is worth suffering through the dialogue and situations, which also boasts exceptional performances, surprisingly fluid staging by director Kiff Scholl on the Lounge Theatre’s extremely limited playing area, steamy choreography by April Thomas, and comically sexy strip-clubby costuming by local glitter-god Michael Mullen that makes one immediately wonder just where this guy shops.

Ally Dixon and the Pee-wee Herman–suited Kevin McDonald have a splendidly good time as the corporation’s evil henchwoman Vivian and her nerdy suitor George O. Thornhill, while Tanya Alexander and Michael Uribes scenery chew with hilarious results as Monocorp’s devious CEO and a sketchily talented magician whose allegiances waver from bad to good. Jolie Adamson steals every one of her scenes as Cherry, a Valley Girl-accented robot with moves like C-3PO and outfits inherited from Britney Spears. Maya Lynne Robinson, as a fallen pop star who tries out a Love Light, vibrates and twitches and rolls her eyes back in the lengthiest and most memorable onstage “happy ending” in the history of the American theater.
   Alex Vergel as the wisecracking deejay-MC; Sean Leon as Alexander’s hunky “enforcer”; and Erica Ibsen, Natalie Polisson, Briana Price, and Elise Zell as the gamely raunchy dancing ensemble fill out the ensemble with spunk, much to the delight of one single older man in a wrinkled overcoat seated directly in the front row who looked so much like a drooling, knee-slapping denizen of a real-life gentlemen’s club that he almost seemed like a plant. Yup, Future Sex, Inc. is, as Papageorge’s dialogue tells us, a “one of a kind—like a snowflake or a cum stain.”

February 9, 2017
Jan 27–Feb 19. 6201 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Fri 8pm, Sat 10pm, Sun 7pm. $30 general admission; $10 and $2 beers for Sat 10pm performances (promo code 220). (323) 960-7738.



for the Prosecution

The Group Rep/Lonny Chapman Theatre

Reviewed by Dink O’Neal

Michele Schultz and Larry Eisenberg
Photo by Troy Whitaker

Originally published as Traitor Hands in the Jan. 31, 1925, edition of Flynn’s Weekly, this stalwart among the prodigious catalogue of Agatha Christie’s works has enjoyed numerous incarnations, including a slew of film and television versions. Its theatrical debut took place October 28, 1953, at Broadway’s Winter Garden Theatre. Though arguably not one of Christie’s most-gripping forays in adapting one of her novels for the stage, this three-act piece still can be quite engaging, especially when given dedication to detail as evidenced in this production.
   Director Jules Aaron keeps things humming along with a provocatively crisp pacing that maintains an aura of “What’s coming next?” Christie’s clues are all there, and this cast of 14 exercises the pithiness of her language with ease. Kudos to Linda Brennan, the production’s dialect coach, for a commendable slate of accents employed by her charges.

Defendant Leonard Vole, played with a mixture of befuddlement and righteous indignation by Patrick Skelton, is on trial for the bludgeoning murder of Miss Emily French, a 66-year-old woman who, as an indication of the play’s age, is repeatedly referred to as “elderly” throughout Christie’s script.
   Vole’s legal team consists of Sir Wilfrid Robarts, brought to life with scene-stealingly delicious perspicacity by Larry Eisenberg, and Mrs. Joan Mayhew, given an energetically optimistic turn by Michele Schultz. Aaron chose non-traditional casting in changing Mayhew from John to Joan. The resulting relationship between these two barristers is captivating and serves to further highlight the tale’s occasional comedic moments.
   Romaine, a German national Vole married and brought back to England, is his only true source of an alibi as the circumstantial evidence mounts against him. She turns out to be the titular character. Divulging any more of the plot’s twists and turns would be unfair to the production and detrimental to our dear readers’ enjoyment of this expertly directed, multilayered mystery. Suffice it to say that Salome Jens offers a remarkably adroit performance as this often maddeningly enigmatic woman.
   Thanks to J. Kent Inasy’s stunningly ingenious scenic design involving pivoting double-backed walls and platforms, we are transported from Sir Wilfrid’s chambers to the Central Criminal Court of London, better known as the Old Bailey.

Here a collection of memorable characters is introduced—including Lloyd Pedersen’s drily humorous Justice Wainwright; Chris Winfield’s frustratingly self-assured prosecutor, Mr. Myers; Sherry Michaels’s witness Janet Mackenzie, Miss French’s housekeeper who makes no bones about her distrust of defendant Vole; Bruce Nehlsen’s sometimes fed-up, over-confident Scotland Yard Inspector Hearne; Mikel Parraga-Wills’s court clerk, with his silver-tongued delivery of the sessions’ calls to attention and administration of witness oaths; and Todd Andrew Ball’s and Roslyn Cohn’s uniquely drawn medical specialists, after both double as Sir Wilfrid’s legal staff in the opening scene of Act 1.
   Inasy’s lighting complements not only his notable set but also Angela M. Eads’s period-perfect costuming and Judi Lewin’s hair and wig designs. Aaron and sound designer Steve Shaw incorporate well-chosen musical pieces as scene segues. Aaron’s choice to make the audience the jury is well-thought-out; however, the use of taped crowd sounds at various points throughout the courtroom scenes is a tad distracting, especially when the onstage characters begin talking over disruptions that the presiding judge would most certainly quiet from the bench before allowing the case to proceed. Still, this is but a quibble with an otherwise uniformly excellent production.

