DARING ‘BEST MAN WINS’ AT ODYSSEY THEATRE

“Best Man Wins” (at the Odyssey) has such a great second act that you wish writer-director-star Len Austrevich would have left well enough alone. In it, a pair of ne’er-do-well buddies (played by Austrevich and Nicholas Celozzi) find themselves in heaven, only to find that entry is decided by means of a celestial game show presided over by a rotund Deity (a convincing Randy Polk) who looks like Orson Welles.

It is a daring comic conceit, and Austrevich, a writer for Rodney Dangerfield and Joan Rivers and himself a talented comedian, pushes its possibilities to the limit, transforming St. Peter (the silken-throated Wilson Raiser) into a gold lame, slightly swishy second banana and reducing Michael the Archangel (a supremely slovenly Ron E. Dickinson) to the status of a beer-swilling, burly stagehand.

All of which makes for infectiously sacrilegious fun, especially when the boys, vying for an all-expense-paid trip through the Pearly Gates, are called upon to compete in a series of tests, among them something called “Ten Commandments Analysis” and the ever-popular “Miss America Question.” It’s enough to please even the most jaded laugh track.

As with heaven, however, the problem with the second act is getting there. What precedes is a largely expendable extended dialogue between Austrevich and Celozzi, who hem and haw and abusively argue their way through the first act to no discernible purpose except to get themselves iced by a visiting hit man (played with old-fashioned relish by Don Carrara). And not a moment too soon.

Austrevich’s own lack of personal appeal is ably offset by his gifts for rapid-fire timing and delivery (notably in a side-splitting early lecture on the eight-hour work day), and his devilish sense of humor is well served by Frank Stockton’s billowy sets, Eileen Cooley’s acrobatic lighting and Sandi Remelin’s breezy costumes. This show may not all be heaven, but it beats the alternative.

Performances at 12111 Ohio Ave. in West Los Angeles run Thursdays and Fridays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays, 7:30 and 10:30 p.m.; Sundays 3 p.m. and 7:30 p.m., until Feb. 2 (213-826-1626).

‘TALES OF THE GREAT AMERICAN ROADWAY’

The Actors Alley’s “Tales of the Great American Roadway” has its bumps, but it’s nonetheless an enjoyable theatrical pit stop. Though David Golden’s Saroyan-like account of the denizens of the dingy roadside diner and their affected wanderlust is all over the map at times, it makes up in sheer serial comic horsepower what it lacks in navigational skills.

Golden illustrates his point among four sets of characters: a pair of philosophical truck drivers (Sam Travolta and John Szura); hitchhikers seeking to recapture the lost excitement of America’s blue highways (Brenda Isaacs and Gary Reed); a middle-aged couple stranded in a late-night traffic jam (Thomas Thomas, Jan Heaton), and a talkative local (Carol Keis) and her out-of-town passenger (Mark Gavin), who may be a spy.

Bookending these episodes, related in clipped vignette style, are interludes with the diner’s two full-time residents, essayed with authentic Midwestern plainness by Zoe Walrond and Joann DiSanno, who also provide bridging monologues on subjects ranging from notorious local accidents to the genealogical shenanigans witnessed by a luxurious station wagon known only as “the dinosaur.”

“The Time of Your Life” it isn’t, but it frequently comes mighty close. Golden’s writing is marked by a fine ear for the rhythms of colloquial speech, and he colors his array of stock comic characters with some fine comic shadings. Dennis Klontz’s gentle, uninsistent direction brings out the nuances with an unforced folksiness.

The large cast is uniformly excellent, especially the enticing Isaacs, the wonderful energetic Keis and the ideally matched Thomas and Heaton. A personal favorite is Tony Burton as a bespectacled American Motorist Society spokesman, who opens Act II with a side-splittingly antidotal recitation of the rules of the road.

The uncredited set and costumes mix naturalism and whimsy in a charmingly effective complement to the text. J. Kent Inasy’s simple lighting and Steve Barr’s sound, rich in evocative road songs, help to bring out the free-spirited excitement at the heart of these mostly refreshing “Tales.”

The race at 4334 Van Nuys Blvd. in Sherman Oaks is on Mondays through Wednesdays, 8:00 p.m., through Dec. 4, (818) 986-7440.

‘BLEEDING HEARTS’

Stephen Farber and Marc Green’s “Bleeding Hearts” is deliciously bitchy entertainment. It’s a tale of two rival, blood-related columnists (meant to suggest Abigail Van Buren and Ann Landers but actually owing more to Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons) that spits venom with engaging abandon. A sort of poor man’s “All About Eve,” with a couple of good old-fashioned cat fights.

Much of the play’s wit survives in this Little Oscar Theatre production, despite an uneven cast and director Terry Mills’ inability to settle on a proper comedic style.

Credit is due to Joan Crosby, whose “Aunt Sally” provides the proper vitriolic groundwork. Opponent Lynn Cartwright, in contrast, seems hardly up to the challenge.

Standing out in the largely unmemorable supporting cast is the lovely Julia Gentry, who brings a droll sensuality and plenty of Ann Jillian perkiness to the role of Crosby’s diligent British girl Friday. Less fortunate is Ellen Albertini Dow, little more than a caricature as a senile maid.

The show’s modest dimensions are altogether too evident in Mills’ overcrowded set, Cynthia Wilson’s flat lighting and the inelegant, uncredited costumes. Still, this is all good, clean (well, mostly clean) fun, an undemanding evening of little theater that at least delivers more than its initial promise.

The claws at 8242 Louise Ave. in Northridge are bared Thursdays through Saturdays, 8:30 p.m., through Feb. 22 (818-703-7255).