Vampire

Reviewed by Socks Whitmore
Fuzzybottoms Theater Co. at the Sherry Theater
Thru October 30

RECOMMENDED

Though this production is firmly entrenched in the gothic horror genre, sensitive theater-goers should be aware of an onstage sexual assault, violence, death and gratuitous amounts of stage blood.

Spooky season is in full swing, and the haunted holiday spirit has found its way into at least one cozy pocket of the NoHo theater scene—a hybrid play-dance experience by the simple name of Vampire awaits horror fans in the black box chamber of the Sherry Theater. In a world where witches and vampires have been at war for centuries, the streets of WWI London are shaken by the arrival of an unassuming young woman who just happens to be Dracula’s true heir. Resolving the internal power struggle of the Dracul clan (and ending the battle between their street gang vamps and the local apothecary witches) all hinges on finding a legendary item known as the Damphire stone… if they only knew where to look.

The first thing prospective audiences should note is that the front row seats are the designated “splash zone,” and it does live up to its name—over the course of two and a half action-packed hours, the cast bursts dozens (if not hundreds) of stage blood packets in epic sprays from all sides. The drenching commences almost as quickly as the opening scenes, which set the stage for writer-director April Littlejohn’s particular version of vampire lore: the tale of Adam and Eve turned on its head (somewhat differently from existing vampiric iterations, studied vampire enthusiasts may note), followed by the rise and fall of Dracula and his forbidden love affair with a female witch. The story from there follows his orphaned unholy progeny across vamp-slaying rampages, forbidden romances, hip-hop/trap dream ballets, and more.

Vampire is an unusual theatrical experience built for a niche but thriving population within the theater-going community, the gathered fans of dance fighting, supernatural romances, and straight-to-Tubi, B-list horror movies. Similar audiences might be seen circulating the off-beat, elaborately guerrilla productions found at Fringe theater festivals.

Much of the delight to be found in this show comes from an appreciation for the flavor of the genre, but a few tips of the hat must be given to the supporting vampiric performers. Kurt Merrill brings up the room with his impeccable comedic timing as the hypochondriac-turned-amateur Shakespearean, Boris, and Heather Boothby and Amanda Kaye steal the show as what this reviewer can only describe as sexy neurodivergent incestbians. The choreography throughout is intelligent, but the sensual tension of the couples’ dance at the Dracul Ball is especially striking. The generous amounts of multi-actor fight choreography in a fairly small space sometimes lead to a tangibly “staged” feel, but the performances of pain are particularly compelling across the cast; audiences can expect lots— lots —of gut-wrenching screams throughout the night. Snaps also go to the entire cast for pulling off the logistical marvel of dancing, acting, and juggling numerous special effects, scene after scene after scene.

The low budget, indie horror vibes are embraced enthusiastically, and the audience it’s meant for won’t care that they can see the empty blood packets on the floor or the prop heart sticking out from an actor’s neckline. But even with a crowd that clamors for cringe, there are still polishes to be made. The ensemble of dancers are rarely in sync, the instrumental underscore more than once completely drowns out actor dialogue, and the collective costuming choices may mislead the average audience member in their assessment of where and when the show takes place. Perhaps the romance subplots are supposed to feel contrived as part of the narrative aesthetic, but when no clear character chemistry emerges, they read as messy and unfounded. The venue’s spooky décor and inclination of their past programming towards shows of similar tones are a good fit for the piece, but the physical space is regretfully small for the size of the cast and the aims of the choreography—a shame when the choice to choreograph the post-show bows would have read wonderfully with a little less repetition and redundancy.

The self-aware absurdity of this theatrical bloodbath promises an entertaining evening for the right audience. Step inside the world of witches and vampires to laugh, gasp, and maybe even get splashed before spooky season slips away.

The Sherry Theater, 11052 Magnolia Blvd, North Hollywood; Fri. & Sat., 8:00 pm; Sun., 5:00 pm. https://nohoartsdistrict.com/noho-theatres/vampire/ Running time: 2 hours 40 minutes including one intermission

I Never Sang For My Father

Reviewed by Joseph Klink

Theater That Matters – Two Roads Theater

Through October 23

RECOMMENDED

We’re deep into 2022. It is redundant to say we’ve all learned something about ourselves and how we value our time. In the air, in abundance, there exists this terrible combination of “if only we could slow down for a moment” and ”but I must take care of this first”!  Life’s challenges often seem random or thankless; we already do so much because we ‘ought to’, and looking inward, where is the energy supposed to come from? What can we do when we’re torn between two rights, and the only thing going wrong seems to be you?

