WATSON

WOW!
WATSON

You don’t have to be a Sherlock Holmes fan to deem Jaime Robledo’s Watson theatrical magic, as its return engagement at Sacred Fools Theater Company makes abundantly clear. No wonder Watson (aka The Last Great Tale Of The Legendary Sherlock Holmes) won a pair of coveted LA Weekly Awards—for Robledo’s direction and Henry Dittman’s bravura comedic work—in its initial run last fall. Robledo’s comedy thrills and astonishes again and again, making its midsummer encore the best possible news for Los Angeles theatergoers in the mood to be dazzled.

Developed over a period of twenty-one weeks as part of Sacred Fools’ hit late night series Serial Killers, Watson features a plot that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle might have been proud to call his own.

We first meet our titular hero (Sherlock Holmes playing second fiddle for perhaps the first time in his life) in the purportedly deceased detective’s Bakers Street digs. The discovery of a journal of the pair’s last adventure together sends Watson (and us) flashing back in time, back to when Her Majesty Queen Victoria sent detective and sidekick on a journey across Europe to the Middle East. Their mission: To transport a mysterious puzzle box to an international conference between Ottoman chief Abdul Hamid and Russian Czar Alexander III, both of them vying for possession of Cyprus. Watson and Holmes’ seemingly simple task soon turns into a transcontinental chase, the adventurous pair pursued by legions of evil Turks and various other villains—including arch Holmes nemesis Professor Moriarty, aka The Napoleon Of Crime.

Got that?

No matter if you didn’t. The real fun in Watson are in the theatrical pyrotechnics unleashed by Robledo, his cast (in particular a quartet of thesps who give new meaning to the term “ensemble”), and the production’s gifted designers.

Here’s a taste of what’s in store for you in the 99-seat house Sacred Fools calls home:

• Holmes and Watson searching in vain for each other in possibly the densest London fog in theatrical history.
• A thrilling fistfight between hero and villain atop the cars of a speeding train.
• A band of treacherous Turks pursuing our intrepid heroes on horseback.
• Holmes and Moriarty engaged in a daring duel of wits at the edge of the Cliffs Of Dover.
• Our heroes on a sky-high hot air balloon ride over Europe.
• Two of the above clinging for their lives from the rooftop of a Turkish minaret.

As to how all this is accomplished, I will simply say that none of it could be done without the abovementioned quartet of ensemblists, who work hard indeed for their gas fare as they maneuver assorted trunks, chairs, a chandelier, and a particularly large white bed sheet (courtesy of prop master C.M. Gonzales). Add to that the contributions of composer Ryan Johnson and a trio of prerecorded musicians, designers Matt Richter (lighting) and Ben Rock (sound), and fight choreographer Andrew Amani, and you’ve got one heck of a team of creative artists creating theatrical marvels on a shoestring budget.

Besides adventure, Watson offers laughter galore thanks to some of the most brilliant comedic performances of the year (and some off-the wall dialog thrown in for good measure).

A seemingly inexhaustible Scott Leggett gives us a Dr. John H. Watson no longer the bumbling sidekick we remember from countless Sherlock Holmes adaptations, but rather a loving husband, faithful friend, and courageous adventure hero. As Holmes, rubber-bodied Joe Fria is every bit as outrageous as Leggett is understated, Sherlock’s cocaine addiction offering the award-winning actor the chance to perform some of the most inspired physical comedy since the silent movie greats showed us how back in the 1910s and ‘20s. LA Weekly-awarded Dittman makes for a deliciously fiendish Moriarty, but it’s his tour de force turn as a Londoner, his wife, a train conductor, a pint-sized street urchin, a police “bobby,” and a pair of foppish twits—all in the space of a few dazzling minutes and achieved only with the switch of hats and some breathtaking acting versatility—that make his the production's most talked about performance.

Eric Curtis Johnson (Mycroft Holmes), Rebecca Larson (Irene Adler), and CJ Merriman (Mrs. Dr. Watson) provide Grade A support, while the one-and-only French Stewart brings both Queen Victoria and Sigmund Freud to outrageously quirky life, stopping the show time and again with his inimitable French Stewartisms.

As for the ensemble, the stellar Lisa Anne Nicolai, Colin Willkie, KJ Middlebrooks, and Laura Napoli get the workout of their lives creating illusions it would take multi-millions of dollars to bring to the silver screen, acting various minor roles, and giving new meaning to the word “stagehand.” (The window-frame scene in Freud’s office alone is nearly worth the price of admission.)

