FIELDS TAKES OVER SOLO ROLE IN ‘REQUEST CONCERT’

Edith Fields, who has replaced Salome Jens in the one-woman “Request Concert,” at the Cast, looks like Betty Crocker. She appears to relish the domestic tasks that occupy Franz Xaver Kroetz’s lonely woman upon her return home from work.

As she scurries around her tiny apartment, she thrusts her hands forward, eagerly anticipating each new chore. Yet, she’s also fastidious to a fault. When she eats an Oreo, she carefully takes it apart and licks off the white filling before biting into the black cookie.

Compared to Jens’ Miss Rasch, this one is more oblivious to the fact that her life is a wreck. This makes the first part of the play funnier, for we can’t see her wounds as clearly. Fields even lights a candle to accompany her wretched little supper--a gesture that would have seemed false if Jens had tried it.

The flip side of this approach is that a few of Miss Rasch’s actions aren’t quite as credible in the hands of Fields--her smoking, for example, or more important, her final desperate deed. Wouldn’t she shy away from such behavior, on the grounds that it’s too messy?

Nevertheless, Fields has the technical resources to carry off everything she does. We begin to see how hurt she is when she attacks her needlework--and later, as she makes the character’s sexual hunger slightly more explicit than Jens did.

The play remains something that every actor in town should see--and hear, too, thanks to director Michael Arabian’s uncredited sound design. The use of live radio news broadcasts adds unexpected fillips each night--last Sunday, we heard about the recall of four brands of Brie just as Miss Rasch carefully unwrapped her slice of processed cheese.

Performances are at 804 N. El Centro Ave., Thursdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 7 p.m., through March 2 (213) 462-0265).

‘BOOK OF THE CRAZY AFRICAN’

“The Book of the Crazy African,” at Theatre of Arts, doesn’t have much of a book. It isn’t very crazy, nor is it particularly African.

Instead, this collection of songs, dances and recitations for soloists and ensembles is formless, surprisingly mild, and very American. It’s a showcase for some top-notch performers, but Theodore Wilson’s writing and directing are no more than middle notch.

The program tells us that Wilson’s script is “creative journal writing expressed in theatrical form.” But the personal stamp that’s promised by those words (and by the title) is not to be found. The material isn’t fresh enough, nor is it arranged so as to suggest a distinctive point of view.

Even though the show is set in the “Landscape of a Black Man’s Mind in America,” much of it is actually told from a woman’s perspective--and two of the women in the cast, husky-voiced Sheila Scott-Wilkinson and the dynamic Joyce Sylvester, really shine.

Among the men, Felton Perry effortlessly demonstrates his versatility, and Roman Cisneros strikes the right poses in his hot-summer-night solo.

Designers Leroy Meadows (lighting) and T.J. Williams (costumes) created a dark, dramatic space.

Performances are at 4128 Wilshire Blvd., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 3 p.m., through March 30 (213) 933-5279).

‘LA BREA TAR PITS’

The squabbling ex-marrieds in “La Brea Tar Pits,” at the Cast, spend a day rehashing what went wrong in their relationship. Of more concern to the audience, but remaining largely unanswered, is this question: Whatever went right with these two?

True, they tumble into bed now and then, and enjoy it. But most of the play is a torrent of petty bickering between two unpleasant people. It isn’t even a fair fight, for the woman (Caren Kaye) is more childish and less reasonable than the man (Bartley Braverman).

Near the end, playwright Alan Gross compares the couple’s arguments to the excavations at the eponymous pits--an insult to the fossils and to the scientists who dug them up. No advanced degrees are required to probe this couple’s problems; all you need is a great deal of patience--and no expectation of reward.

Director Renny Temple and both actors belonged to the War Babies, the late and sometimes great improvisational troupe. The Babies often created routines off the tops of their heads that were funnier than “La Brea Tar Pits”--perhaps because someone was there to pull the plug when the inspiration flagged. This play needs a plug-puller, too.

Performances are at 804 N. El Centro Ave., Thursdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 7 p.m., through March 23 (213) 462-0265).