I Never Sang For My Father takes on these questions and more in a painfully truthful, relatable drama. Written by Robert Anderson, it is a story of when responsibility to family meets disappointment and heartbreak. Gene (played by Shayne Anderson) is the middle-aged, dutiful son of Tom and Margaret Garrison (Dana Kelly Jr. and Becky Bonar). They are parents who will soon require full responsibility for their care. Gene’s sister, Alice (Mary Carrig), has been excommunicated by their father, much to their mother’s dismay, and she is the only one willing to tell Gene that he must consider himself when things really begin to change. Their relationships with their parents can be felt everywhere. We aren’t alone, humans, in a common sense of obligation, in wanting to take care of our elders and loved ones as a way to say thanks. We are, however, unique in regarding quite how much toil and pain, any extreme emotion, that the very idea of their aging can cause us. That said, where do we draw the line when caring for someone who has caused hurt or trauma?

The actors deliver a powerful performance. It is all-too-real, yet leaves you feeling grounded and not alone. The actors portraying the Garrison family are strongly supported by Cheyann Dillon and Paul Buxton, both dynamic actors who play multiple characters. The director, Doug Kaback’s vision is clear, and rather than cast judgment on the characters, wherein it would be easy to do so, we are given a plain look at them. The play was written 50 years ago, but the ideas are somehow made more intense by the world we live in today. The realities of this story can be hard to bear, just as in life, but they exist and they are worth paying attention to, if only for oneself. Don’t miss it.

Monday Magick with Micah the Magician

Reviewed by Julyza Commodore

Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre Group

Thru October 24^th (Monday’s Only)

RECOMMENDED

It would be difficult to not believe in magic after watching Monday Magick with Micah the Magician. Starring Micah Cover and produced by Zombie Joe, it is an interactive magic show where audience members are both the magician and medium. (The show that I attended also starred Andy Deemer as the opening Magician.)

What really plays a starring role is the intimate setting of Zombie Joe’s Theatre. Although this could work in a larger theatre setting as well, the close proximity makes everything feel that much more immediate. Also, the show’s interactive aspect is pretty much impossible not to enjoy. Both Andy and Micah called on audience members to be involved in each magic trick. Because of this, even skeptics of magic would have a difficult time not investing in the sheer fun.

Micah the Magician keeps the audience as involved and as excited as he is, but also on their toes. Of course, the audience expects to see magic. However, they may not be sure of what magic they will see and how it will unfold. Each of his eight sets gets more engaging than the previous, so that I didn’t want the show to end.

Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre Group, 4850 Lankershilm Boulevard, N. Hlywd.; Mon., 8:30 pm; thru Oct 24. https://www.zombiejoes.tix.com

Kim’s Convenience

Reviewed by Steven Leigh Morris

Laguna Playhouse

Through Oct. 9

RECOMMENDED

Born in the 2011 Toronto Fringe Festival, Korean-Canadian scribe Ins Choi’s widely produced family comedy (spurring a spinoff sitcom on Canadian TV and Netflix) is a paeon to family. It clearly fills a hunger to reinforce embattled institutions (family businesses and family bonds), against children’s quest for independence as well as the pressures of gentrification — and it does so with a fair amount of wit and charm. Future productions of this comedy could likely be funded by any city’s small business administration.

You might call it an answer to so many 20^th century dramas that call into the question the sundry power plays and perversities that entrap people in families and the stubborn, oppressiveness of family patriarchs – from Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, to Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire to August Wilson’s Radio Golf.

In Choi’s comedy, the Number One estranged son, Jung Kim (Gavin Kawin Lee), returns home from years-long exile after a fight with dad. It’s the same plot as in Death of a Salesman. In Miller’s play, there is no family business, but there’s considerable chatter about starting one, as though that is the embodiment of family values. Arthur Miller sees it as a mirage. Ing Choi sees it as both a rescue and a kind of salvation of core values.