Choreographers Natasha Norman and Caesar F. Barajas add to Watson’s many visual delights, aided by Merriman’s dance gifts in simulating Holmes’ cocaine trances. Jessica Olson’s costumes are yet another treat for the eyes, and Ruth Silveira’s puppets are terrific too. Watson is produced by Brandon Clark, Stewart, and Brian Wallis. Monica Greene is assistant director, Suze Campagna stage manager, Nicole Agredano scenic painter, Fria Suzuki trainer, Padraic Duffy dramaturg, and Joseph Beck associate producer.

With a publishing deal already signed, it’s a sure bet that Watson’s return to Sacred Fools is only the latest step on its road to national and maybe even international hit status. If you’ve not seen Watson yet, do it! And if you’re one of the lucky ones who caught it the first time around, here’s your chance to do it again. Newbies and return visitors are likely to find themselves in perfect agreement that there's not a more magical show in town.

Sacred Fools Theater, 660 N. Heliotrope Dr., Hollywood. Through August 20. Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00. Reservations: 310 281-8337
www.sacredfools.org

--Steven Stanley
July 29, 2011
Photos: Brian Taylor

THE INSIDIOUS IMPACT OF ANTON

WOW!
THE INSIDIOUS IMPACT OF ANTON

You could hardly call Francesca “The Girl Who Has Everything,” but she for one is not complaining. She has a job and a small circle of sort-of friends, and while she doesn't have a husband or a boyfriend, what she does have is a life which includes "people, cable, books on occasion, sex when required. And an apartment that always gets compliments.” And then she meets Anton.

Francesca is the 30something heroine of David Hilder’s highly entertaining romcom The Insidious Impact Of Anton, whose snappy World Premiere production at the El Centro proves a terrific showcase for the New York playwright’s quirky spin on life and a just-right star vehicle for its leading lady Tracy Eliott under Richard Tatum's ingenious direction.

Francesca spends her days not particularly challenged by the office job her uncle Victor offered her when she got tired of retail—and not particularly interested in anything or anyone else. Conversations with co-workers Miranda and Adele rarely go farther than who’s cute on this season’s American Idol. Richard, her ex, still carries an obvious torch for “Chess,” and though the possibility of a roll in the hay for old-time’s sake does exist, it’s unlikely to lead to an honest-to-goodness rekindling of old flames. Gaybor (i.e. gay neighbor) Nate does add a certain sparkle to Francesca’s evenings at home, but unlike Francesca, Nate has a dating life, so his visits tend to be pop-bys that don’t last all that long.

Then comes that meet-cute with Anton in the office kitchen. (“I wish you to move aside when you put milk in your fucking coffee,” she informs him in a sarcastic imitation of his Eastern European syntax which flies right over Anton’s seemingly fresh-off-the-boat noggin.) And that’s just the start of a series of seemingly chance meetings—at the bus stop, at the dry cleaners... You name it, he's there. Before long Francesca has agreed to dinner with the ubiquitous gent, “which is not a date” because she has “absolutely no romantic interest in him, and if he wants to have sex with me, he can fall off the nearest log.”

Dinner does indeed turn out to be just dinner that first time, but before long Anton has turned into considerably more than a mere dinner companion. Having lost her job due to her “halfhearted work ethic and frequent—and on occasion truly stunning—expletives,” Francesca now finds herself working for Anton as his personal assistant. And that’s not all that changes in Chess’s life. Instead of sitting around an office all day with boring coworkers, she’s picking up dry cleaning for a living, and even more surprisingly, she’s starting to use expressions like “for the love of Mike” instead of her habitual “oh for Christ’s sake.”

Who the heck is this Anton (who by the way no one in Francesca’s life has ever seen) and why is he having such an insidious impact on her life?

Far be it for this reviewer to spoil the end-of-Act-One surprise playwright Hilder has in store for you or the many comic delights of Act Two. Suffice it to say that the surprise is probably not what you’re expecting—and there are numerous reasons to return to your seat after intermission, not the least of which are the performances of Insidious Anton’s two leading players, and several delightful supporting turns as well.

The role of Francesca proves a terrific showcase for Eliott, who like Katharine Hepburn before her combines a gift for the acerbic with snappy comic timing and off-center romantic appeal. It’s a huge role, one that has the actress never leaving the stage, frequently addressing the audience, zipping from scene change to scene change, and never missing a beat.

Opposite her, Mikhail Blokh is a foreign-accented, English syntax-mutilating charmer, just the sort to wear a girl’s resistance down in a case of opposites attracting—with sizzle!

Daniel Montgomery is so utterly winning as Francesca’s gayboy-next-door that you wish Hilder would write a spin-off play just for Nate—on condition that Montgomery be guaranteed the role. June Carryl and Patty Jean Robinson provide solid office support for Eliott, with a cast-against-type Carryl particularly funny as flighty flibbertigibbet Adele. Warren Davis is spot-on as Francesca’s all-business, no-charm uncle Victor. As Robert, an amusing John Gale does his best to embody the lovable hetero lug of Hilder’s script.

