PIN-UP GIRLS Set designer Starlet Jacobs sets the stage with ’40s memorabilia — racks of vintage costumes adorn the playing area and a model of a USAF bomber hangs suspended from the proscenium arch. With waves of overlapping dialogue punctuated with sporadic moments of farce, playwright-director Andrew Moore variously hits his mark of hyper-realism in his depiction of burlesque performers in the midst of World War II. Though the locale isn’t specified in the program, snippets of dialogue suggest a West Coast setting. While the burlesque act mostly remains offstage, what we see are the backstage comings and goings of the proprietress (April Adams); the dancers (Sylvia Anderson, Lauren Burns, Sarah Cook, Alana Dietze, Pamela Moore and Lauren Mutascio); the pianist (Jovial Kemp), who taps on a nonfunctioning spinet to recorded piano sounds; and a cartoon of a self-appointed guardian of decency (Judith Goldstein), who’s like a Salvation Army officer out of Guys & Dolls. Moore’s story spins on the homecoming of wounded Marine Scotty (Seth Caskey), to his unfaithful STD-infected heartthrob, Helen (Moore, in a robust and sassy performance). Helen defines her independence as the right to leave her guy dangling emotionally, while dancer Ruby (Cook, in a gentle portrayal brimming with hidden desires) eventually makes her move on her colleague’s man, while accepting a post with the WASP corps. It’s unclear how the two women cat-fighting over a guy is an examination of women’s freedom, however demure their fighting may be. That idea is best captured by Helen’s insistence on being her own person while stringing along her wounded suitor: Is this cruelty part of a burgeoning women’s movement, or a subtle condemnation of it? There’s also a subplot of the puppy love between a semiblind youth (Bryan Gaston) and a teen apprentice (Mustascio), who replaces Ruby when the older dancer enlists in the military. The principals offer lovely performances, but this new play is a sometimes cutesy, sometimes romantic construction. Its larger insight into who we are, and where we’ve come from, has yet to be chiseled. Avery Shreiber Theatre, 11050 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m.; through Nov. 23. (818) 849-4039. A Theatre Unleashed production. (Steven Leigh Morris)
TORN BETWEEN TWO BITCHES In addition to his hard-wired horniness, zine writer Jim Goat (playwright-performer Michael Sargent) has punk literary aspirations derived from his contemptuous attitude toward the values of ’90s Portland, where he hopes to make some impression. (His apartment contains framed posters of four theme-based zines: the “asshole,” “suicide,” “serial killer” and “rape” issues.) Sargent portrays Jim by strutting around with no top and jeans that slip off repeatedly through his play. He speaks in phrases delivered with a kind of snarl, accompanied by mugging poses, often shaking his head to draw attention to his shoulder-length locks. Goat’s wife, Debby (Liz Davies), accuses him of fraud: “I find your nonconformity faked and totally conformist; you want to be left alone but you can’t stand being ignored.” Davies shares Sargent’s broad performance style of delivering lines through a peevish snarl, under designer-director Chris Covics’ sometimes cloying yet wryly theatrical staging. When Debby reveals her terminal-cancer diagnosis, Jim’s compassionate response consists of him running out the door screaming, “It could be me! It could be me!” — which is where the core of Sargent’s satire of narcissism finally comes into focus. Until then, with the visit to Jim of a teenage stripper named Sunshine (shrewdly played Brittany Slattery), who’s 10 times smarter and more calculating than the man who thinks he’s gaming her, Covics’ production wavers in tone between an exploitation flick and a comedy by Moliere. When Jim gets into serious trouble near play’s end, the production drops the veneer of its petulant attitude, and wanders into the shallows of sentimentality that Jim has been avoiding his entire career. Punk-porn and romanticism are the two bitches that this show is really torn between. The larger issue is why we should care about a self-involved egotist consigned to the margins of fame in an era gone by. Oddly enough, we do — at least in fits and starts — perhaps because Sargent is probing Beckettian depths of mortality and purpose amid the vain scramble of our lives. And that idea is larger than Jim, and his hollow posturing. Much of the action is accompanied by the band Elemenopy (Joel Rutkowski and Nick Liberatore), whose punk-rock musicianship and vocalizations are way better than their sophomoric repartee. Unknown Theater, 1110 Seward St., Hollywood; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 6 p.m.; through Nov. 1. (323) 466-7781. (Steven Leigh Morris)
Courtesy of The Hayworth Theatre
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GO U.S. DRAG “I want a lot. What do we have to do to get a lot?” says Angela (Megan Goodchild) to her best friend, Allison (Katie Davies), as the pair traverse Manhattan in search of ... a lot, in this West Coast premiere of Gina Gionfriddo’s scintillating comedy. Angela’s every perky/snide conversation is punctuated by the monetary value to be derived from it, whether speaking to an employer or partner. The two smart young women are not smart enough to be rich, and money seems to be the play’s driving force, accompanied by a triptych of fears — fear of loneliness, fear of squandered opportunities (such as fame) and fear of physical attack. Within this cosmopolitan universe, Gionfriddo populates her play with sundry support groups — one led by Evan (Noah Harpster) counsels its members to refuse to help anybody in order to avoid attack — a Wall Street neurotic (Nick Cernoch), a would-be literati (Shawn Lee), and a “helper” (Eric Pargac) with a deranged compulsion to track down and give baked goods and the like to victims of any urban trauma. Gionfriddo’s snappy dialogue is both urban and urbane, reflecting cultural values that have clearly gone off the tracks. Among the play’s delightful conceits is its open question of whether the fears we shape our lives around are actually real, or our own speculative inventions. Darin Anthony’s very slick staging includes riffs of techno pop (original music by Doug Newell) and a set/lighting design by Dan Jenkins that cements the play’s matrix of consumerism and death with boutique windows and streetlife — one character actually arrives on a slab withdrawn from a gutter. The performances are mostly excellent, with a glorious cameo by Johanna McKay as a befuddled attack victim, though some mumbled lines and aimless movement don’t quite match the director’s mat-knife precision. Pasadena Playhouse, Carrie Hamilton Theatre, 39 S. El Molino Ave., Pasadena; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7:30 p.m.; through Nov. 22. A Furious Theatre Company production. (Steven Leigh Morris)