Apples and oranges? Not really. Both plays have a devoted yet spirited matriarch (Janet Song in Kim’s Convenience) who also serves as diplomat between warring parties. There’s ample reason to believe that patriarch Appa Kim (Yong Kim) is every bit as calcified as Miller’s Willy Loman. Before Jung’s return, Appa pressures his daughter Janet (Susanne Lee) to take over the local convenience store he created, defying a flattering market-value offer for the store in the gentrifying Canadian neighborhood, an offer made by a local entrepreneur (Clinton Lowe), who aims to demolish the store as part of a new, upscale housing development (Radio Golf, anybody?)  

To its credit, and without being reductive, the play doesn’t shy away from the cantankerous Appa’s profiling of Blacks: indeed, his daughter witnesses with horror her dad’s factually baseless yet intuitive and accurate accusation against a Black store thief (Lowe). That portrait is offset by Lowe’s earlier portrayal of an entirely honorable Black customer, not to mention the businessman with an offer to buy the store (an offer he hopes Appa can’t refuse) plus Janet’s endearing child-sweetheart boyfriend, now working as a local cop. Indeed, Lowe is pulled into quadruple duty, ably capturing the different essences of four characters – and the only actor who plays more than one role.  

Director Jon Lawrence Rivera gets to the play’s heartbeat through the show’s sitcom style and the characters’ thick cultural layers of emotional self-protection. Janet has to place her dad in a painful arm lock (learned from her cop boyfriend) in order to get him to thank her for the volunteer time she’s dedicated to their store, and to have him admit that he actually loves her. (She can say it to him without having her arm twisted, she argues.) Whether this a generational or a cultural issue, there’s no doubt the Korean characters are cloistered, contrasted against the effervescent Black men portrayed by Lowe. It would seem such stiffness would be an impediment to the play’s nostalgia, which  borders on sentimentality. And yet it has the opposite effect, perhaps because the portrayals are so authentic – even if Appa tries to hand off the store-keys to his son with no training, like Willy Wonka handing Charlie the keys to his chocolate factory. This dimension is quite wistful.

Rivera serves what authenticity the play possesses by employing You-Shin Chen’s striking and ever-so-literal set design of the shop: stocked shelves, wall-to-wall detail, including the little ding that goes off whenever the front door gets opened. Magic realism this ain’t. And still, the play traffics in what Arthur Miller would have called mirages – that small businesses can hold out against mega-corporate interlopers, that the community will hold and that the family will prevail. No wonder it’s so popular.

Laguna Playhouse, 606 Laguna Canyon Drive, Laguna Beach. Wed.-Fri., 7:30 pm, Sat., 2 & 7:30 pm, Sun. 1 & 5:30pm. Added perf. Tues., Oct. 4, 7:30 pm; thru Oct. 7. https://lagunaplayhouse.com

The Great Jheri Curl Debate

Reviewed by Julia Stier

East West Players

Through October 9

RECOMMENDED

Magical realism, race relations, and a heartfelt story all in one, The Great Jheri Curl Debate by Inda Craig-Galván packs an emotional punch, while still leaving room for plenty of quirkiness and wit.

When Veralynn (Julanne Chidi Hill) hangs up her hairdresser’s apron in exchange for working the retail side of cosmetology, she finds herself employed at a Korean-owned, Black beauty supply shop. Dubbed “Julie” by the store’s owner, Mr. Kim (Ryun Yu), Veralynn, and Mr. Kim navigate a slow-budding friendship, cultural differences, and their own complicated lives.

But it wouldn’t be a Craig-Galván play if there wasn’t some aspect of magic – so cue the talking posters. Huge props to projection designer Hsuan-Kuang Hsieh for pulling that one off.

This play, under the direction of Scarlett Kim, hits you right in the feels, in all the best ways. And while the overall tone of the piece is uplifting, the script does not shy away from conflict, openly discussing the racism both the Korean and the African-American communities face, sometimes from each other. But it is the show’s unique combination of conflict and compassion that makes the story so compelling.

Hill and Yu as Veralynn and Mr. Kim, respectively, bring such heart to the characters, that you can’t help but fall a little bit on love with them.  Mr. Kim is an artist trapped in a businessman’s body, driven to the profession by his own personal grief. Yu captures this duality, allowing the light to shine through the cracks in Mr. Kim’s tough exterior. Veralynn is a woman trying to survive, with a child at home and a dying dream, and Hill presents a woman as sensitive as she is sassy.