January 31, 2017
Jan 27–March 26. 10900 Burbank Blvd., North Hollywood. Free street parking on Burbank Boulevard and side streets. Fri-Sat 8pm, Sun 2pm. $20–25. (818) 763-5990.



The Lion
Geffen Playhouse

Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder

Benjamin Scheuer

It’s a given that most self-created solo shows dig deep into the past and the personal demons haunting their authors. Benjamin Scheuer takes it one step further with The Lion, adding one component fairly unique to that genre: unflinchingly recounting the bittersweet memories of his life and individual trials and using gloriously evocative music.
   Scheuer offers a bravely unembellished look at growing up in a difficult situation, letting his story unfold through powerful and hauntingly poetic ballads, his sandpapery vocal dexterity, and some truly ferocious skills as a guitarist. Yet austerity is the key here, Scheuer moving from stool to stool, picking up a half-dozen guitars showcasing his versatility, on the Geffen’s intimate Audrey Skirball Kenis stage. His only co-conspirators in showcasing his massive talent are the unobtrusive but effective direction by Sean Daniels, complemented by Neil Patel’s ever-changing sound studio design, lit simply but chameleon-like by Ben Staton.

Scheuer tells of his uncomfortable relationship with a demanding father whose expectations do not mesh with his son’s free spirit, ending in a bitter argument never resolved before his dad, whom he obviously adored, suddenly died of a brain aneurism. A gifted hobbyist musician, Scheuer’s father was a notable mathematician.
   Although he shared his musical passion with his son—even building him a homemade banjo in the basement—his frustration that his offspring didn’t inherit his analytical skills or wasn’t interested in academic success destroyed their time together.
   Scheuer’s story trudges on through a love affair, catastrophic illness, and numerous attempts to find himself in some way that does not involve his passion for music, told by these gifted hands in this quiet and unvarnished production.
   Scheuer is the quintessential product of singer-songwriters from a groundbreaking generation past, a Leonard Cohen or Cat Stevens or James Taylor for the millennium, only taken a step further with a personal tale he shares without filter or embellishment—and we, his sufficiently mesmerized and emotionally transported followers, are his grateful beneficiaries.

January 16, 2017
Jan. 6–Feb. 19. 10886 Le Conte Ave., West LA. Tue-Fri 8pm, Sat 3pm & 8pm, Sun 2pm. Running time 70 minutes. $76. (310) 208-5454.
Lyrics From Lockdown
The Actors’ Gang at Ivy Substation

Reviewed by Dink O’Neal

Bryonn Bain
Photo by Bob Turton

In a political climate where disagreements are labeled as “unconstitutional,” “destructive,” even “treasonous” or “evil,” refreshing is the message that’s both timely in its relevance and balanced in its presentation. In this case, the message, that of a justice system that, at times, is most certainly unfair to its participants based on no more than a series of immutable factors such as race, ethnicity, or the supposedly guaranteed “freedom of association.”
   In this moving, often comical, power-punch of a solo performance, author Bryonn Bain details his amazingly overflowing cup of life. Having broken with the tradition of his Brooklyn upbringing to serve as the four-time president of his class at Columbia University and eventually graduate from Harvard Law School, Bain seemed on track for what by all standards would be success at every turn. And yet, the path his life was to take proved to be the positive outcome of a blindside.
   Racially profiled and wrongfully incarcerated by the New York City Police, Bain has produced a stunning array of work and social activism, which even included serving as the topic for a segment of CBS’s Sixty Minutes in which he was interviewed by the venerable Mike Wallace. In this theatrical production, he parallels his autobiography with that of Nanon Williams, sent to Texas’s Death Row at age 17 (a sentence converted in 2005 to life imprisonment), both of whom have spun gold from dross through their unveiling of the ills found within our nation’s incarceration industry.

Bain’s ability to offer his thoughts and feelings without drubbing his audience over the head is perhaps the most admirable quality of his work. Instead, he introduces us to his family: a father known for his love of Calypso music, a Bible-thumping mother, and two brothers, one of whom walked the tightrope between lawfulness and the gangsta lifestyle. In doing so, Bain humanizes himself, and his message is thereby saved from being overshadowed by the unforgiving militancy so often found in those who espouse a “cause.” It’s one of many wise choices that he and director Gina Belafonte have made in crafting this fast-paced one-act.
   So too are the incorporations of musical stylings, credited to the playwright’s father, B. Rolly Bain, which transform this poetry into gripping lyrics backed by an onstage three-piece ensemble. John B. Williams on the double bass and Isaiah Gage on the cello, along with the remarkable talent of an artist identified as “Click the Supa Latin” serving as a human beatbox, make amazing use of what are normally considered traditionally staid instruments. Although untitled, Bain’s compositions run the gamut from blues to calypso and classical to hip-hop. In particular, he riffs on subjects which for the purposes of this review shall be referred to as “Growing Up on Marcus Garvey Boulevard,” “Things Are Not Always What They Seem,” “On My Way,” and “Scribble On.”