Hilder’s script requires instantaneous scene changes (“shift to a bus stop,” “shift to a restaurant,” “shift to work,” etc.) that could easily bog down a production less inventively directed and designed than the one the splendid Tatum and his crackerjack team have come up with here. Katie Polebaum’s cleverly off-kilter set cues us in from the get-go that we’ll be in the not-quite-real world, and together with Corwin Evans’ ingenious projections—which show us what’s atop whichever location we’re supposed to be in—make for lickety-split scene changes. (I love the way Victor is pushed on and offstage on his castered office chair.) Christopher Moscatiello’s sound design is a winner too, working in precision tandem with Michelle Stann’s lighting design to create a whimsical, occasionally otherworldly mood, though Stann’s lighting could do a better job at flattering Eliott in her “close-up” moments. Sarah Le Ferber’s costumes are just the character definers they ought to be. Shelley Delayne is scenic painting assistant, Antonina Flowers costume assistant, Stephanie Boltjes stage manager, and Rachel Landis assistant stage manager.

The Insidious Impact Of Anton is precisely the kind of under-the-radar production that might easily escape notice in the more theatrically crowded seasons of fall, winter, and spring. Fewer summer offerings give it considerably more of the visibility it richly deserves, and theatergoers in search of romantic comedy with a bite could do no better than to seek it out. Anton’s impact may well be insidious, but it’s pretty darned appealing as well.

El Centro Theatre, 804 North El Centro Avenue, Hollywood. Through August 28. Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00. Sundays at 7:00. Reservations: 323 230-7261
www.absolutetheatrela.org
--Steven Stanley
July 24, 2011
Photos: Sarah LeFeber

DOUBTING THOMASON

WOW!
DOUBTING THOMASON

Los Angeles theater buffs may recall one of the biggest Ovation Award upsets ever, when the under-the-radar West Coast Premiere of Tracy Letts’ Killer Joe went on to win four crystal statuettes, including Best Production, Best Ensemble, and Best Direction. Far fewer will be aware that, at about the very same time as that production was set to open, another group of L.A. actors were rehearsing the very same play, only to discover a week before their own opening that someone else (the future Ovation winners) had the rights to Killer Joe—and they didn’t.

Writer/actor Christopher Brewster was part of that ill-fated second production, but in a storybook example of turning lemons into lemonade, a brand new script was written to fit the five-actor cast in one frenzied week.

Doubting Thomason is playwright Brewster’s look back at that experience, and a more hilarious comedy could not have been come out of near disaster than the one now provoking gales of laughter at North Hollywood’s Avery Schreiber Theatre.

Doubting Thomason opens with two of its actors pummeling a third to shouts of “Kill her! Kill her, Joe!”—only to have company member Thomason (Brewster) read aloud this blurb from The Acting Thespian: “New this week at the Sacred Tostada Theater is our Pick of the Week, Killer Joe, by Tracy Letts.”

Six weeks into rehearsals with only a week remaining before their first performance, five desperate actors suggest possible substitutions (including Sexual Perversity In Chicago, Love! Valor! Compassion!, 12 Angry Men, Key Exchange, and Beyond Therapy), but none of the above has exactly three male and two female roles, and as one of the thesps comments, “Even if we think of a play we still have to get the stupid rights.”

Blonde bimbo Kate (Kelly Kemp) is in near hysterics; after all, Days Of Our Lives casting director Marnie Siatta is coming to see her. Pseudo-Brit Teddy (Paul Storiale) refuses to jeopardize his “Equity-eligible” status by doing a show illegally. Stoner dude Jake (Artie Ahr) finds their situation a “serious buzz kill,” and contemplates making his move to Hawaii a few months ahead of schedule.

When Thomason announces his plan to save the day (“I will write a play this week. We will rehearse it as I write it and we’ll perform it on opening night!”), skeptics Kate and director/cast member Lynette (Bree Pavey) remind the would-be playwright that his last opus took him two years to write (“and you didn’t even finish it”). Still, Thomason is bound and determined to put his plan into action since, unbeknownst to the others, he’s used Teddy’s $1000 investment to buy his unsupportive parents a pair of first-class plane tickets to Opening Night.

In the immortal words of whoever first said them, “The Show Must Go On,” and go on it does, though Teddy has provisions. “I will agree to proceed with this theatrical carrion on one condition,” he informs the playwright, “that you include a man-man kissing scene,” then goes on to add, “Don’t forget the nudity. That auspicious little disclaimer on an ad that reads, ‘Warning: This Play Contains Violence And Nudity’ is good for at least half a house per night.”

