JIM BAILEY JOINS ‘NITE CLUB’ CAST

Who is Kay Goodman this week? Goodman, that irrepressible crooner who knocks ‘em dead in “Nite Club Confidential” at the Tiffany Theatre, was threatening to become a rotational role. First, there was Fay DeWitt. Then, suddenly, Edie Adams. And now, just as abruptly, Jim Bailey, who has made a living impersonating the kinds of singers of whom Goodman is a farcical, campy composite.

This is a performance, though, not an impersonation. Bailey clearly understands the huge difference: His Kay seems to glimpse the harsh reality that she’s becoming an aging cliche in her own time (the ‘50s), but will play second fiddle to no one.

Bailey’s whole performance style of gracefully done illusion perfectly meshes with this show, which is a slick, souped-up compendium of every ‘50s trademark and fashion. The story, by Dennis Deal, is unabashedly silly, but with Bailey leading the way with a vibrato that could sink ships, this edition of “Nite Club” becomes an intriguingly illusory play on illusion itself, as well as the deadly lures of show business. Watton is not yet up to the a cappella prowess of her singing partners (Steven Forbes Hall, Tom Spiroff and Steve Gideon), but her humorous spunk nicely mixes with Bailey’s bitch-goddess brew.

Performances at 8532 Sunset Blvd.; Wednesdays through Fridays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays, 7 and 10 p.m.; Sundays, 3 and 7 p.m. Information: (213) 652-6165.

‘THE BRIDES’

“The Brides” was originally a verse work by Harry Kondoleon, who may or may not have conceived it as a play. Director Justin Lord, who has adapted Kondoleon’s poetry for an ensemble staging at the Skylight Theater, clearly has. Between conception and execution, though, is a long road. Lord’s show is just starting the journey.

Kondoleon’s verse is deliberately mythic and obscurantist, but at its core are variations on the theme of the oppression of women. So there’s something for a company to hold on to, even while actors and audience try to steer through the rococo verbal stylizations.

Lord’s staging tends to make things visually literal rather than reflective. Putting his cast of women (Mara Holland, Barbara Pariot, Jeanne Sakata and Joyce Sylvester) behind bars for the opening image gives the game away--sort of a director/designer’s version of Cliff’s Notes.

What meanings there are--how women set themselves up for their emotional enslavement to men, for instance--are lost in a haze of pseudo-Jerome Robbins choreography (by Julie Tea, who also dances), overinsistent lights (by Virgil Woodfork) and mechanical performances by the ensemble. “The Brides” has simply not wed any form with a potentially effective content.

Performances at 1816 1/2 N. Vermont Ave.; Fridays, 8 p.m. Ends Jan. 2. (213) 466-1767.

‘BREAD ALONE’

“Bread Alone,” Robert Patrick’s extremely talky two-character piece at the Seventeen-Oh-Nine Theater, portrays the Montana outback as a semi-savage glacial wasteland, with Daryl’s (Ron Hitchcock) one-room trailer as the only cultural or emotional refuge from the blight outside.

Into it steps Gary (Michael Paul Witt), a 17-year-old who wants to know more and thinks that teacher Daryl will give it to him. What he wants above all is some love, so much of the action can be described as what leads up to their first kiss. It is all terribly overwritten and painfully predictable.

This teacher-student dialogue, saddled with allusions to every Greek in the cosmos, is handled no better by Hitchcock and Witt than by Patrick. Hitchcock’s performance is a superficial gloss, but Witt’s, burdened with a hopelessly polyglot Southern accent, is unintentionally comic, Phoebus manages an almost workable set out of this shoe-box space--sit in the front row, or you won’t see much of it.

Performances at 1709 N. Kenmore Ave.; Fridays through Sundays, 8:30 p.m. Runs indefinitely. (213) 250-1413.