Equally valuable is a trio, artistes in their own right, inhabiting the theater’s tech booth. Billed as the designer and video DJ for the production is Omolara Abode. In addition to a pair of traditional suspended screens marking the set’s upstage area, Abode’s almost ceaseless array of video and still projections fill the side walls of the Ivy Substation’s decades-old, brick-walled interior. Meanwhile, Pierre Adeli’s sound cues, including live vocal interjections from the booth, flawlessly augment and accentuate Bain’s 75-minute monologue. Seamless lighting transitions, under the guidance of technical director Jason Ryan Lovett, are provided throughout the show by Cihan Sahin.
   Concluding his performance with “So Many People in Need,” perhaps the most poignant of all his sung works, Bain and director Belafonte send their audience out onto the street moved and perhaps encouraged to action rather than merely ruminating over what has just been experienced.

February 12, 2017
Feb 9–Feb 26. 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City. Thu 8pm, Fri 9pm, Sat 8pm. Additional Sun perf Feb 26 at 3pm. $30-34.99, Thu eves are pay-what-you-can. (310) 838-4264.



Shades of Disclosure
Skylight Theatre

Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder

Christine Papalexis and Cheri Gaulke
Photo by Ed Krieger

In the nearly four decades since HIV/AIDS, once referred to as the “gay disease,” brought worldwide scorn and judgment to those living an alternate lifestyle, close to 40 million people have died, and today 37.6 million people are living with the scourge of it. Aside from the great sorrow AIDS has brought to our world, the disease has also become a major source of discrimination against the gay community—mainly by all those self-aggrandizing conservative religious bigots who pretend to live under their savior’s pleas to practice charity and nonjudgment.
   “I’ve felt indelibly stained,” one participant in QueerWise’s unforgettable new performance piece Shades of Disclosure admits, “by the sickness I’ve brought on myself.” For the 17 participants in this eye-opening testimonial experience courageously telling the stories of how HIV/AIDS has affected their lives, such honesty is the norm, not the exception. Michael Kearns, the tireless LA-based writer-actor–AIDS activist who originated the concept for the evening 31 years ago when AIDS/US first debuted on this stage, masterfully directs now, when Shades could not be more timely in this frightening era when our freedom suddenly feels desperately precarious.
   The participants, who collectively wage war on our society’s damaging and demeaning labels—all but two of whom play themselves and read the stories they crafted based on their own personal experiences—relate their tale to 16-year-old Sophie Kim, a LGBTQ activist at Harvard-Westlake High School who found a home in QueerWise after coming out to her parents at 14. As she videos their comments, one by one the members of the eclectic ensemble recount who they are and how they—and we all—are connected despite our differences.

The members of QueerWise include writers, spoken word artists, social workers, and educators who commit their efforts to create and perform events such as this. Noted actors such as Darrell Larson, who bravely explains how his diagnosis led to admitting his lifestyle to his wife and daughter and signaled the end of his marriage, is joined by transgendered psychotherapist—and knockout guitarist—Jessie Jacobson, who shakily faces her patients while trying to grapple with her own identity; floundering young nomad Mason Mahoney, wondering if there will be a place for a biracial gay man in the current climate of America; Guatemalan immigrant Roland Palencia, who fears for his own future in his adopted country; and Kim’s teacher from Harvard-Westlake, who wonders if her youthful student will grow up to love and fight for the rights we, her elders, fought so hard to protect.
   These stories and others are gently related to Kim as the members of QueerWise offer their “truths now with swift purpose and quiet grace.” Although Shades of Disclosure works best when its storytellers lift their eyes from the scripts they carry, the honest telling of each person’s tales provides a jarringly evocative evening reminding us that our war against bigotry, racism, gender equality, and a disease that has decimated millions is not only not over yet but is a fight that right now at this scary and insecure moment in time must be renewed with vigor and relentless determination.

February 6, 2017
Jan 28–Feb 25. 1816-1/2 N. Vermont Ave. Sat 8pm, Sun 3pm. $15-34. (213) 761-7061.



Beckett 5
Odyssey Theatres

Reviewed by Dany Margolies

Norbert Weisser and Alan Abelew in "Catastrophe"
Photo by Ron Sossi

Just the name conjures a headache in some and bliss in others. Playwright Samuel Beckett is considered one of the most-influential 20th-century playwrights, certainly within Theatre of the Absurd style, his Waiting for Godot at the peak of those works.
   At the Odyssey Theatres, five of Beckett’s short plays are being performed under the umbrella title that bears his name. With that much advance notice, the audience certainly should know what to expect.
   And knowing that the Odyssey’s resident company of superb veteran actors, the KOAN Unit, under director Ron Sossi, is bringing the works to life, we are assured the production will be deep and sharp.
   The works are staged on set designer Mark Guirguis’s simple black-box area. A raised platform upstage, where doors open into unseen rooms, gets used for one of the pieces but remains in murky darkness for others, thanks to lighting designer Chu-Hsuan Chang’s mysterious but warm illumination.