And there are those dang posters. Featuring pictures of Jheri Redding (Ray Baker), the self-proclaimed “inventor” of the Jheri Curl, and two trendy models, Lorraine (Mildred Marie Langford) and Marvin (Bruce Lemon Jr.), these figures won’t allow Veralynn to leave well enough alone. They serve as her inner thoughts personified, urging her to live up to her potential.

The joy of this show comes from watching the two leads peel back their preconceived notions of one another. Rarely do we get to see a story about a man and woman that doesn’t end in a passionate kiss. This story doesn’t have that. It doesn’t need it. 

David Henry Hwang Theater, 120 Judge John Aiso St. Los Angeles; Thurs., Fri., Mon. 8 pm; Sat., 2 & 8 pm; Sun., 5 pm; thru Oct. 9. https://eastwestplayers.org; Run time about an hour and a half, with no intermission.

Revenge Porn

Reviewed by Julia Lloyd George

Ammunition Theatre Company

Through Oct. 9

RECOMMENDED

Revenge Porn doesn’t skirt around its delicate subject — its title a bold, confident and, frankly, punk declaration of what the cast is about to unpack for you. The alternative title, The Story of a Body, is gentler and more emotional, but certainly no less true to the empathetic spirit of this magnificent play written by Carla Ching and directed by Bernardo Cubría. It’s about the tremendous pain of public violation and the desire for revenge, to be sure. However, it’s also about the difficulty of realizing that someone you once loved is capable of incredible harm, and the complicated feelings that come with that knowledge. Most importantly, it’s about taking back ownership of your life story and your body after both have been cruelly stolen from you —victimhood is never the endpoint for these characters.

It all starts, as you might have guessed, with a shocking leak of naked photos. The victim? Our plucky heroine, Kat (Tina Huang), an LA-based theater director in the throes of setting up a graduation party for her daughter, Nice (Kahyun Kim). Before Nice can even graduate, though, Kat’s younger boyfriend, Elliot (Christopher Larkin), reveals to her that her nudes have been suddenly splashed across social media. The perpetrator? At first, it’s not entirely clear. Still, the photos are personal, intimate, taken on beach vacations. All of Kat’s close family and friends are tagged; it’s someone close to home.

We see the realization of who it is slowly creep up on Kat, but the truth is painful enough that she’s evidently in denial. Once she finally shares with Elliot and Nice that the leaker is Mac (Nelson Lee), her ex-husband and Nice’s father, they are adamant that she calls him out for what he’s done. This is the father of her child and someone she was in a relationship with for 22 years, though, so it’s not so simple for her. The gradual fallout of a decision to do nothing, however, would make everything worse for her and those closest to her.

Nice is perhaps the most affected, forced to be the reluctant intermediary between parents caught on either side of a widely publicized internet sex crime. A budding photographer just beginning to make her way in the world, she’s now in the unenviable position of trying to convince her father to take down nudes of her mother. It’s an experience that obviously changes her perspective both on her parents —Lee cleverly portrays Mac as a sleazy, careless person indifferent to the collateral damage of his actions as he wallows in his heartbreak — and her own body as she tentatively begins a romantic relationship with a friend-turned-boyfriend, JJ (Roland Ruiz). The scenes between her and JJ are incredibly endearing, whether they’re hilariously riveted by the dramatic beats of a nature documentary or showing each other the beauty of their physical imperfections. Kahyun Kim is a gifted and magnetic actor, bringing levity to every scene she’s in.

Sweet and supportive Elliot, sensitively played by Larkin, is pulled into the maelstrom of the drama when Mac chooses to leak a video of him, as well. This is what finally drives Kat off the edge and makes her publicly name Mac, bringing the cancel culture mob down on his head. Mac’s journalist mother, Mia, whom Jeanne Sakata fabulously embodies in addition to the very different, comic role of Kat’s mother, Betty, pitches to Kat that they collaborate on an essay about the situation. Mia wants her son to take full responsibility for what he’s done, but Kat is more sympathetic to him and wants to interview him about his reasoning. Although this confrontation effectively humanizes Mac in his own post-cancellation suffering, Kat does appear to let him off the hook a little more than he deserves.