The storyline that Thomason comes up with bears a certain resemblance to Killer Joe’s, though instead of having a down-on-his-luck drug dealer plot his mother’s murder with the help of his father and his mother-in-law, “Murderin’ Ted” has trailer trash lovers Bonnie and Lee hiring the titular hit man to bump off Bonnie’s hubby Robert, who unbeknownst to them is having an affair with Lee’s wife Blake. Got that?

Avid L.A. theatergoers will relish Doubting Thomason’s tongue-in-cheek look at our local stage scene, where “Equity-eligible” divas like Teddy insist on their 99-seat plan stipends (a grand total of $108 to be paid in addition to reimbursement of his $1000 investment) and TV-star wannabes like Kate break the “No Cell Phones” rule because “it’s a business call. It’s about a seminar at Actors Acting in Action with someone who knows a casting director really well.” (In the interest of accuracy, it should be noted that this does not reflect the Best-Of-L.A. productions spotlighted here on StageSceneLA.)

Thomason’s clever script alternates between behind-the-scenes looks at a production in chaos and the equally chaotic script they are rehearsing, giving each of the company’s actors two very different roles to play … and play quite dandily, credit shared with director Pavey (who starred in both previous productions of Doubting Thomason) and co-director Steve Jarrard (who directed those earlier stagings).

The evening’s standout performance belongs to Ahr, StageSceneLA Award winner for his devastating work in the original production of The Columbine Project. Looking like a cross between a young Brad Pitt and Matthew McConaughey, the charismatic Ahr makes for the most hilarious dazed-and-confused stoner since “Dudes” Ashton Kutcher and Seann William Scott went looking for their car, then turns things around to downright scary effect as Murderin’ Ted, a cold-hearted killer who could give Arnold in Terminator a run for his money.

Brewster merits four rounds of applause for a) creating Doubting Thomason in a moment of crisis, b) playing quite niftily both harried Thomason and self-described “stallion” Robert, c) producing the whole kit and caboodle, and d) being quite a looker both in and out of his clothes. Kemp, who provided some of the few bright moments in a recent Three Sisters, is a delicious hoot as a) an actress more interested in booking a soap gig than in honing her craft and as b) trashy-but-sweet sexpot Blake. A delightfully droll Storiale has tremendous fun with both Teddy’s pretentions and Lee’s dimwittedness. Pavey, in a 180 degree turn from her dramatic roles in The Columbine Project, proves herself an deft comedienne as both Lynette and Bonnie, the latter role providing her with the opportunity to strut her dramatic stuff as well.

Doubting Thomason does indeed deliver on its promise of a man-man kissing scene. There are in fact two of them, though not perhaps what Teddy had in mind when he made his stipulation. There is also blink-and-you-miss-it full frontal male nudity from Thomason and Storiale, though Kemp and Pavey are considerably less coy than the men in their topless scenes.

The production’s uncredited set and costume designs are precisely what you might expect from the ragtag group of actors putting on Murderin’ Ted. In other words, they are just right for Doubting Thomason. Cory Price gets thumbs up for equally bare-bones but entirely appropriate lights and sound. Behind-the-scenes personnel do not receive program credit.

Doubting Thomason is precisely the kind of play to inspire the oft-quoted refrain, “It ain’t Shakespeare,” and the equally oft-quoted response of “So what?” I laughed out loud from start to finish, as did Saturday’s nearly sold-out house, and in the words of another oft-quoted remark, “What more can you ask for?”

The Avery-Schrieber Theater, 11050 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood. Through August 13. Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00. Reservations: 818 795-0690
www.doubtingthomason.ticketleap.com
--Steven Stanley
July 16, 2011

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

WOW!
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

It takes a good deal of chutzpah to chop an hour off the running time of William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and a great deal of talent to pull it off, a feat which Vanguard Rep has performed to perfection—and to gales of laughter—in an open-air production certain to delight audiences of all ages, and that includes Shakespearephiles-and-phobes alike.

Credit adapters Matthew Kellen Burgos and Sam R. Ross with the inspiration and director Ross with the execution of a ninety-minute Dream that whisks on by in a flash, is as easy to follow as any contemporary comedy, and features a cast of twelve (plus two) that enchant the eyes and ears and tickle the funny bone in equal measure.

Performing at the outdoor Byrnes Amphitheatre on the campus of La Cañada’s Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy, Vanguard Rep trumpets their Midsummer Night’s Dream as “an irreverent reconstruction of the classic summer comedy … complete with music, laughter and pure ridiculousness … all told through the eyes of Puck.”