“Act Without Words II” opens the production. Alan Abelew and Beth Hogan hunker inside white plastic sacks, until each is goaded (Norbert Weisser clad head to toe in black, wielding a spear) into a day’s action. Abelew, as “A,” loathes every moment. Even his food, a tasty-looking carrot pulled out of his pocket, prompts A to spit out his sole sustenance. A has turned to prayer and pharmaceuticals to get through his days.
   Hogan, as “B,” loves every moment of the day, though the manic pace might take its toll. Chronically checking her watch, compulsively exercising, obsessed with her appearance, at least she relies on herself to get through it all, ending with a bit of self-reflection.
   Beckett reputedly felt annoyed when people presumed references to his earlier plays, but the carrots, black suit and bowler hat of Godot greatly tempt us here.
   “Come and Go” finds three women gathered on a bench in an enigmatic reunion. Diana Cignoni and Sheelagh Cullen join Hogan to perhaps relive their school days, giggle girlishly, share information or spread misinformation, and still find communal support.
   Their names—Flo, Vi, Ru—evoke flowers, and they’re dressed in floral pastels, with pristine white satin Mary Jane shoes. But something darker is at work. Each one of the three wanders off while two stay behind to whisper. What they share might be salacious gossip, or it might be news of impending death.

The plays get even darker with “Catastrophe,” in which Director and Assistant literally and figuratively manipulate Protagonist, who represents actor, audience, and nation. Sossi has swapped genders of Director and Assistant, casting Hogan as the imperious Director, oblivious to the figure’s suffering, and Abelew as the obsequious Assistant, who was only following orders. Weisser’s Protagonist doesn’t collapse, likely fearful of the consequences. But when the others leave, he prods us with a chilling, astonishing, richly emotional stare.
   “Footfalls” finds Diana Cignoni as a daughter, pacing in front of her mother’s doorway, and Sheelagh Cullen (unseen) voicing the mother. It’s perhaps the most deeply psychological of the plays here, yet it’s also full of wordplay. The mother may be dead or dying, the daughter may be living in the past or living an unfulfilled life now, but Christian imagery reflects constraints on the peripatetic figure.

After an intermission that lets the audience gather breath and wits, “Krapp’s Last Tape” stars Weisser in one of Beckett’s better-known short works. A “wearish old man” listens to tape recordings of himself at younger ages. At each age, he has looked back from a vantage of more experience and more disdain. Despite the shabby appearance and goofy antics, Weisser is an elegant Krapp of rue, nostalgia, wryness, and the wisdom of age and experience.
   Beckett included detailed stage directions with his scripts. In “Come and Go,” for example, his directions are longer than the dialogue. Sossi uses some, leads his troupe elsewhere on others, encouraging intellectual and emotional responses to Beckett’s works.
   Costume designer Audrey Eisner provides the crisply evocative looks, while sound designer Christopher Moscatiello creates atmospheres of subtle mystery.
   So, what to expect here? As in life, those willing to observe, to think, to accept that some things are imponderable but still worth considering, will fare best.

January 25, 2017
Jan 28–Mar 5. 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd. There is wheelchair access. See website for schedule, but in general Wed or Thu 8pm, Fri-Sat 8pm, Sun 2pm. Running time 2 hours, including intermission. $30-35. (310) 477-2055.



Urinetown: The Musical
Coeurage Theatre Company at Lankershim Arts Center

Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder

Robert Collins, Daniel Bellusci, and Ted Barton
Photo by Nardeep Khurmi

With an overpowering sense of dread about the future of our society overshadowing everything we do these days, there couldn’t be a better time for the indomitable Coeurage Theatre Company to resurrect this boisterously biting 2001 political satire—which, when it debuted in 2001, was nominated for 10 Tony Awards, including Best Musical, and winning for Greg Kotis’s book and Kotis and Mark Hollman’s score. With a malignant and power-hungry magnate in charge who vows to “bring our message of hate to the entire world,” to say Urinetown: The Musical was ahead of its time is almost insulting; right now at this time in our history, it’s sadly right on the money.
   With that pesky climate change our own new “leader” insists is fictional having become so harsh and the drought so severe that it’s now illegal for citizens to expel their bodily fluids without queuing up at public utilities where they pay a fee to relive themselves, the prospects for America the Scary is depicted—albeit with outrageously wicked humor—as prophetically dim and dystopian. If the huddled shivering citizens waiting in endless lines and hopping on one leg don’t agree to the cost hikes slapped on them by the greedy Urine Good Company, they are shipped off to Urinetown, a mysterious place where the detainees disappear without a trace.
   Kotis and Hollman pay continuous deference to those who came before them, with continuously crafty flashes of homage throughout to such musicals as Fiddler on the Roof, West Side Story, and Evita. More pointedly, Urinetown is instantly reminiscent of the then-radical agenda lurking just below the brio in those brazen musical classics by Brecht and Weill. The early rendition of the raucous title song could be right out of Happy End, and there’s a lot of Mother Courage in Janna Cardia’s dynamic turn as facilities manager Penelope Pennywise, particularly as she fiercely belts out, “It’s a Privilege to Pee,” her hands placed firmly on her hips as though about to launch into “Alabama Song.”