The most moving part of the play is actually when Kat insists on wresting control of her narrative by having Nice take nude photos of her to publish along with the essay. The scene is an exquisite distillation of empowered consent, as Kat bravely reveals “the story of her body” on her own terms and through her daughter’s eyes. The dance of emotions across Huang’s face in these moments is marvelous to watch—here is a beautiful woman refusing the shame that both society and her ex seem to want her to feel, insisting on her worth above all else.

Ammunition Theatre Company, The Pico, 10508 W Pico Blvd; Thurs-Fri., 8pm; Sat., 2pm & 8pm; Sun., 7pm; thru Oct. 9; https://www.ammunitiontheatre.com/revenge-porn;  running time: 2 hours with a 10-minute intermission.  

A Great Wilderness

Reviewed by Deborah Klugman

Rogue Machine at the Matrix Theatre

Thru Oct. 30

RECOMMENDED

One of the marks of playwright Samuel D. Hunter’s work is how skillfully he portrays people who lead lives in desperate isolation. In A Great Wilderness, produced by Rogue Machine at the Matrix Theatre, that scenario might apply to Walt (John Perrin Flynn), an elderly man, arguably in the first stages of dementia, who’s dedicated his life to the egregious practice of conversion therapy.

For 30 years Walt has lived in a secluded retreat in the mountains in Idaho. It’s a place where parents send their adolescent boys to be redirected away from their homosexual leanings. Fundamentally kind and gentle, Walt eschews the radical methods of some practitioners, like shock therapy, nor does he engage in fire-and-brimstone sermonizing at the youths in his care. He prefers instead to talk with his wards about his feelings, to read the Scriptures with them, perhaps take long walks together in the surrounding forest.

But Walt’s life as he’s lived it for three decades is coming to an end. His increasing forgetfulness has prompted his friends — his ex-wife Abby (Rachel Sorsa) and her second husband Tim (Tony Pasqualino) to engineer his move to an assisted living facility. Walt has docilely, but reluctantly, agreed to their plan and even packed his belongings. But then he receives a call from Eunice (Jacquelin Lorraine Schofield) a mother soliciting help with her son Daniel (Jeffrey Delfin), whom she’s discovered viewing gay porn on the internet.

The play opens with Daniel’s arrival, and an interchange where Walt does his darndest to make the bewildered stressed-out lad feel comfortable and allay his fears — of shock therapy, first and foremost (no surprise there). An actual therapy session never gets going, however; by the second scene, Daniel has disappeared into the woods, and the rest of the play takes place in tandem with the hunt for the missing boy, ill-equipped to survive in this rugged terrain, and with a forest fire raging nearby, no less.

One of the disconcerting aspects of A Great Wilderness is that it never actually depicts this immoral and harmful practice (still legal in 23 states) visited upon young gay men and women by (to put it mildly) misguided parents and their religious counselors.  As the narrative unwinds, we learn that Walt has known tragedy in the form of a gay loved one who committed suicide — but his response has been to double down on the conversion thing, not reject it. It’s only as we approach catharsis that the thought that there might have been another path crosses his mind.

The play’s absence of polemic is a choice the playwright clearly has made; A Great Wilderness is less a political work than it is a character study of a man nearing the end of his life, taking stock and, with some trepidation, finding himself wanting. Only here and there are there hints of the bigotry and noxious closemindedness that Hunter more broadly exposes in some of his other plays — in Abby’s racist slurs and Tim’s opaque remarks about changing culture. Eunice’s twisted views (never verbally explicit, however) of her son’s sexual orientation are evidence also.

That said, Flynn plays Walt with dignity and grace, and to the extent that you identify or empathize with this character, a person for whom life in its fullness has begun to recede, the production will move you. But other elements are less successful — some related to the writing (see above) and others to the execution, under Elina de Santos’s direction. For example, I found it hard to relate to Eunice, a mother who claims to love her son (and perhaps she does) but, acting through the prism of her faith, views Daniel’s possible death as a liberation. Schofield relays the aura of a woman who is angry, unhappy and repressed, but her performance has a sameness and doesn’t offer much insight or nuance. Sorsa, in a plum role as a closeminded domineering individual, could be much larger and more dynamic. Pasqualini does a serviceable turn as an OK guy who must mediate between the controlling Abby and the increasingly resistant Walt. Delfin’s Daniel is still a blueprint awaiting development. As Janet, the no-nonsense local ranger, Tania Verafield furnishes this rather sad and sometimes slow-moving story with a measure of alacrity and humor.

