Zombie Joe’s creepy Poe

Exploring various states of disturbed consciousness, “The Pit and the Pendulum” proves an apt addition to Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre Group’s continuing series of adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe stories. Running in repertory with the company’s prior adaptation of “The Tell-Tale Heart,” this mini Poe-Fest serves up murder, torture, and madness. What’s not to like?

Both pieces employ the 15-year-old NoHo troupe’s signature “horror-on-a-budget” approach, which emphasizes minimal props, stylized physicality (courtesy of choreographer-performer Denise Devin) and atmospheric soundscapes (by Christopher Reiner).

These components are particularly well integrated in the new “Pit,” the more artistically mature piece. As in all his Poe adaptations, director Zombie Joe uses only the source text, which in both stories consists entirely of first-person narrative with no interacting characters. Don’t expect a conventional recitation, however. The ordeal of a hapless prisoner of the Spanish Inquisition is split up (sometimes midsentence) and distributed among Devin and the other seven performers, who coalesce into a fluid, ever-shifting expressionistic mass. Contorted poses, anguished screams, and feral baring of teeth are effectively employed to depict the most inventive series of tortures in the Poe canon.

Performed in a similarly fragmented style, “The Tell-Tale Heart” features a more jagged, malevolent delivery befitting its narration by an insane murderer rather than a suffering victim. Contrasting with “Pit’s” grimy prison rags, the ensemble sports matching skeletal makeup, black-and-white shirts and ties, and gloves with red-dyed palms. Composer Reiner’s live keyboard accompaniment at times ventures incongruously into pop tunes, though his song version of Poe’s poem “The Bells” makes a superb coda to the piece.

Focusing more on psychological terrors, these Poe adaptations are tamer than some of the more graphic excesses in Zombie Joe’s repertoire -- a deliberate choice to make the shows accessible to younger viewers who might be reading Poe in school. Nevertheless, there’s still plenty here to seriously creep out their parents, thus passing the all-important coolness test.

-- Philip Brandes

“Poe-Fest,” ZJU Theater Group, 4850 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood. “The Tell-Tale Heart & The Bells”: 8:30 p.m. Fridays, 6:30 p.m. Saturdays, 4:30 p.m. Sundays; running time: 50 minutes. “The Pit and the Pendulum”: 10:30 p.m. Fridays, 8:30 p.m. Saturdays, 6:30 p.m. Sundays; running time: 45 minutes. Ends March 16. $12 per performance, $18 unlimited pass. (818) 202-4120.

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Mourning and dissecting Daddy

An amiable mixture of sass and sympathy attends “The Eulogy” at Beverly Hills Playhouse. As a not-so-grieving daughter who goes from rant to catharsis at her father’s funeral, actress-writer Brynn Thayer delivers the goods as far as her solo premise permits.

The situation is basic. We are at the service for a deceased former Navy commander and Cabinet member whose flag-draped coffin rests at center stage. Thayer arrives at the lectern, svelte, enervated and ready to eulogize Dad.

Actually, she dissects him, in a circuitous, violets-and-vitriol fashion. Such as when Thayer calls out Candy, her father’s trophy-girl mistress, while pointing out Mom down front. Or her entreaty of an attendee to place a cellphone call to Bobby Don, the absent family friend whose perceived betrayal led to SEC criminal charges and imprisonment.

Of course, it’s as much about the mourner as the departed, and Thayer draws on an impressive vocal range and seriocomic timing as she jockeys between confidential intimacy and arm’s-length restraint. Biographical references, such as Thayer’s soap opera career -- “I was playing an ex-nun, whose husbands kept dying mysteriously” -- give her monologue a tantalizing bite of veracity. However, “The Eulogy” is at its most interesting when Thayer’s bone-dry quips halt, her eyes fixed far beyond us, and the palpable warring emotions silence the room.

First-time director Michael Learned keeps this sardonic showcase spare, funny and accessible. It could stand some rethinking on wisecracks and a bit more soul-baring specificity at the climax, which does not yet carry the textual stakes to mirror Thayer’s histrionic reach. Still, “The Eulogy” presents a singular talent in peak form, and playgoers with paternal issues will likely relate.