Just like performing Brecht, Kotis and Hollman don’t make it easy on the performers or the audience, all of whom must link their imaginations together and traverse the fourth wall fearlessly as narrator Officer Lockstock (the deliciously malevolent Ted Barton) educates curious Raggedy Ann clone Little Sally (Nicole Monet) that too much exposition destroys a good show or that sometimes in a musical it’s easier for the audience to pay attention to one big theme rather than lots of little themes.
   The performances are eager and meticulously rehearsed, the ensemble gamely honoring Christopher M. Albrecht’s spirited choreography, which fills the stage with energy and a wonderful sense of irony no one who’s ever been part of the creation of a musical could possibly miss. Even one knockout understudy on the night reviewed, the engagingly youthful Ethan Barker, was completely able to meld into the breakneck musical numbers without a hitch. These performers could easily present Urinetown in repertory with The Threepenny Opera without having to alter their delivery, strike Matt Scarpino’s suitably downtrodden set, or change out of the perfectly distressed rags designed by costumer Emily Brown-Kucera.
   Daniel Bellusci is a standout as fresh-scrubbed resident hero Bobby Strong, the lowly public latrine attendant who leads a Les Miz–inspired rebellion against Urine Good Company and its owner, mustache-twirling villain Caldwell B. Caldwell (Gary Lamb). Everything good flushes down the toilet for Bobby when he realizes his new love interest, Hope (Ashley Kane), is the daughter of the dastardly Caldwell and has been groomed Trump-style by her father. She’s now recently returned from graduating from the most expensive university in the world where she majored in learning how to manipulate great masses of people.

The direction, by Kari Hayter, is akin to watching a sporting event: without filter, visually nonstop, and willing to go so far over the top the company could make a fortune selling whiplash collars. Brandon Baruch’s lighting is also a major asset, with jumbled strings of household lighting tumbling across the front of the stage, offering glaring footlight illumination for group scenes, interspersed with handheld light bulbs random cast members crouch down to shine in the faces of the principals as they ace Kotis and Hollman’s bittersweet ballads. Keyboardist Peter Shannon does a fine job as the production’s only live musician, a feat made more impressive by the full-blooded, precise musical direction of Gregory Nabours.
   As Officer Lockstock reminds us, dreams come true only in happy musicals—oddly a little like life right at the moment even without an accompanying score to lighten the load. This unbelievably inventive and exceptionally unique revival of an exceptionally unique musical provides some much-needed laughs at a point when so many of us need a break from licking our wounds. Without a doubt, however, it will also gradually sink in that there’s a much deeper message here, meant to produce a simmering rage reminiscent of Peter Finch in Network that, hopefully, makes everyone who sees it realize that, like the manipulated residents of Urinetown, the fight against avarice and dominance—and for justice and ethical treatment for all—is just beginning. Pee freely, my friends, it’s our inalienable right.

November 20, 2016
Nov. 5–Feb. 25. 5108 Lankershim Blvd. Thu-Sat 8pm. Pay what you want. (323) 944-2165.

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Circus 1903: The Golden Age
of Circus

Pantages Theatre

Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder

Peanut the Elephant and Jessica Spalis
Photo by Mark Turner

It must be hard for circus-themed touring productions to exist in the massive and glitzy shadow of Cirque du Soleil. There have been many animal-free Cirque clones popping up over the last years—and most of them hang for dear life onto the coattails of the Montreal conglomerate with varying degrees of success. None, however, has been as imaginative or downright captivating as Circus 1903: The Golden Age of Circus, now loaded into the Pantages for a too-short stay.
   Beginning with the premise that this usual troupe of death-defying aerialists, acrobats, jugglers, and tightrope artists are setting up their wares alongside a railroad depot in a small town at the turn of the last century, Circus 1903 is different from its competitors. Not only were the producers smart to hire notable magician David Williamson to play their wisecracking, slightly world-weary ringmaster Willy Whipsnide, they also brought on board costumer Angela Aaron to re-create the players’ painstakingly accurate period wardrobe, as well as scenic wizard Todd Edward Ivins and lighting designer Paul Smith to add to the illusion of the members of the ensemble joining to raise their tents and festooning them with strings of lights and colorful banners.
   By the second act, their smoky, atmospheric preparations give way to a full-blown performance, and the result may be slightly minimal but still, most charmingly magical.

And speaking of magic, the other distinctive thing this traveling entertainment has going for it is the participation of Mervyn Millar and Tracy Waller of Significant Object, who bring to life the show’s resident star attractions: the enormous, incredibly graceful “Queenie” and her adorably goofy and energetic baby “Peanut.” Millar and Waller’s pair of life-size elephant puppets are manipulated by several retro-costumed puppeteers walking next to and visibly moving inside the beautifully rendered creatures, instantly reminiscent of the enchanted animals dominating the National Theatre’s adaptation of War Horse—of which Millar was part of the creative team. Bringing these glorious beasts to life proves a feat of extraordinary artistic alchemy, only making their delighted audiences wish for more. A few future lions and tigers and bears, maybe? Oh, my. We can only hope.
   Surely Circus 1903 doesn’t have the limitless resources available to the world-full of nonstop wonder fashioned for one of Guy Laliberté and Gilles Ste-Croix’s empire of enchanted dreamscapes, but what Circus 1903 does with what it has got is, simply, magical on its own.