That this is a reconstructed Dream is evident from the get-go. Burgos and Ross have the inspired audacity to flip-flop Scenes One and Two, opening the show with Peter Quince and his madcap band of strolling players readying their adaptation of “The Most Lamentable Comedy And Most Cruel Death Of Pyramus And Thisbe,” one which we’ll later see performed a la Monty Python by this troupe of comedic whizzes.

It’s only now that we meet A Midsummer Night’s Dream’s two mismatched pairs of lovers in a scene which jettisons a good deal of exposition, the better to get the foursome off into the woods in record time.

The relative simplicity of AMND’s plot makes it one of Shakespeare’s most suitable for pruning. All you really need to know is that when Puck (servant to Oberon, King Of The Fairies) dabs a bit of magical flower juice on the eyelids of any of the dramatis personae, he or she will fall instantly in love with the very first person he or she sees upon awakening—a plot “hook” that could work just as well today as it did in Elizabethan England.

To go into a bit more detail:

Hermia (Elisa K. Blandford) and Lysander (Jeramy Felch) are in love, but Hermia’s imperious father Egeus (Clay Wilcox) is forcing her to marry Demetrius (Zach Kraus). Hermia’s bff Helena (Lauren Dobbins Webb) carries a torch for ex-boyfriend Demetrius but he wants nothing more to do with her. When the quartet of mismatched lovers head off to a nearby forest, Puck (Jason Vizza) mistakenly anoints Lysander’s eyelids with magic juice, causing the young man to fall for Helena. Soon after, Demetrius gets the same love juice applied to his eyelids (just before gazing at Helena) and Helena suddenly finds herself with a pair of lovestruck suitors and poor Hermia with none.

Elsewhere in the woods, Quince (Matthew Burgos) and his band of strolling craftsmen are busy rehearsing their play about Pyramus and Thisbe. When impish Puck transforms the head of their leader Nick Bottom (David Ross Paterson) into that of an ass, then applies some magic juice to the eyelids of sleeping fairy queen Titania (Kirstin A. Snyder), it’s donkey-eared Bottom who becomes the object of her royal affection.

Soon, Hermia and Helena are cat-fighting, Demetrius and Lysander exchanging blows, the troupe of players donning costumes for their hilarious play-within-a-play, as we in the audience enjoy our very own early summer dream of an evening under the La Cañada Flintridge stars.

Even more than usual, this particular Midsummer Night’s Dream belongs to Puck, the charismatic, multitalented Vizza remaining onstage (or in its proximity) from start to finish while providing a running Flamenco-tinged soundtrack on the acoustic guitar, his facial reactions as worthy of attention as the actions of those foolish mortals performing center stage.

The mismatched lovers couldn’t be in better hands than they are here, beginning with Blandford’s poodle-skirted Hermia who is to Webb’s nerdy Helena what Galinda is to Elphaba in a certain Broadway musical smash, prom queen vs. eternal outsider. By the same token, Felch’s Lysander is a big-man-on-campus Fiyero to Kraus’s unrequitedly lovestruck Boq. (Those unfamiliar with Wicked will just have to take my word for it that these are four absolutely delightful performances with plenty of physical comedy thrown in for good measure.)

Paterson’s sensational Nick Bottom is guilty of comic larceny, stealing every scene he’s in, first as a full-of-himself Master Thespian more than willing to undertake every single Pyramus And Thisbe role himself, then as a black-pompadoured, donkey-eared, hip-swiveling, scream-inducing Elvis of an ass (as in long-eared animal, not body part or verbal putdown).

A marvelous Matthew Burgos plays Peter Quince in auteur mode (think a younger, thinner, handsomer Francis Ford Coppola on set), supported by the equally terrific trio of Walter Wolfe (Francis Flute), Eliza Kiss (Tom Snout), and Sean F. Toohey (Snug), as hilarious a band of strolling players as you’ll see this or any Midsummer Night. (Starvling has been axed as have every one of Puck’s fairy attendants.)

Wilcox and Snyder double splendidly as Theseus/Oberon and Hippolyta/Titania, the Rubenesque Snyder making for a particularly fabulous romantic comic foil for Paterson’s Bottom (in donkey mode).

A pair of unbilled teen girls serve as Puck’s assistants, and they are every bit the pros that their more seasoned, credited castmates are.

The unbilled abstract scenic design is simple but esthetically pleasing, and made even more so by Ric Zimmerman’s gorgeous Technicolor lighting design. Bethany Richards’ costumes are marvels of fancy and imagination. Kudos go also to Tracey Bonner’s choreography, Jason Knox’s sound design, and Dennis Kull’s props design. Kristen Salacka is stage manager and Brent Mason scenic painter.

