LOST IN CHEKHOV’S ‘CHERRY ORCHARD’

“Beautifully simple himself,” Maxim Gorky wrote of Anton Chekhov, “he loved everything simple.” This statement is in the outstanding program notes for the Ensemble Studio Theatre’s staging of Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard.” Simplicity is director David Kaplan’s watchword.

But simplicity cuts two ways.

Kaplan’s set and staging, with the barest props and the faintest suggestion of the short-lived orchard, is aesthetically honest and self-effacing in this era of the designer-as-star. Here, Kaplan remembers that less is more.

He seems, though, to have forgotten it with his actors. Anita Dangler’s matronly Lyubov is a study in near-madness rather than melancholic displacement. Matthew Ashford’s arrogant student Trofimov hints at something homicidal, like a young Jack Nicholson. Gerald Papasian’s penniless Pischik initially captures this man’s false gaiety, then just plays the same note again and again. Only Joel Asher’s fine Lopakhin and Ernest Emling’s resonant Yasha avoid touches of stridence.

The plan appears to have been to counter Chekhov’s psychological pianissimos with overt displays of mental imbalance. But it’s a simplistic stab at something “fresh” or “dynamic,” like Stein Winge’s insert of Marx Brothers-style comedy into “The Three Sisters” last year. It muffles and diverts attention from the issue at hand, which here is profound loss (and which Lawrence Senelick’s translation gets resoundingly right).

Ironically, the central issue is lost in this production.

Performances at 1089 N. Oxford Ave. run Wednesdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 2 p.m. Ends May 24; (213) 466-2916. Tickets: $10-$12.

‘BRUCE LEE IS DEAD’

You hope that playwrights who also write for television try not to confuse the two media. But that’s just what Matt Williams, a regular scribe for “The Cosby Show,” does with his quartet of one-acts at the Zephyr Theatre, “Bruce Lee Is Dead and I’m Not Feeling Too Good Either.”

Jason, a homeless black man who lives by his wits (George C. Simms), is the connective, sometimes charming thread we follow through a day that begins in the public library in “MD 20/20” and ends at New York’s Port Authority in “Jason and the Nun.” In between, Jason has a run-in he wasn’t looking for with a fearsome couple (Maggie Roswell and Dan Moran) in “Velveeta Shine” and a gentle encounter with a suicidal homeless man (Robert Evan Collins) in “Rat Dancing.”

“MD 20/20,” especially Annie LaRussa’s wonderfully mousy bookworm who warms up to the ragged Jason, misleads us into expecting an off-beat evening of surprises. “Velveeta Shine” drops into a comedy sinkhole where incredible behavior gets the better of Williams’ judgment.

“Rat Dancing” alone among the pieces takes a harder look at the homeless life, showing how close it is to death; Collins’ performance, suggesting a Southern gentleman on the fritz, is the hallmark in director Susann Brinkley’s fine cast. The TV writer in Williams can’t avoid, though, a sentimental finish, or, in “Jason and the Nun,” the terminal cutes. Simms’ Jason tends to italicize these tendencies rather than play against them.

Performances at 7456 Melrose Ave. run Mondays and Tuesdays, 8 p.m., Wednesdays, 2 and 8 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays, 11 p.m. Ends May 16; (213) 465-0070. Tickets: $8-$12.

‘CIRCLE ON THE CROSS’

What is cathartic for the playwright may not be for the audience, and although that’s the case with Thomas Cadwaleder Jones’ “A Circle on the Cross,” at the Colony Studio Theatre, it doesn’t explain why this show doesn’t get to us.

First, Jones’ story of a Vietnam MIA’s Arkansas homecoming (Richard Lineback) must overcome familiar cliches: vet who can’t forget, the family who did forget, the black sheep who comes home, to name a few. The cliches take over, and Jones adds a few more of his own. So does director Ross Clark, who encourages Lindy Nisbet to play the vet’s old flame like a floozy out of a “Mandingo”-like potboiler.

Second, Jones constructs his drama with no dramatic arc, but with a zig-zagging pattern of long, inflated conversations (the first, with Robert O’Reilly’s alcoholic brother, consumes the opening act). They cover too many themes for the play to handle. Jones clearly wanted to make his statement on Vietnam, but he’s his own worst enemy.

He isn’t served well by a cast that can’t sustain the long-winded text (though Lineback does his utmost) and by Gary Christensen’s lights dimming during the serious moments. Nudging an audience is no way to draw it in.

Performances at 1944 Riverside Drive run Wednesdays through Fridays and May 2 (Saturday), 8 p.m. Ends May 2; (213) 665-3011 or 667-9851. Tickets: $10-$12.

‘LEVITATION’

Timothy Mason’s “Levitation,” at Theatre 40, is another homecoming play--this time about a gay newspaper headline writer (Steve Decker) returning to his Minnesota roots. The play’s roots are with New York’s Circle Rep, which has championed the poetic naturalism style for years. But if ever a play exemplified the style’s faults, “Levitation” is it.

Faults may be a kind word. Mason, the poet, pretty thickly lays on the metaphors--dozens, it seems, on flying and the heavens alone--and a less-than-eloquent sense of death, the past and the present commingling for Decker’s troubled writer. Mason the naturalist draws stock big-city and small-town figures to balance a very tired sense of humor.

Craig Slaight directs this memento mori with a palpably solemn regard for the text, as if it were Chekhov. The actors, especially Decker, Jeanne Bates as his mother and Channing Chase as his “Christian Marxist” sister, unfortunately follow suit. Robert W. Zentis’ set recalls Minnesota, but when the family watches a sky full of falling stars, there’s no magic in the air.

Performances at 241 Moreno Drive, Beverly Hills High School, run Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 2 and 8 p.m. Ends May 3; (213) 465-0070. Tickets: $8-$12.50.