February 17, 2017
Feb 14–Feb 19. 6233 Hollywood Blvd., Los Angeles. Tue-Fri 8pm, Sat 2pm & 8pm, Sun 1pm & 6:30pm. Running time 2 hours and 30 minutes, including intermission. $35–156. (800) 982-2787.



33 Variations
Actors Co-op

Reviewed by Dink O’Neal

John Allee and Bruce Ladd
Photo by Lindsay Schnebly

Spanning nearly two centuries and the Atlantic Ocean, this time-traveling, paralleled account of a musicologist suffering the slow debilitation of ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease) while researching an obscure mystery surrounding the then equally health-challenged Ludwig van Beethoven comes to beautiful fruition in this moving incarnation.
   Director Thomas James O’Leary and his impeccable cast of seven, along with top-drawer production values, elevate playwright Moisés Kaufman’s already near-perfect script to an almost heavenly realm. As the primary catalyst of this story, Dr. Katherine Brandt is a renowned specialist in compositional analysis. In light of her terminal diagnosis, she seems hell bent on avoiding, for as long as possible, an irreversible fate. Nan McNamara’s handling of this iron-willed character who eschews even the most personal of human contact is powerfully arresting. Her interactions with Greyson Chadwick, who matures before our very eyes as her daughter, Clara, are a pas de deux of agonizingly mixed signals and emotional near misses. It is a relationship afforded great investment by these actors and director O’Leary.

Early on, we are introduced to a young male nurse, Mike Clark, brought to life with a boy-next-door charm by Brandon Parrish. Mike is Katherine’s connection to the realities of her medical condition and through a series of often comical interludes comes to serve as helpmate and love interest for Clara. Just as critical to this emotionally fractured mother-daughter team is a German archivist, Dr. Gertrude Ladenburger, played by Treva Tegtmeier. At first frosty to what she believes may be the less than valid investigation by Katherine, she slowly warms to her American counterpart. Tegtmeier’s work, simple and true, seems born of an all-consuming dedication to individual moments which when compiled render a character arc that is the very essence of believability.
   On the flip side of this somewhat surreal storyline is a trio residing in early 19th-century Vienna. There is Anton Diabelli, a struggling musical publisher and wannabe composer whose original waltz served as the basis for a planned notebook of variations penned by numerous composers of the day. Played here with frustrated bemusement by Stephen Rockwell, Diabelli is a sympathetic portrait. As the closest confidante and self-proclaimed “friend of Beethoven”—it’s right there on his calling card—Anton Schindler, John Allee is delightfully unctuous. Dr. Brandt’s research eventually reveals that Schindler, who is dedicated to his “master” at every turn, may have harbored a historical perspective slightly less accurate than first believed.

And then there is the prodigy around whom this entire premise revolves, a man so wracked with inner genius that one variation on Diabelli’s original isn’t enough and thirty-three were not too many. Portraying Beethoven, Bruce Ladd challenges one’s ability to choose the appropriate adjectives. Aside from bearing an uncannily striking resemblance to the composer, Ladd gives a performance that transcendently captivates the senses. In one particular instance, aided by the unblemished assistance of onstage pianist and musical director Dylan Price, Ladd nearly stops the show with his astonishing interpretation of Beethoven, his hearing gone and his health in utter disarray, as he composes the final piece of this play’s title.
   In addition to collecting such an impressive ensemble, O’Leary is blessed beyond measure with a support system of theatrical artisans. Scenic designer Nicholas Acciani’s acumen is gloriously displayed via set pieces that double, even triple, as various items and locales, each delicately illuminated thanks to the prowess of lighting designer Andrew Schmedake. Meanwhile, Acciani’s breathtaking video and photographic projections flood the stage with images that transport us across the miles and years contained in Kaufman’s script. David B. Marling’s sound effects are equally crucial to the cascading series of scenes one witnesses. Rounding out this assemblage of expertise are Vicki Conrad’s costuming, E.K. Dagenfield’s obvious skills in dialect coaching, and Michelle Parrish’s subtly austere, show-ending choreography as all of Kaufman’s characters, living and dead, join together symbolically in bringing closure to what is an ornate yet simple tale of two lives’ interconnected paths.

February 13, 2017
Feb 10–March 17. 1760 N. Gower St., Hollywood. Fri–Sat 8pm, Sun 2:30pm (add’l perf Sat 2:30pm Feb 18 & March 18). $20–30. (323) 462-8460.