The interior set (Bruce Goodrich) is aptly rustic and detailed, but there’s not a lot of warmth (lighting by Vicky Scott) or personality to reflect Walt’s genuine and giving nature. Also, I found the wide shallow proscenium at the Matrix Theater a liability in and of itself, with the actors sometimes positioned at too much distance from each other, when more intimate proximity would enhance the drama’s poignancy.

Matrix Theatre, 7657 Melrose Ave., W Hollywood. Fri.-Sat., Mon., 8 pm, Sun., 3 pm, dark Oct. 10; thru Oct 31. www.roguemachinetheatre.net  Running time: approximately 2 hours with a 15-minute intermission.

Black Super Hero Magic Mama

Reviewed by Julia Lloyd George

Ophelia’s Jump

Thru Oct. 16

RECOMMENDED

The murder of a 14-year-old Black boy at the hands of police is never going to be a simple subject for a play, entrenched as it is in the brutally violent and racist systems of modern America. Nevertheless, Ophelia’s Jump’s and director Kathryn Ervin’s rendering of Inda Craig-Galván’s Black Super Hero Magic Mama brings a potentially overwhelming political topic down to the level of the intimately personal, focusing on the heartbreak of an individual victim’s mother, Sabrina Jackson (Kristi Papailler). Sabrina’s grief is anything but flat and stifling, as Craig-Galván refreshingly chooses to explore it through the lens of a comic-book fantasy world.

While Sabrina is very much the focus of the story and Papailler skillfully expresses the complex range of emotions tied to experiencing such a tragedy, the beginning of the play provides a brief, tantalizing glimpse into the mother-son relationship that she is mourning; we see how proud Sabrina is of Tramarion (Stephen Diaz), as he obsessively studies for a “Know Your Heritage” quiz bowl. We also see how protective she is, knowing how easy it would be for society to write her son off as a “thug.” That’s what makes his murder even more heartbreaking, as no amount of integrity and hard work can shield him from the split-second prejudices of a white cop, Dave Lester (Aaron Pyle). Mirroring the real-life 2014 murder of 12-year-old Tamir Rice, whose toy gun was allegedly mistaken for a real gun, Lester mistakes Tramarion’s shiny quiz bowl trophy for a weapon and fires for this reason. It’s a truly painful image that stays with you.

Thankfully, the episodic nature of the play allows for flashbacks that provide more of an insight into Tramarion’s life before its end. Scenes of his friendship and collaboration with a budding comic book artist, “Flat Joe” (Solomon Patterson), were some of my favorites in the play. These two actors have easy chemistry and a natural sense of humor; whether they’re ranking their favorite superheroes “without powers” or joking about Sabrina’s “ESP,” they’re irresistibly charming and magnetic. These scenes also allow the audience to better understand and empathize with Sabrina’s earth-shattering devastation at losing this incredibly talented and imaginative son. The lightheartedness contrasts with the grief-ridden distance between her and her sister, Lena (Nell Lawson), after Tramarion’s death drives this home, as well.

It’s then easy to see why she chooses the world of Tramarion’s imagination as her haven from reality; retreating into the unfinished comic book that he left behind, Sabrina transforms into a “Maasai Angel” who battles a progression of villains that we recognize from her real life. There are the predatory newscasters thirsty to commodify Sabrina’s grief: Connie Wright, a.k.a. Lady Vulture (Joanna Connie Tan) and Tom Blackman, a.k.a. Human Hyena (Rob Dobson). These two are especially entertaining together. Projection designer Sheila Malone cleverly uses real-life broadcasts of similar murders, emphasizing how news coverage can often blame the victims in these incidents and skirt the systemic problems at their heart.

While a couple of the villains that Sabrina faces in her imaginary quest seem unnecessary and a bit nonsensical—we see her face off with versions of “Flat Joe” and Tramarion’s quiz bowl coach, Corey Brackett (Frank Hunter)—it’s heartening to see how fierce and self-assured she can be in the body of this alter-ego. One can only hope that she holds onto some of that fire when she finally returns to her true life, maybe healing a little bit along the way.

