THEATER PICK LAND OF THE TIGERS Act 1 of the Burglars of Hamm’s hilarious and thought-provoking comedy, Land of the Tigers, outlandishly crosses Cats with Planet of the Apes. In a whimsical world where felines walk upright and speak English (but thankfully don’t caterwaul “Memory”), a veritable Kingdom of Tigers prance around in feathered wigs and topcoats, while debating important matters (to cats, anyway) in the Tigressional Congress. Amongst this group, the great warrior Sabertooth (Hugo Armstrong) goes into lustful cat heat for sultry she-tiger Sheba (Devin Sidell), which outrages Sheba’s fierce brother Fang Stalkington (Tim Sheridan), who has already fathered several litters with the young beauty. Full of bizarre cat-mating dances, and scenes in which characters shift instantly from conversing to snarling Tiger-style, the Burglars’ comedy is staged by Matt Almos with acrobatic dexterity and perfect comic timing. The reasons for slight touches of campiness become evident in Act 2, however, which follows the cast of dimwitted and absurdly self important actors as they are increasingly brainwashed by their tyrannical, ego-tripping director (a fabulous Michael Livingston, whose eyes glitter with madness). Although the concept possesses slight echoes of Noises Off, the Burglars cunningly explore a different avenue, elegantly satirizing the sense of collective delusion that frequently befalls performers in a mediocre show. The acting work is sprightly, and it’s delightful how the bumbling tiger actors of Act 1 are subsequently revealed as the optimistic, dedicated, yet benighted ensemble of Act 2. The end result, more than calculatedly dippy comedy about cats, is an often compelling meditation on the creation of theater itself, and how the audience will never glimpse the many dramas within a play’s production. Sacred Fools theater, 660 N. Heliotrope Dr., Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8, p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m.; through May 3. (310) 281-8337. A Burglars of Hamm, Sacred Fools Co-Production. (Paul Birchall)
GO THE LETTERS in John W. Lowell’s new two-character drama refer to the explicitly lascivious correspondence of a musician in Soviet Russia, which The Director of the Ministry of Information (Norman Shaw) is trying to locate. It takes a short while for us to realize this, because at the outset, it appears that the Director has called in his subordinate, Anna (Julie Fletcher), for a promotion, which — knowing the corpse-strewn wasteland of the Soviet bureaucracy — she’s reluctant to accept. But The Director will hear none of her protestations (“We’re not interested in what you want”), and soon the widow finds herself entrapped by defending a colleague/lover who’s implicated in a breach of security by the gossip of an alcoholic bureaucrat whose dubious words The Director now takes as gospel — or at least pretends to. Lowell’s cat-and-mouse game of paranoia and entrapment is old stuff, and, under Anne McNaughton’s staging, it unfolds at a pace a little too measured for a new play in 2009, even as Anna transforms nicely from servility to defiance. The world of the play is rendered with such verisimilitude, with Dean Cameron’s costumes, and his set that features none-too-subtle portraits of Lenin and Stalin gazing down upon the action, that one is inclined to heave a sigh of relief that we’re not in Soviet Russia, though I very much doubt this is Lowell’s point. There are two small keys to the lockbox of this play’s meaning: One is The Director’s insistence that the alcoholic witness’ testimony is reliable, despite the appalling lack of corroborating evidence. This is the embodiment of the nastiest aspect of despotism: an “investigation” fueled by a foregone conclusion, which in the recent past has been every bit as American as it was Soviet. The other key is the power of accusation embedded in gossip — the “truth” lies in the accusation rather than the investigation. These are eternal, universal verities that lead directly to the horrors of tyranny. The quality, the detail and the nuance of both performances is among this production’s strengths. Both roles are filled with torrents of language that’s not so easy to render plausibly, and yet both Shaw and Fletcher accomplish just that. NewPlace Studio Theatre, 10950 Peach Grove St., North Hollywood; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m.; through April 19. (Steven Leigh Morris)
Jon Beauregard
Land of the Tigers
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LITTLE WOMEN — THE MUSICAL A feminist critic once observed that Louisa May Alcott’s beloved novel was told from the point of view of the jailers, not the inmates. In less loaded language, it represented the values of the parents, not the children. This was often the price of writing in the 19th century, which required edifying morals in its stories. Yet Alcott was able to inject enough reality in her tale to make it memorable. This version, however, adapted by Allan Knee, with songs by Jason Howland and Mindi Dickstein, hews strictly to the musical-comedy formula, rendering it genteel and predictable. Every song delivers precisely what we expect, which tends to bore. One wishes they’d stop singing and get on with the story. Still, this rendition is sometimes superior to the Broadway production: It’s more emotionally coherent and touching, if less handsomely designed. Director Thomas Colby serves the piece faithfully, and the performances are generally good. Cassandra Marie Nuss’s Jo is overly brassy but serviceable, Kaitlyn Casanova deftly manages Amy’s transition from bratty child to beautiful woman, and Bonnie Snyder restores the pepper to irascible Aunt March. As for the rest, what they really need is sharper, less sentimental material. Lyric Theatre, 520 North La Brea Ave., Hollywood; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m., Sun., 2 p.m., through April 26. (323) 939-9220. (Neal Weaver)