Zoot Suit
Mark Taper Forum

Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder

Demián Bichir and Matias Ponce
Photo by Craig Schwartz

The history of Los Angeles is a fascinating and often sordid tale. This is particularly true of the bigotry and racial profiling which has befallen, and continues to befall, our pivotal Chicano population over the years. It makes the Taper’s sparkling revival of Luis Valdez’s groundbreaking musical Zoot Suit, which premiered at the same theater way back in 1978 when the dinosaurs still roamed the earth and the mastodons had not yet gotten hung up in the tar pits, more timely than ever—before our current administration brings back tar and dumps us all in it for a swim.
   As the news continues to be chockful of reports of Trump-inspired ICE raids and deportation roundups that have rocked Los Angeles and the country this weekend, recent National Medal of Arts recipient Valdez, who once again directs his own masterpiece with the participation of his son and longtime collaborator Kinan as his associate director, takes us back to 1942. While World War II raged across our globe, the LA pachuco society was the relentless target of brutality and the stomping on of human rights by the police and the military.
   Valdez returns to his story of the infamous Sleepy Hollow murder trial and the resultant Zoot Suit Riots of 1943, aided by a passionate cast and designers who have obviously worked tirelessly to do their homework. Designer Christopher Acebo’s soaring metal industrial structures, looming in front of a mysterious night-lit backdrop of the East LA barrio smoldering below a rendition of City Hall, is a perfect tool for Valdez’s stark staging and the hot-blooded dance numbers choreographed by Maria Torres to the infectiously cheery original score by the legendary late “father of Chicano music” Lalo Guerrero.

Speaking of research, costumer Ann Closs-Farley’s amazing period costuming defines her as a vital member of the exceptional team that has brought this production back to life, whether it be finely tailored Joan Crawford-esque suits for reporter Alice Bloomfield (Tiffany Dupont) or the spectacularly colorful dancewear moving seductively with every jerk and stretch of the energetic and rubber-limbed ensemble. . Her work is accentuated by the gorgeously detailed “drapes” that adorn the ghostly El Pachuco (Demián Bichir) and members of the local gang who became victims of the American court system. Once referred to by a young Malcolm X as a “killer-diller coat with a drape shape, reet pleats and shoulders padded like a lunatic’s cell,” Closs-Farley’s brilliantly day-glo-ing zoot suits, complete with their signature watch chains dangling from the belt to below the knee, could make a comeback due solely to the success of this revival.
   Bichir is a dynamic presence as he bravely attempts to fill the well-worn pointed-toed shoes that became the springboard to fame for his predecessor in the role, Edward James Olmos. Bichir is wonderfully sparse in his choices as he prances and poses as the continuously dominant spirit figure gliding through the action as the conscience of the falsely accused Henry Reyna (Matias Ponce), although his gravelly, raspy delivery of some of his key lines does tend to get lost in their own gargle. Ponce also seems to keep his delivery more to the bone than do many of his castmembers, as does Jeanine Mason as his spunky love interest Della. A special treat is the casting of Daniel Valdez (who also doubles as musical director) and Rose Portillo as Henry’s longsuffering, endearingly simple immigrant parents, since they are the actors who, four decades ago, played the roles of Henry and Della in the original cast.

Of course the saddest thing about seeing Zoot Suit so painstakingly returned to its original venue is to realize how little has changed since the Sleepy Lagoon murders and the subsequent Zoot Suit Riots, which shook Los Angeles to its core and subsequently spread around the country 75 years ago. Like studying the arc between Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard in 1905 and Tracy Letts’s August: Osage County 100 years later, the endurance of great art unmistakably exposes how our conflicted species refuses to modify our behavior and learn from our mistakes, how little we really, truly try to honor and to practice the humanity we profess to hold so dear.

February 13, 2017
Feb 12–March 26. 135 N. Grand Ave., Downtown Los Angeles. Tue-Fri 8pm, Sat 2:30pm & 8pm, Sun 1pm & 6:30pm. Running time 2 hours and 30 minutes, including intermission. $25–99. (213) 972-4400.



The Great Kooshog Lake Hollis McCauley Fishing Derby
Torrance Theatre Company

Reviewed by Dany Margolies

Rachel Baumsten, Jennifer Faneuff, and Nick Brustin

Torrance Theatre Company’s latest offering is another charmer from Canadian playwright Norm Foster. Titled The Great Kooshog Lake Hollis McCauley Fishing Derby, it shows the city mouse in all of us that small-town folk have all the wisdom we could hope for but perhaps none of petty stresses we cling to.
   The play has the feel of a fairy tale. A man who has misplaced his enjoyment of the important things in life becomes stranded for just the right amount of time in the lovely surroundings of Kooshog Lake, where three fairy godmothers and one fairy godfather wryly readjust his priorities.
   With a title like that, it’s no surprise the play is also a bit about names. What we call someone influences how we think of that person, and what we’re called influences how we think of ourselves.
   It’s about James Bell (Nick Brustin), tightly wound big-city big-shot banker, who was driving through the area on his way to a conference when his fuel pump opportunely broke, stranding him here just long enough.