Plan to picnic on the hilltop lawn overlooking the San Gabriel Mountains before the show. Bring along a cushion to sit on during the performance and something warm to wear in case the night should be a chilly one (though at the performance reviewed here, my guest and I were comfortable in short sleeves throughout the evening). Mostly, be sure to make room on your summer calendar this year and next and the one after for Vanguard Rep., an exciting addition to the thriving Los Angeles professional theater scene. A Midsummer Night’s Dream is playing in repertory with a pair of original plays (Tragic Women and After The Autumn), to be reviewed here soon. This is ninety minutes of Shakespearean fun and frolic you won’t want to miss.

Byrnes Amphitheater, Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy, 440 St. Katherine Dr., La Cañada Flintridge.
www.vanguardrep.com
--Steven Stanley
July 1, 2011

BAKERSFIELD MIST

WOW!
BAKERSFIELD MIST

If there’s anyone with whom most Los Angeles theatergoers would surely not want to change places, it would probably be Maude Gutman of Bakersfield, the heroine of Stephen Sachs’ impressive World Premiere comedy Bakersfield Mist, now playing at the Fountain Theatre. Not only would the mere idea of living without a hundred or more plays to choose from each week be eminently resistible, a mere glance at the rundown knickknack-filled trailer Maude calls (mobile) home would provoke a spontaneous urge to hightail it back to L.A. asap.

Maude’s life seems as grim as her surroundings. She’s a bartender who’s just been fired, a wife whose husband has long ago flown the coop, and a mother whose only child was killed in an accident while still in his early twenties. About the only things that give Maude any kind of pleasure are the cigarettes she chain smokes, the Jack Daniels she guzzles by the case, and the cheesy figurines and paintings of clowns and the like that fill her trailer’s shelves and walls.

One painting in particular stands out in Maude’s eclectic “collection,” an abstract she bought for a mere three dollars on one of her many scrounging expeditions, a painting that the local high school art teacher is convinced is an undiscovered Jackson Pollock. That’s why Maude (Jenny O’Hara) has shelled out hard-earned cash to summon art expert Lionel Percy (Nick Ullett) to the Sagebrush Trailer Park to authenticate the painting, though as we soon learn, it’s far more than the tens of millions of dollars a real Pollock could net her that make its authentication a matter of life-and-death importance to Maude.

Maude and Lionel’s first encounter is as meet-cute as they come, a neighbor’s pack of dogs greeting the supercilious fuddy-duddy with a cacophony of howls matched only by a stream of four-letter words from Maude that would do a sailor proud. Talk about your fish out of water.

Since it takes only a blink for Lionel to determine that (in his expert opinion) the so-called Pollock is a fake, a real-life connoisseur would probably be leaving Bakersfield sooner than you can say “I’m out of here,” and there’d be no play. Fortunately, Sachs’ imagination finds ways to keep Lionel and Maude in the same trailer for another hour and fifteen minutes as Maude insists over and over that Lionel change his mind, provides the audience with ample laughter and a few tears, and gives the real-life Mr. and Mrs. Ullett the rare treat of playing two great leading roles written for characters well past sixty.

Sachs makes sure the deck isn’t stacked in favor either of redneck or of blueblood. Though Lionel may seem to lead a more successful or fulfilled life than Maude (he’s the retired former head of the New York Met, the author of countless books, and a member of one artistic Board Of Directors after another), he is a partnerless, childless, cold fish of a man whose main satisfaction in life seems to be in being right, as he insists he is about Maude’s painting.

On the other hand, though Lionel may have considerably more formal education than Maude, the Bakersfield denizen is hardly lacking in smarts. Give her a word like “provenance,” and once it’s been explained to her, she’ll come right back at you with an “I don’t even know the ‘provenance’ of this outfit I bought at a thrift shop”—with the identical la-di-da French pronunciation you’ve used so pretentiously.

As for the roles Sachs has written for his two stars, though O’Hara gets the saltier and more colorful one, the playwright has written Ullett a tour-de-force monolog in which Lionel compares Pollock’s creative process to an orgasm, and nearly achieves one on stage to rounds of audience applause. O’Hara later comes back with her own monolog, about Maude’s son’s death, one which may have you tearing up from its very first words. There’s even a hilarious knock-down drag-out that would tax the energy of artists half O’Hara’s and Ullett’s ages and which the duo execute to audience delight. No one plays blousy better than O’Hara and no one plays haughty better than Ullett, and here both actors are performing at the peak of their gifts.