Ophelia’s Jump, 2009 Porterfield Way, Suite H, Upland; Fri-Sat., 8 pm; Sun., 4 pm; Thurs., 7:30 pm; thru Oct. 16. https://opheliasjump.org/ Running time: 90 minutes with a 15-minute intermission.

Bearings

Reviewed by Martίn Hernández

Flight Theatre

Thru Oct. 9

RECOMMENDED

An obviously physically and mentally exhausted man wobbles into the lobby of Pasadena’s luxurious Langham Huntington Hotel, guzzling down complimentary water bottles as if parched by Death Valley. He asks to be let into his room, but the officious desk clerk has no record of him checking in and refuses his entry.  Adamantly insisting that he left his key, ID, and thousands of dollars in cash in his room, a room he now finds unfamiliar, the man ultimately convinces the hotel’s manager of his story’s veracity. As a precaution from potential PR and legal implications, the manager calls in his chief of security, a former police detective, to find out just who this guy is. Thus, a bewildering journey begins into memory, guilt, and possible redemption and, like many a shrewd mystery, keeps us guessing up to its startling denouement.

Playwright/director – and emergency understudy – Matt Chait has developed a timely and noir-ish psychological adventure reminiscent of Hitchcock, with an enigmatic lead character both obsessed with finding the truth but dreading the outcome if he does. Our protagonist Richard Kalvar (Will Bradley) is running from something or someone, of what we’re not quite sure and neither is he. Richard pays cash for everything, eschewing credit cards – thus no history of his hotel stay – to avoid being tracked and when he’s asked by who, Zuckerberg and Bezos are his blithe responses. Mike Salcedo (Justin Huen) is the patient and thoughtful ex-cop who follows Richard down his mental rabbit holes as we are presented with flashbacks ranging from the absurdist to the emotional and spanning from Topanga Canyon to the San Gabriel Mountains as the two try to piece together Richard’s histrionic tale.

While revealing their characters’ relationship to Richard could well spoil the plot, this reviewer would be remiss in not at least mentioning the actors’ standout performances in the flashbacks.  Vanessa Born shines in their comic turn as the shaman-like Eli Timber while Valerie Larson embodies frustration as Holly in a brutal yet amusing monologue. Jane Papageorge acquits herself well in an otherwise clichéd role and Allison Reeves’ tearful turn as Aunt Ruth could well bring mutual waterworks.

Along the way, Richard’s encounters with real-time characters range from the humorous, like his banter with the snooty desk clerk Chip (Trip Langley), to the sympathetic, like his dialogue with the hotel manager Dick (Chait, script in hand, gamely serving as understudy for Kim Estes). Stealing the show is Rebecca O’Brien as Connie, a jaded waitress with a caustic wit yet a heart of gold.

Huen’s hangdog expression conveys a credible world weariness of a retired cop who has seen too much and is happy for banality of hotel security. Huen’s and Bradley’s confessional rapport rings true, aided by Chait’s thoughtful staging and the actors’ commitment. Chait’s balance of pathos and humor helps keep our interest throughout, which helps when things get bleak. And oh, do they get bleak. Marco DeLeon’s elaborate sets, from the fancy hotel lobby to Holly’s tiled kitchen, as well as Gregory Craft’s lighting plot, adds to the verisimilitude of the locales and the action. And hats off to the stage crew for their seamless work in set transitions, especially those benches.

Bradley, at points confused, determined, and foolish, brings an empathetic rendering to the contradiction that is Richard, and we sympathize with him even at his most unappealing moments.  An Everyman, Richard is beset by the question that he dolefully asks Mike, and by extension one we ask ourselves, “A good person can do a bad thing and still be a good person, can’t they?”  

Sadly, this may be one of the last productions at The Complex facility that was founded by Chait over thirty years ago and is part of the venerable “Theatre Row” district of performance spaces that has been a bastion for local theatre since 1992. The landlord plans to sell the building housing “Theatre Row” and The Complex may be shuttering on December 31, 2022. But there is an effort to save the building and for more info check out The Complex website at https://complextheatresandstudios.com/

Flight Theatre, 6472 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m.; through Oct. 9. (323) 465-0383. https://www.eventbrite.com/e/bearings-tickets-395606518747 Running time: 75 minutes.