He has been giving his life to his job. That job, it seems, will no longer be giving back to him. At Kooshog Lake, he comes upon Sienna Grey (Jennifer Faneuff), the earth-mother (thus the name) general-store owner whose afternoon nap James interrupts. She’s mourning her only son, who moved away and hasn’t called. But this doesn’t mean she’ll treat James with any apparent motherliness.
   The father figure in this mix is Kirk Douglas (Ron Gould), who starts to mess with James’s mind by pretending he doesn’t know who the real Kirk Douglas is. When the townsfolk tell James there’s only one phone in town, James loses all perspective.
   As if she could sniff out the presence of a new man in town, Rhonda (Eleen Hsu-Wentlandt) stops by the store. She may be a remorseless flirt, but she also runs most of the lakeside businesses. Despite his urban sophistication, she scares James. That’s likely why he quickly turns to the luminous Melanie Morningside (Rachel Baumsten), who evidences good sense and a sweet but currently aching heart.
   So, who is Hollis McCauley? He’s the catfish the locals have been trying to hook for more than 20 years, in their annual fishing derby with an enviable purse to be won for his capture. If he were to be caught, would anyone hang on?

The Kooshogians aren’t perfect. They’ve done things they regret, and they tease James until he doesn’t know joke from truth. But they’re exactly what he needs right now.
   Exactly what the play needs is a director with warmth and humanity, and it gets just that in Gia Jordahl, who makes this Foster comedy remarkably rich yet delicate—well, except for Brustin’s frequently mugging delivery.
   The scenic design and construction by Mark Wood takes the audience far away from Torrance and into a piney, weather-beaten haven. Lighting by Katy Streeter evokes warm morning and evening northern sunlight. Bradley Allen Lock’s costumes set a relaxed, timeless tone.
   Kooshog’s townsfolk feel a strong sense of community. They don’t lock their doors, because, as Kirk Douglas says, “If someone steals from one of us, they steal from all of us.” What a lovely place in which to retreat for a few days. Or a lifetime. Or two hours, including intermission.

January 23, 2017
Republished courtesy of Daily Breeze
Jan 21–Feb. 19. 1316 Cabrillo Ave, Torrance. Fri-Sat 8pm, Sun 2pm (additional show 8pm Thu, Feb 16). $30. Running time 2 hours, including intermission. (424) 242-6882.




The Found Dog Ribbon Dance
Echo Theater Company at Atwater Village Theatre

Reviewed by Dink O’Neal

Daniel Hagan
Photo by Darrett Sanders

Coping is an intensely personal matter. The impact of a loss, whatever form it takes, is quite often inexplicable to the outside world. How one handles it and the potential need for comfort is the big picture in playwright Dominic Finocchiaro’s world premiere piece. Finocchiaro populates his play with unique people brought to life by a uniformly excellent cast under the able direction of Alana Dietze.
   As strange as it may seem at first, Norma, played with exquisite simplicity by Amanda Saunders, is a New York City–based professional “cuddler.” Blazing a path into this heretofore little-known job category, she encounters a widely varied clientele.
   There’s Dave, a pajama-clad divorcé, played by Eric Gutierrez whose moment of angst upon misreading Norma’s empathy is heart-wrenching. Harrison, a balls-to-the-wall stock market analyst, given a strong portrayal by West Liang, serves as a superlative muse for challenging Norma’s outwardly calm demeanor.
   Meanwhile, Trista, played by Clarissa Thibeaux, is Norma’s first female client, an 18-year-old given to “cutting” as she obviously struggles with her sexual identity. And Gregory Itzin is outstanding as a quietly empathetic older gentleman named Xeno who winds up providing Norma with the very connection and opportunity for reflection that she is supposedly offering him.
   Throughout, Norma sponsors the titular canine character, brought to life here by Daniel Hagen, whose work is engagingly perfect. Director Dietze along with Saunders and Hagen have avoided any pitfalls of disbelief the audience might foster, given this human-animal cohabitation. Theirs is a reality one buys into immediately and wholly.
   As Norma attempts to locate Dog’s owner, she runs headlong into a pair of characters who, frankly, could use her professional services. Gabriel Notarangelo plays Colt, a streetwise skateboarder whose foulmouthed invectives mask the heartbreak of having lost his own canine companion. Julia Dretzin embodies Miranda, a nearly heartless, or so we first assume, businesswoman whose mission is to bring home any dog in order to placate her children over their missing pet. Notarangelo and Dretzin spin gold with these cameo appearances, as their characters challenge Norma’s comfort zone.

On the flipside, all is not drama and depression. While posting a flier at a local coffee shop, Norma encounters an older-than-average—early 40s—barista named….wait for it….Norm! Steven Strobel is flawless as this charmingly goofy, occasionally immature, yet surprisingly deep man whose hobby is described by the other half of the play’s title. Strobel’s and Saunders’s scenes, touchingly directed by Dietze, are equal parts giddy teenage infatuation and quietly wistful moments of introspection. One finds oneself hoping for this relationship to take root and flower as Norma’s long-suppressed losses are given freedom to emerge, thanks to this unusual union.
   Dietze’s production staff complements her work with aplomb. Kirk Wilson’s arena-styled scenic design welcomes the audience to sit in any of the three sections surrounding the playing space. Jesse Baldridge’s lighting of the many locales in Finocchiaro’s script is warmly appealing.

January 27, 2017
Jan 21–Feb 26. 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater Village. Free street and lot parking. Fri-Sat 8pm, Sun 4pm, Mon 8pm. $34, $20 on Mondays. (310) 307-3753.


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