In Bakersfield Mist, Sachs has written (and directed to perfection I might add) a play that a number of regional theaters are set to co-World Premiere one after another, a budget-friendly two-hander in the very successful tradition of Trying, Educating Rita, and Grace And Glorie. (I’ll bet the Colony is wishing they’d had first dibs on Bakersfield Mist.)

StageSceneLA Award-winning scenic designer Jeff McLaughlin (A Skull In Connemara, The Butcher Of Baraboo, A House Not Meant To Stand, The Train Driver, Grace And Glorie, La Ronde De Lunch, The Psychic) does his signature brilliant work once again, creating a Bakersfield trailer you’d swear had been transported lock, stock, and barrel onto the Fountain stage. Props designer Misty Carlisle shares credit with McLaughlin for filling Maude’s trailer with hundreds upon hundreds of the yard sale and dumpster memorabilia collected by its owner over the years. Ken Booth’s lighting design makes you believe the sun is actually shining through Maude’s dirty windows, in addition to heightening dramatic impact. Shon LeBlanc has designed only two costumes (Maude’s green and orange polyester pantsuit and Lionel’s grey woolen double-breasted model) but both are character-perfect fits. Peter Bayne’s sound design will have you believing (among other things) that a limo has indeed pulled up at Maude’s trailer only to be greeted by a half dozen barking dogs poised to attack its hapless passenger. Doug Lowry deserves high marks for the fight choreography which his 70ish stars execute as if they were seventeen. Terri Roberts is production stage manager and Scott Tuomey technical director. Bakersfield Mist is produced by Simon Levy and Deborah Lawlor.

Like Yasmina Reza’s Art, Bakersfield Mist poses questions about just what constitutes art, and you may well find yourself debating the topic with your fellow playgoers after O’Hara and Ullett have taken their bows. What you’re unlikely to be debating is what an absolutely captivating play Sachs has written. The definition of art may divide audience members, but on Bakersfield Mist, I’d venture to guess that sentiments are likely to be close to unanimous wows.

The Fountain Theatre, 5060 Fountain Ave., Los Angeles. Through September 3. Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 8:00. Sundays at 2:00. Reservations: 323 663-1525
www.FountainTheatre.com
--Steven Stanley
June 24, 2011
Photos: Ed Krieger

ENTERTAINING MR. SLOANE

WOW!
ENTERTAINING MR. SLOANE

When Joe Orton’s Entertaining Mr. Sloane opened on London’s West End back in 1964, a certain Mrs. Edna Welthorpe was inspired to write the Editor of Plays And Players as follows:

“I myself was nauseated by this endless parade of mental and physical perversion. And to be told that such a disgusting piece of filth now passes for humour. Today's young playwrights take it upon themselves to flaunt their contempt for ordinary decent people. I hope that ordinary people will shortly strike back.”

Mrs. Welthorpe’s comments, while indeed reflective of some theatergoers’ reactions to Orton’s subversive farce, also happen to reflect the playwright’s particular brand of dark humor. You see, it was Orton himself who wrote the letter!

Though even today, “ordinary decent people” like Mr. and Mrs. Michelle Bachmann would likely echo Mrs. Welthorpe’s condemnation of this piece of Ortonian “filth,” anyone with a funny bone in his or her body is hereby advised to make haste to Los Angeles’ newest 99-seat-plan theater where a fabulous revival of this Joe Orton gem is now delighting—and perhaps still shocking—L.A. audiences.

The titular Mr. Sloane (Emrhys Cooper) is a bottle-blond studmuffin of a 20-year-old who shows up one day in the lives of a blowsy London widow, her crotchety, near-blind father, and her leering letch of a brother—and makes their rubbish dump-adjacent house dump his home.

Lonely, lustful Kath (Olivia D’Abo) can barely keep her eyes (and hands and lips) off Mr. Sloane’s tanned-and-toned body, though it’s not merely lust that attracts her to the well-built orphan. His parents’ tragic suicide pact fills the sympathetic widow with oceans of compassion for the orphaned youth. (“With a nice lad like you to take care of, you’d think they’d’ve postponed it.”)

Kath’s father Kemp (Robin Gammell) could swear he’s already met young Mr. Sloane sometime, somewhere. Perhaps it’s the youth’s smooth skin, so similar to that of the hitchhiker who murdered his photographer boss, that sparks a memory, though Mr. Sloane insists otherwise. (“You couldn’t identify a herring on a plate!”)

