FRAYN’S ‘NOISES OFF’ GETS BETTER WITH AGE

In “Noises Off,” a touring company’s work deteriorates as it ventures deeper into the provinces. But the same principle doesn’t necessarily apply to “Noises Off” itself. Michael Frayn’s backstage farce is funnier at La Mirada Civic Theatre than it was at the Ahmanson a couple of years ago.

A qualifier: I was among the minority who found the Ahmanson production too loud and long, something of a strain to sit through. “Noises Off” is still long, for a show that’s so light, yet the time passes quicker at La Mirada. The theater itself is much more hospitable than the Ahmanson; the actors don’t have to shout and mug as much. But architecture aside, Glenn Casale’s staging is brilliantly tuned and paced. Particularly impressive is the crowning hilarity of the third act, which had earlier struck me as redundant.

The name on the marquee is Kathryn Grayson, looking pudgy and bewildered as Dotty Otley, the over-the-hill trouper who plays the maid in the play-within-the-play. This is a startling switch for a star whose name is usually associated with dignity bordering on stuffiness, and Grayson pitches bravely into the battle, revealing a genuine flair for looniness. Not as brassy as Dorothy Loudon, Grayson’s performance is truer and more touching.

“Noises Off” is no star vehicle, though, and Casale hasn’t shunted aside the rest of his cast. Louis Dezseran is a scream as poor dear Freddy, gamely trying to create art out of “Nothing On.” Lydia Laurans establishes her ditzy blonde as, paradoxically, the worst actor and the most professional performer in the “Nothing On” cast; although her gestures are utterly wooden, at least she knows her lines and keeps plugging away at them in the midst of the third-act chaos--stopping only to search for her contact lenses, of course.

Everyone is in top form here: Katherine Justice’s eagle-eyed gossip, Marshall Borden’s harried director, Cameron Smith’s inarticulate juvenile twit, George Pelling’s old drunk, Brent Hinkley’s bedraggled stage manager and his always-the-bridesmaid assistant, Kristin Lowman.

The set and costumes are duplicates of the New York originals. Performances are at 14900 La Mirada Blvd., Tuesdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 7:30 p.m., with Saturday and Sunday matinees at 2:30; (213) 944-9801 or (714) 994-6310.

THE COUNTRY BOY

He took one whopping wrong turn, and he’s miserable. It’s written all over Robert Schuch, playing an Irish-American who visits the old country after 15 years abroad, in John Murphy’s “The Country Boy” at An Claidheamh Soluis, the Celtic Arts Center. Gazing at the old homestead through booze-fogged slits for eyes, body slumped in despair, Schuch’s Eddie Maher is a vivid portrait of a man without a country.

It’s too bad Murphy didn’t focus more on Eddie. Instead, the title character is Eddie’s brother Curly, who’s on the verge of making the same mistake Eddie made. Curly’s and Eddie’s crises are both resolved offstage (too far offstage, particularly in Eddie’s case), yet at least Curly gets to return as the center of attention in the final scene. By contrast, Eddie disappears without a clear indication of what’s going to happen to him.

Murphy appears preoccupied with finding a happy ending for Curly. In the process, he tilts his play toward a rose-colored, tourist board-approved vision of Ireland.

The premiere of “The Country Boy” was at Dublin’s Abbey Theatre in 1959, when Murphy had never seen America. He has now lived in the Los Angeles area for 20 years, and revised his play for Sandra Fleck’s staging. If his idealization of Ireland seems squishy-soft from this vantage point, one wonders what it was like in the original.

At any rate, there are occasional gusts of lyricism and gentle comedy in “The Country Boy,” and Fleck’s cast is sensitive to every breeze. Joy Ellison manages to humanize Eddie’s crass American wife; Gerri Zeiss as a country lass sings a glowing “Last Rose of Summer.” Courtenay McWhinney’s character is more a mother figure than a mother, but McWhinney embodies her capably.

I saw understudies Timothy Hannon and Sean Walsh playing Curly and his difficult da, respectively; although Hannon looked exactly right for his role, Walsh was too young.

The Irish farmhouse, designed by Gauche Productions, is a bit too rudimentary; it’s hard to believe that Eddie sent money to his folks for home improvements. Performances are at 5651 Hollywood Blvd., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 7 p.m.; (213) 661-0825.

‘THE TAVERN’

John Petlock’s staging of George M. Cohan’s “The Tavern” at the Group Repertory is an admirably restrained affair. The laughter doesn’t seem forced or frenetic. As Cohan intended back in 1920, the show is a burlesque of a melodrama rather than the real thing, but Petlock respects his audience--and Cohan--enough to refrain from underlining the buffoonery.

It’s an appropriate show for the season, set as it is on a cold, stormy night. Accompanied by gusts of wind and metallic thunder, a parade of unusual characters seeks refuge in a seedy country inn.

Contributing the sharpest performances are Klair Bybee as the suspicious innkeeper, Arlan Boggs as the dimmest of his dim-witted staff, pudgy-faced Morgan Rusler as the next dimmest, William McCoy as the self-dramatizing vagabond, Lynn Cartwright as a human torch song and Mearl Allen as a gnarled governor who looks like he belongs in a Frank Capra movie.

Jennifer Michaud’s costumes and Dale Carney’s set appear to place us in the late 19th Century. Performances are at 10900 Burbank Blvd., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 5 p.m., through Jan. 31; (818) 769-PLAY.