Babe

Reviewed by Deborah Klugman

Echo Theatre Company at Atwater Village Theatre

Thru October 24

 RECOMMENDED

Babe, Jessica Goldberg’s incisive, skillfully wrought play about sexual harassment (and what should or should not be deemed politically correct), is so titled because, in the course of the narrative, it’s applied, rather casually, to Abigail (Julie Dretzin), one of the playwright’s four exceedingly well-drawn characters.

A woman with a straight black shoulder-length hairdo and the aura of an aging hipster, Abby’s a single middle-aged person who’s dedicated her life to her job as a talent scout for a mega record company. She works in tandem — or is it as an assistant? — to Gus (Sal Viscuso), a social dinosaur with a blunt profane tongue who’s absorbed virtually nothing from the multiple sensitivity training sessions he’s been mandated to attend. An obdurate male chauvinist, he refers to the smart, savvy Abby as “babe,” though she’s neither lover nor spouse. Gus and Abby go back 30 years or more, to their red-hot discovery of a pop singer, Kat Wonder (Wylie Anderson, in one of two roles) who rocketed to the top of the charts before ending her own life. Abby had a special relationship with Kat, who’s often in her thoughts as she wrestles with a cancer diagnosis whose resolution is scarily uncertain.

Change hovers on the horizon when Kaitlin (Anderson), an ambitious and knowledgeable young intern, joins their staff. For years Kaitlin’s tracked the careers of both these producers, and she’s also familiar with the dazzling rise and tragic denouement of the rock icon who put them on the map.  Kaitlin’s nervous when we meet her at her first interview, but we’re tipped off to her grit when, notwithstanding her aspirations to work for him, she corrects Gus when he refers to her as a girl, and insists he recognize her as a woman. For the politically obtuse Gus, the moment passes without note; for the rest of us, it’s a sure sign of the tempest to come.

The play proceeds as a series of eight encounters in a story that satisfyingly twists and turns before arriving at its ambiguous, but wholly predictable in its ambiguity, denouement.

One of the strengths of the script is how well Goldberg has rounded out her characters; an obnoxious Gus cares about Abby, determined to make himself available when she needs help. Kaitlin is genuinely admiring of the older woman but, when the time comes, quick to critique and act ruthlessly upon that critique. Grounded and self-possessed in her professional life, Abby quietly mourns her empty nest, never inhabited to begin with.

The performances, both singly and as an ensemble, bear the mark of Field’s insightful, nuanced direction. The impeccably cast Viscuso sports the role of Gus like a tailor-made tux; every moment he’s on stage is as entertaining as his character’s diatribes are appalling. Anderson rises to the double challenge of her dual roles with immense poise and credibility (though for those who haven’t read the script, it’s at first not entirely clear that the specter of Kat is a separate character from Kaitlin — but this is not an issue with the performer, rather a matter to be re-engineered in the writing or direction). As Abby, who listens more than she speaks, Dretzin crafts an understated persona to become the poignant center of the story.

For me, Babe is most timely in depicting the contrast in perspectives between contemporary #MeToo activists with those of women from prior generations. As a boomer – from a generation of women who burned their bras and hiked their skirts — I’m amazed and admiring of younger people quick to call out the shit that I and so many of my peers struggled to deal with, notwithstanding our “liberated” behavior. On the other hand, I am often taken aback when what I perceive as minor politically-incorrect infractions produce the same level of teeth-grinding rage as a violent act like rape.

I mention this by way of an enticement to see the show, which navigates these turbulent, controversial waters with care and precision — an added plus to the fine acting and accomplished direction on display.

Amanda Knehan’s scenic design utilizes a series of colorful paintings to indicate place changes as well as reflect on the high-octane climate that folks in the record business traffic in. Costumer Elena Flores dresses Kaitlin in blazer, torn jeans and black Converse sneakers, apt garb for a woman with record producer ambitions. Hayden Kirschbaum’s lighting functions as it should. Sound design by Alysha Bermudez incorporates songs sung by Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin and Janis Joplin (memorable music from the 70s rather than the 90s). If you’re sensitive to high volume, though, be prepared because the pre-show music is quite loud.

Echo Theatre Company, Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater. Fri.-Sat., 8 pm, Sun., 4 p.m., Mon., 8 pm; thru Oct. 24. https://EchoTheaterCompany.com Running time: approximately 80 minutes with no intermission.