Kath’s brother Ed (Ian Buchanan) seems initially to share his father’s distrust of Mr. Sloane, that is until he comes face to face with the alluring young bloke, and soon enough he’s eagerly quizzing the stripling on his orphanage upbringing. (“Oh well, you had compensations then,” Ed remarks when learning that the all-male orphans slept eight to a room.) Mr. Sloane’s affinity for fresh-air sports piques Ed’s interest as well. (Ed: You’re fond of swimming? Mr. Sloane: I like a plunge now and then.) Mr. Sloane’s fitness regimen proves equally stimulating to the older man. (Ed: Exercise regular? Mr. Sloane: As clockwork. Ed: Good, good. Stripped? Mr. Sloane: Fully. Ed: Complete. How invigorating.)

Not surprisingly, Ed agrees to let Mr. Sloane lodge with Sis and Dad, though he does require assurances that there’ll be no hanky-panky. (Ed: Does she disgust you? Mr. Sloane: Should she? Ed: It would be better if she did. Women are like banks, boy. Breaking and entering is a serious business.) Ed also hires Mr. Sloane to be his chauffeur, the better to have him … clad in black leather from head to toe.

In typical Orton fashion, somebody dies mid-play, and the manner in which the three surviving characters deal with the deceased’s demise makes Entertaining Mr. Sloane one of the farceur’s most deliciously devilish works.

If Mr. Sloane is allowed a good deal more on-and-offstage intimacy with Kath, it’s to be recalled that the same “gross indecency” laws that sent Oscar Wilde to jail for homosexual acts remained on the books until three years after Mr. Sloane first entertained and disgusted Londoners. Though a contemporary playwright would likely divvy up the sexual shenanigans equally between opposite and same-sex couplings, the fact that Orton even suggested the possibility of Mr. Sloane dividing his favors between sister and brother not only made him way ahead of his time but makes Entertaining Mr. Sloane of particular interest as a time-capsule, one which has lost not an iota of its comedic oomph in the intervening decades.

Under Stan Zimmerman’s pitch-perfect direction, Dream It Production’s intimate stage revival features as renowned a cast of stage and screen vets as you’d see on any mid or large-sized L.A. theater.

D’Abo (of The Wonder Years and Law & Order: Criminal Intent fame) abandons vanity as the slatternly Kath, her crackerjack comic timing and way with an innuendo making her performance an appetizing acting gem, as when she declares, “Until I was fifteen I was more familiar with Africa than my own body” and “You can’t see though this dress can you? I’ve been worried for fear of embarrassing you” and “(You’ll) have me naked on the floor if I give you a chance.”

Emmy-winning Buchannan has a field day with Ed, clearly relishing the opportunity to be funny after so many years of dramatic soap suds on The Bold And The Beautiful, All My Children, and other daytime dramas. Simply watching Buchannan’s medley of facial reactions (just this side of over-the-top) is almost worth the price of admission. Add to that his silver-fox sexiness and you have precisely the kind of man that might make Mr. Sloane’s walks on the gay side of his primarily heterosexual leanings far from unbelievable.

Gammell brings decades of stage experience to the role of Kemp, attacking the feeble-bodied curmudgeon with sly comedic panache to match his dramatic flair in plays like the Rubicon’s A Delicate Balance and Trying a few years back.

Wreaking havoc on the above three is the sensational and utterly appealing Cooper, whose L.A. stage debut as Mr. Sloane provides the young Brit with a terrific showcase for his tiptop acting chops, crackerjack comic timing, and irresistible sex-appeal. Lighting up the stage from his first entrance, Cooper simply couldn’t be better at bringing Orton’s amoral psychopath to seductive, occasionally violent, always captivating life.

Entertaining Mr. Sloane will likely introduce most theatergoers to the splendid new Actors Company Theater, located only two or three blocks from the world famous Formosa Café and the shops and restaurants of Target Plaza.

Joel Daavid has designed the production’s terrifically tacky, beautifully detailed set, precisely where you’d expect Kath and Kemp to live, Daavid’s assorted 1960s paraphernalia completing the picture. Kevin King’s costumes tell you almost as much about the characters as Orton’s writing does. Top marks go also to Bosco Flanigan’s lighting design, Hector’s sound design, and Eusebio Aynaga’s hair design. Entertaining Mr. Sloane is produced by Richard Lutz, stage managed by Lara E. Nall, with casting by Geralyn Flood.

Even in a considerably more sexually liberated world than the one Joe Orton lived and died in in the 1960s, Entertaining Mr. Sloane may not be for everyone. (The Michelle Bachmanns would, I fear, not be amused.) Still, for those not afraid to laugh on the dark side, I can’t think of a more delectable way to do so. At the risk of repeating what others have likely said before, Entertaining Mr. Sloan is entertaining indeed.

The Actors Company, 916a. N. Formosa Ave, West Hollywood.
www.plays411.net/newsite/show/play_info.asp?show_id=2800
--Steven Stanley
July 8, 2011