-- David C. Nichols

“The Eulogy,” Beverly Hills Playhouse, 254 S. Robertson Blvd., Beverly Hills. 8 p.m. Saturdays. Ends April 5. $15. (310) 358-9936. Running time: 55 minutes.

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Caught in ‘Frozen’s’ grip

Certain plays pose daunting questions and demand that the audience consider them. “Frozen” is such a play. Bryony Lavery’s acclaimed 2004 drama about forgiveness in the face of the unbearable is slow to coalesce, but try to ignore what it says while it is upon you.

One day, Nancy (Jenette Goldstein), an ordinary mum in Northern England, sends younger daughter Rhona to her grandmother’s house. En route, Rhona encounters Ralph (Hugh Mason), a soft-spoken pedophile, and disappears. The catalyst is Agnetha (Deanne Dawson), an American psychiatrist pursuing a clinical study of serial killers while struggling with conflicted feelings about a deceased colleague.

Lavery goes a bit overboard with the title metaphor, tracing the icy corners of disturbed psyches, paralyzing grief and acute guilt toward “Frozen’s” underlying point, which lies in the thaw. Still, despite structural flaws -- the excess of monologues risks stasis, Agnetha’s dramatic purpose borders on convenience -- Lavery’s instincts are sharp, and by Act 2, “Frozen” locks us in the grip of its central conundrum.

That offsets errant aspects in director Billy Hayes’ thoughtful staging. The blunt transitions on designer Scott Seidman’s emblematic set do not always lend fluidity to a schematic script, though designers Leif Gantvoort (lighting) and Sal Valdez (sound) do yeoman work.

Goldstein is wrenching as Nancy, the emotions so deeply tamped down that their unwilling release feels like exposed sparks. Though the cap initially worn by Mason’s eerie Ralph obscures his eyes, dulling the expository scenes, his characterization is at once alert, vacuous, pathetic and chilling.

Agnetha is the most problematic role, and her academic lectures tax Dawson’s resources, but she digs deep for her reactions and responses. So, finally, does this nervy play of difficult ideas.

-- David C. Nichols

“Frozen,” Lillian Theater, 1078 N. Lillian Way, Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends March 22. Adult audiences. $25. (323) 960-5521. Running time: 2 hours.

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The sad saga of Tokyo Rose

The name of Tokyo Rose, that infamous radio siren who propagandized American troops in the Pacific during World War II, still bears the stench of odium decades later. Yet, as Glenn Conner Johnson points out in his new play, “Roar of the Tiger: The Legend of Tokyo Rose,” now at the Egyptian Arena, Tokyo Rose never really existed -- at least, not as a single entity. The Radio Tokyo broadcasts were delivered by several women, most under duress. Indeed, “Tokyo Rose” was a nickname created by Allied combatants, who mostly considered the anti-American rants a goof.

Iva Toguri, an American-born woman of Japanese descent, was one of the women collectively dubbed Tokyo Rose. Trapped in Japan during the war, Toguri agreed to do the broadcasts after she was convinced that their underlying message was covertly pro-American. Yet in a spectacular miscarriage of justice, Toguri was found guilty of treason after the war and sentenced to a long prison term. In the 1970s, Toguri was issued a presidential pardon, but her story serves as a timely warning against the wholesale suspension of individual rights during times of war.

On a historical level, “Tiger” holds great interest, and Johnson recapitulates Toguri’s sad saga with documentary efficiency. Yet he undermines the innately dramatic events with melodramatic dialogue and cardboard characters.

Johnson, who also directs, incorporates elegant trappings into his staging, including Tom Kurai’s live taiko music and Noh-like interludes performed in a tiger headdress. As a whole, however, his staging is uneven. Among the large cast, Momo Yashima proves particularly problematic in the crucial role of Toguri. Her effort is valiant, but her casting is a directorial misstep -- just one of many in this absorbing yet flawed production.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Roar of the Tiger: The Legend of Tokyo Rose,” Egyptian Arena Theatre, 1625 N. Las Palmas Ave., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. $20. Ends March 23. (323) 222-1728. Running time: 2 hours.