STAGE REVIEW : ‘BADGES’ HAS FLAWS BUT SUCCEEDS

Much has been made of the trials of hyphenated (e.g. Hispanic-, Afro-, Asian-) Americans. In “I Don’t Have to Show You No Stinking Badges,” now playing at the San Diego Repertory Theatre through May 10, playwright Luis Valdez chronicles a less-often told part of the story--the pain of the half-assimilated who try to cross their hyphens, like tightropes, to the American side, only to falter and sometimes crash between identities.

The production, a collaboration of the Rep, El Teatro Campesino and the Los Angeles Theatre Center, ushers in the welcome return of Valdez, the founder of El Teatro Campesino, to the San Diego stage. Valdez, whose last big hit was the 1978 “Zoot Suit,” has here created a provoking, yet somewhat uneven comic drama. The flaws are serious, if not unresolvable, but so much good humor and insight abound that, like the delighted opening-night audience, you may have too good a time to care.

Buddy and Constance Villa are a feisty Mexican-American couple who have managed to eke out a comfortable middle-class existence as Hollywood actors playing bit parts, mostly silent, of Mexican maids, bandits, gardeners and whores.

They are not too wild about their parts, but they do seem to love acting. Their pride stems from their daughter, whom they have put through medical school, and their son. They are putting him through Harvard Law School--at least until he shows up on their doorstep with a Japanese girlfriend, Anita, and, to their horror, announces that he has dropped out of Harvard and is planning to become an actor, just like dear old Mom and Dad.

They can’t understand why their son, Sonny, wants to trash his hopes of a better life for one that has always been a struggle for them. But he explains that his goal is not to play the stereotypes. He sees himself as a star. His parents see him as crazy.

So far so good. The age-old conflict between what parents want for their children and what their stubborn children want for themselves will probably never cease to work. But this is also the point where the story shows its seams. If Sonny really wants to become an actor, why do we never see any love for his craft? Other than a speech about having emulated the roles played by various actors in movies, there is no evidence of his commitment.

There is more evidence to suggest that he is really having a nervous breakdown due to being pulled between two worlds--his parents’ perspective and Harvard’s. Unfortunately, his illustrations of the conflict are pretty shaky.

For example, he describes the female students telling him they can’t go out with boys who don’t belong to their daddy’s yacht clubs. Maybe he met these girls while cruising through some finishing schools. But not at Harvard Law, which is no longer a stronghold of the WASPS or the wealthy.

Robert Beltran’s performance exacerbates this confusion in Sonny’s character. He seems too mature for the role of a young man who is still struggling to put adolescence behind him. Beltran is at his best when Sonny is up--he pounces with deft animal grace and does some truly terrific chicken and Brando imitations. But when Sonny is down, he shows a curious deadness at the center, and the question of whether Sonny is acting depressed or is really depressed is never answered.

Similarly, Patti Yasutake is a graceful, attractive and funny Anita, but when she talks about her feelings, she fails to convey the discomfort she describes.

In contrast, the classic and colorful dynamic between Anne Betancourt and Leon Singer as Sonny’s parents successfully emotes all over the place. Singer, especially, is a great natural force. He is a joy to watch, whether he is actively picturing his latest movie idea (a show about illegal aliens in space), marvelously propelling his short, squat and utterly dynamic body across the stage, or simply slumped in a chair, having fallen asleep during his favorite movie.

Like the others, he is given more raw material by Valdez than the playwright actually develops: we see in the beginning that he is drunk (is he depressed about the lack of parts available to him in America; does he then have something in common with his son?) But the thought trails off and is never brought up again.

Tony Curiel’s spirited direction manages to keep most of the holes covered most of the time, but the play might have benefited from having Sonny and Anita talk to each other more than at each other. Russell Pyle’s set and lighting achieves a perfection of middle class charm, from the VCR/TV/ stereo necessities of life to the diplomas and trophies of the children over the fireplace.

Nicole Morin’s costumes are attractive and clever and shown to especially good effect in Connie and Buddy’s single song-and-dance number (which seems thrown in just for fun) and Anita’s lovely Japanese fan dance. Jon Gottlieb’s sound is effective and clear.

“I Don’t Have to Show You No Stinking Badges” gets its name from a line in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre,” a movie in which Buddy supposedly played the Mexican bandit who refused to furnish Humphrey Bogart with proof of his validity.

This powerful metaphor of life lived as a bit player on the American screen is a powerful and far-reaching one that makes this play, despite its flaws, succeed even if only on the basis of reach, rather than grasp.

“I DON’T HAVE TO SHOW YOU NO STINKING BADGES” By Luis Valdez. Directed by Tony Curiel. Set and lighting by Russell Pyle. Costumes by Nicole Morin. Sound by Jon Gottlieb. Video design by Bill Swadley. Choreography by Sumako Azuma II and Angela Moya. With Robert Beltran, Anne Betancourt, Leon Singer and Patti Yasutake. At 8 p.m. Tuesday-Saturday and 7 p.m. Sunday through May 10. At the Lyceum Stage, 79 Horton Plaza.