‘THE PHILADELPHIA STORY’ REVIVED AT CALLBOARD

How different was the ‘30s era from our own? Philip Barry’s elegant and good-natured comedy, “The Philadelphia Story,” certainly provides a measuring stick.

Unlike its original audience, which went to it expecting a contemporary look at contemporary (and mostly rich) people, we come to the Callboard Theatre expecting an entertaining ‘30s period piece.

You also can’t get James Stewart and Katharine Hepburn out of your head, no matter how comfortably director Norman Cohen’s actors sink into their roles. John O’Connell’s hard-bitten American approach is effective. He’s described as a “left-wing, Jeffersonian democrat” who’s in the uncomfortable position of covering Philadelphia high society’s big wedding of the year. In a crowd like this, we need a cynic.

The comedy revolves around Tracy Lord, the haughty bride-to-be (her second time around), falling for the reporter, his charm and his honesty. This is going on under the nose of both Tracy’s groom (Scott Stevensen) and her ex (David Knapp). Barry lets the fur fly, and exposes some of the rich’s sillier hypocrisies.

This would be wonderful, if only we felt as charmed as Tracy does about Mike, and if only that fur really did start flying. This is where the Stewart persona looms large in the collective audience memory, and O’Connell neither supplants this with his own distinct approach, nor does he grasp that Mike is a bundle of contradictions.

Carolyn McCormick’s Tracy, cold and unapproachable, hardly seems likely to go for Mike; she has to be mocked, but McCormick doesn’t supply the wit for it.

Robert W. Zentis’ crucial set falls short, appearing to be either squeezed into the Callboard’s confines or simply an incomplete construction. His lights are serviceable, as are Diana Eden’s costumes.

Performances at 8451 Melrose Place, Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 3 and 7:30 p.m. Ends March 16. (213) 851-3771).

‘GRUBBY STORIES’

The couple in Carolyn Allport’s “Fried”--first of four one-acts grouped at Theatre/Theater under the self-descriptive title, “Grubby Little Stories”--isn’t one with whom we’d care to spend much time. The wife (Paula Marchese) cooks the husband (Jeff Doucette, in rotation with Paul Benedict) a three-course meal that he inhales more than consumes.

Doucette’s display of gastronomical excess sets some new kind of standard for an actor reaching physical limits on stage. Reading this as a symbol of male rapaciousness is unavoidable. What Allport (who also directed) could have avoided was the glib twist ending.

The same applies to Natasha Lubin’s black look at computer dating, “A Very Different Time.” Lisa Robins’ hip businesswoman and Wayne Kruse’s nerd accountant sit in a dating service’s waiting room and end up in a passionate embrace. They’re also unwitting guinea pigs of some diabolic plot. But then, plot is the whole problem here. Ruth Manning directed.

The problems with writer/director Dana Gladstone’s “Wasa Whodich Meets Bruce Springsteen” go far beyond plot. A literary pan-African mystic (Jessie Lawrence Ferguson) encounters a Bruce Springsteen fanatic (Cyntha Songe) in a Melrose bar. And that’s the play. Where there should be some comic commentary on cultural opposites attracting, there are only pregnant pauses and actors at a loss as to what to do.

John M. Schwarz’s “Batman, Speak to Me” stands out in this grubby bunch for taking some time with its characters; there’s a foggy comic tone, however, under Robert Picardo’s direction. Schwarz is playing on and borrowing from Donald Fagen’s ironic pop classic about homophobia, “Katy Lied.” The tune runs through the stoned skull of a biker (Christopher Allport), who’s trying to piece together last night’s events with his pal, dressed up as Batman’s Robin (Jeff Chayette). They’ve fled to the desert on a motorcycle (a real one, and a nice effect) and stumble around each other like castoffs from a Michael McClure play.

Allport sends up his biker with hilarious results, and Chayette is a fine sidekick.

Performances at 1715 Cahuenga Blvd., Thursdays through Saturdays, 8:30 p.m., Sundays, 7:30 p.m. Runs indefinitely (213) 850-6941).

‘FLOWER IN STORM’

There are some good intentions behind Luigi Jannuzzi’s “A Flower in the Storm,” at the Richmond Shepard Studio Theatre, but this look at a Vietnam War vet’s plight soon grinds to a halt under the weight of stunningly bad writing and acting. Jannuzzi withholds crucial information for so long about Bruce the vet (Ted Demers) and the kindly woman who helps him (Carmen Ramos) that we’ve long since lost interest in what makes them so peculiar. Worst of all, there isn’t the slightest reason for Jannuzzi to persist with his mystery: The revelations aren’t that revelatory.

Bruce, fleeing his brother-in-law and sister (Robert Factor and Carryl Lynn), are tracked down by them at a motel owned by Bruce’s college pal Jim (Scott Phillips). No need to burden you with the absurd plot devices that Jannuzzi employs to get his characters where they are. But what must be asked is how director Vic Vallaro and his cast could have thought for a moment that this fatuous, banal dialogue could be spoken by these characters, in this place. Ramos’ end-of-the-play speech, Demers’ rantings and ravings about society and the poetry they share sound like throw-away exercises in a freshman creative writing class; yet this drivel forms the core of the drama.

The actors are extraordinarily unconvincing (can you blame them?), and while Susan Lane’s rural motel set and stormy sky backdrop do provide a mood, it’s all but destroyed by Buddy Tobie’s lights, so dim as to cause eyestrain.

Performances at 6476 Santa Monica Blvd., Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m. Ends March 15 (213) 469-1533).