GRINDING AN AX OVER A GROUPING OF ONE-ACTS

Presumably, there was some reason to group together the three one-acts that make up the first evening of “One Acts to Grind” at the Company of Angels. Sam Ingraffia’s “39 Goodbyes” and Babs Lindsay’s “Free” both deal with gifted performers confronting crises. These two, as well as David Kitts’ and Donna Wells’ “Washeteria,” observe some of society’s washed-up types. But these strands are the strongest connections in a generally tangled mess.

Do we need these connections between what are, after all, self-enclosed and independent works? Just as scenes and acts in a play should flow into or comment on one another, a matching of one-act plays should be complementary as well as contrasting, in equal and meaningful measure. The arbitrariness of “One Acts To Grind,” Part 1, is as destructive as any of its separate pieces.

Take “39 Goodbyes,” about an aging rock star (Ingraffia) considering suicide in a Hollywood motel. Nothing could follow it, except a staging of “Day of the Locust,” or a view of the star’s brighter past. Crucially, we can’t see that past in Ingraffia’s dull performance as Ricky (Thomas Herod Jr. directed). Even murkier is what compels Stevie (Gary Matansky) to bust into Ricky’s motel room.

Actually, Stevie has dark motives, ones that will give his own music career a boost. He’s a nut, but even after Ricky has a gun on him, he doesn’t kick him out the door. If the silliness of the situation hasn’t already done the play in, this moment does, because we’re ahead of the playwright and can write the ending in our heads. Not a good start for the night.

“Washeteria,” a meaningless exercise, eavesdrops on a day at the laundromat. Neatnik Teresa (J. C. Wendel) and sloppy Donna (Mary Wickliffe), friends with nothing in common, wash clothes while surrounded by a kind of cross section of life’s crazies. Joe (Michael Milhoan) is a big lug on the lam, Sheila (Fern Burns) is an elderly widow with cutesy one-liners, and Alice (Wells) is a bag lady who wishes to be known as a “recycler.”

They all talk to, or rather, at, each other. Donna runs off with Joe, but not much else happens. Not much is revealed, either: these are characters stuck in one place. The raison d’etre here looks like showcasing, but the performances are flat, under Dev Ross’ direction.

The title character in “Free” possesses the amazing ability to float, only his manager (Leslie Morris) wants to move him off the Bakersfield-to-Stockton circuit. You know the playwrights have deep things in mind when they name the manager “Stoney Madonna,” or a motel maid who tries to help Free out “Patsy Bean” (Linda M. Grinstead).

The appellations bear little connection with what’s up on stage, however. What could have been an interesting allegory on the dark ironies associated with performing ends up being an inert piece that leaves no imprint on the mind. William Maynard does bring out the best in his cast, especially John Dragon as a nervous, taut Free.

Cheryl Waters’ lights and Roger C. Ambrose’s multipurpose design are as gray and undistinguished as the set’s color scheme. Performances at 5846 Waring Ave., Thursdays and Fridays, 8 p.m. (Part 2 runs Saturdays and Sundays, 8 p.m.); Ends March 8 ((213) 466-1767).

‘THE GLOW GIRL’

Why can’t the theater produce good anti-nuclear plays, when the movies (“Dr. Strangelove,” “Silkwood”) churn out so many? Whether it’s a visual or polemical breach, staging nuclearism’s dangers continues to be an unsolved puzzle. “The Glow Girl,” at the Skylight Theatre, only makes matters worse.

Robert Champness concocts a situation for his play even pulp writers might shy away from: Rosie (Cynthia Avila), posing as a nuclear power plant clean-up worker, stages a one-woman sit-in near the reactor core. She’ll stay there until her demands (including repayment to thousands of uranium waste victims) are met. Pacific Power & Light executive Charles Watts (!) must choose between her life and the bottom line.

Champness can’t dramatize sabotage, but he can certainly practice it on his own play. Instead of building credibility through well-observed characters, he falls into the trap of loading his dialogue with high-tech jargon. And when the talk isn’t drowning in references to rems and botched blueprints, it is hilariously stilted (“These cost overruns have them squirming in their tweeds”).

Even anti-nuclear activists might squirm at the play’s insistence that they need a leader, and at Danna Doyle’s inane production (a video monitor showing protesters in a parking lot is comically inauthentic). The cast, led by Avila and Tom Wheeler as Watts, is simply lost. Phil Schmidt’s lights and set might have been fine for a low-budget ‘50s science fiction movie, but not for today’s post-Diablo Canyon audience.

Performances at 1816 1/2 N. Vermont Ave. on Saturdays and Sundays, 8:30 p.m. Ends March 8 ((213) 466-1767).