THEATER REVIEWS: BIG BRO/LIL BRO, HELLZ KITCHEN ABLAZE AND THE NUCLEAR FAMILY

Also, The Pain and the Itch, The Tempest and Terminus Americana and More

Comments (0) By L.A. Weekly Theater Critics Wednesday, Jul 29 2009

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THE PAIN AND THE ITCH
Judging by this 2004 comedy of manners, Steppenwolf playwright Bruce Norris’ worst enemy isn’t the left-leaning, urban-professional parenting he targets in his caustic, social satire but his own penchant for overloaded metaphors and excessively convoluted plots. The action centers on a fateful Thanksgiving gathering hosted by Kelly (Vonessa Martin), a young attorney and her stay-at-home husband, Clay (Brad Price), as told in flashback to a mysterious, Arab cabdriver, Mr. Hadid (Kevin Vavasseur). Kelly and Clay seem to be living the American Dream: success, wealth (suggested by Kurt Boetcher’s distractingly literal luxury townhouse set) and two young children. With the arrival of Clay’s acid-tongued, plastic-surgeon brother, Cash (Scott Lowell), and his malaprop-spouting, Slavic-immigrant girlfriend, Kalina (Katie Marie Davies), however, a host of simmering tensions and festering family resentments quickly surface, not the least of which concerns Clay’s growing alarm over the suspicious genital rash afflicting his overprotected 4-year-old daughter, Kayla (Ava Feldman in a role double cast with Olivia Aaron). Norris is at his best when skewering the culture of narcissism that blinds his Yuppie protagonists to the grimmer truths of the world around them (as when Kelly’s claim of childhood abuse by “neglect alternating with sarcasm” prompts naive comfort from Kalina in her own story of her brutal, childhood rape by soldiers). Dámaso Rodriguez’s crisp direction of a talented cast can’t mitigate the tangle of telescoping flashbacks, red herrings and a wildly improbable and bathetic dénouement that all ultimately blunt Norris’ critiques. Theatre @ Boston Court, 70 N. Mentor Ave., Pasadena; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; through August 23. (626) 683-6883. (Bill Raden)

74 GEORGIA AVENUE/THE PUSHCART PEDDLERS
Murray Schisgal’s two mildly Absurdist one-acts chronicle varied aspects of Jewish life. In the good-hearted but conventional farce The Pushcart Peddlers, directed by Chris Winfield and set on the New York waterfront in the early 1900s, wily banana peddler Cornelius (Lloyd Pedersen) cons greenhorn Shimmel (Ren Bell) out of all he owns — but when Shimmel falls for Maggie (Melissa Soso), a flower seller with theatrical ambitions, he quickly learns street smarts. The performances are broad but skillful. The more ambitious and more personal 74 Georgia Avenue, directed by Frances Mizrahi, is set in a formerly Jewish neighborhood that’s now entirely black. Martin Robbins (Larry Margo) revisits his childhood home and discovers it’s occupied by Joseph Watson (Disraeli Ellison), the son of the janitor at Robbins’ old synagogue, who has become more Jewish than Robbins. Joseph fondly remembers the old days from the synagogue and has collected clothes, which mysteriously allow him to assume the identities of their former owners. When he “becomes” Martin’s zayde, it allows Martin to resolve old resentments, and regain respect for his nebbishy father. Both actors deliver fine performances, despite the play’s heavy-handed treatment of the supernatural. Lonny Chapman’s Group Repertory Theatre, 10900 Burbank Blvd., North Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m.; through August 22. www.lcgrt.com. (866) 811-4111. (Neal Weaver)

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THE TEMPEST
Many would argue that Shakespeare is not meant to be experienced in a darkened proscenium house with fancy sets, a silent audience and plush seating, but instead, with minimal lighting and sets, a boisterous crowd, and no seating at all. Those who prefer the latter will find this production of Shakespeare’s final play to their liking. The familiar story about the wronged former Duke of Milan, who is banished to an island with his daughter. How he uses his powers of sorcery to command the isle’s faeries to exact revenge on his fellow nobles is performed with traditional minimalism, as well as modern commentary and humor. Director and company co-founder Melissa Chalsma incorporates into the dialogue jokes about cell phones, Martha Stewart and even the Barnsdall performance space. Continuing the modern aesthetic are Daniel Mahler’s costumes, which feature a blend of bubble wrap, duct tape and other shiny bits for the faeries and Prospero’s cape, in styles ranging from Mafioso (Sebastian) and band geek (Trinculo) to Charlie Chaplain (Stephano). The latter two work well for the bawdy vaudevillian duo, who, along with Caliban, become the most engaging part of the performance. What’s gained in comedy, however, is lost in the somber philosophical inquiry that comprises a significant part of the text. A major reason for this is the setting, which, by allowing food, drink and a “family atmosphere,” also suffers from the distraction of crying, talking children. While that atmosphere is good for a summer community event, give me the darkened proscenium house for this play. Barnsdall Park, 4800 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 7:30 p.m.; Sun., 7:30 p.m. (In alternating rep with Henry V, so performance dates vary.) Through August 30. (323) 836-0288. An Independent Shakespeare Company production. (Mayank Keshaviah)

TERMINUS AMERICANA
Matt Pelfrey’s weird, hot mess of a dark satire is a virtual dramatization of lunacy, as seen from the inside peering out. If you have ever noticed someone walking down the street, with a tinfoil hat firmly lodged atop his head, muttering imprecations about this or that conspiracy, Pelfrey’s play is a work that tells you how that tragic figure came to be. Mac Winchell (Brett Hren) is a contented cubicle-dwelling office worker whose life is thrown into disarray when co-worker Felix (Eric Bunton) goes berserk and starts shooting up the building. Felix offs himself right in front of Mac, but before he does, he whispers something unmentionable in his ear. From that moment, Mac finds himself sliding into a bizarre, alternate universe in which everything is deranged and violent. After inheriting the Terminus Americana, a phone book–size manual of madness left by Felix as an office Secret Santa gift, Mac wanders the country, having a bizarre series of adventures and ultimately being hailed as a prophet in the New Church of Christ The Office Shooter — and you can imagine what one must do to join that organization. Pelfrey’s comedy is intentionally meandering, full of seemingly random incidents and a disjointed structure that is meant to be both frustrating and arch. Unfortunately, a little goes a long way, and two hours of the disconnected babble almost leaves the audience groping for our own tinfoil hats. Danny Parker-Lopes’ phlegmatic staging suffers from lagging pacing and strangely clumsy blocking. Although Hren’s slow transition from mild-mannered office drone to howling loon is chillingly convincing, some of the supporting performances are prone to stiff acting and halting line readings. The Elephant Theatre, 6322 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m.; thru August 15; (323) 860-8786 or thespyants.com. A SpyAnts production. (Paul Birchall)