‘Long Time Coming’ at Powerhouse; ‘Pin Curls’ at Room for Theatre; ‘Wormwood’ at Theatre/Theater’s Back Space; ‘Final’ at Gaylor

When the Old West of cowboys and Indians died, it became the New West of gas stations and interstate highways. Now, the New West is dying, and the gas stations are becoming convenience marts. That’s the premise--at the surface--of Michael Hacker’s “Long Time Coming,” at the Powerhouse.

The layers beneath are many, and the quiet calm with which writer-director Hacker excavates belies the fact that this is his first play. Sam Shepard’s voice can be heard throughout, but in the distance; “Long Time Coming” is a fine example of a strong influence acknowledged and absorbed by a writer who is resolutely his own man. Hacker has carved out new Western territory--human-scale land, but not always pretty.

Two things immediately set the scale and mood: Michael P. Tak’s mournful, urgent, guitar-accented music (performed by the group Carnival Art) and Robert W. Zentis’ gas station set (complete with an ancient pump, superb Zentis lighting and other surprises) that is a thorough, sardonic manifestation of urban decay.

The story requires a complete gas station on stage, because this is the cherished domain of co-operators Stanton (Joe Unger) and Fred (Ken Foree). Stan, especially, won’t give it up, even if the oil company plans to raze it. Here is a remarkable display of stage design and character becoming one.

Fred knows that their downtown L.A. station lost its customers when the neighborhood changed. But Stan won’t accept reality, let alone the real needs of his girlfriend, Lee (Lea Thompson). Things get so bad that when the tank and Stan’s car both run out of gas (they can’t buy any from the company) and a customer actually drops in (Michelle Little’s Deuce), Stan feels duty-bound to take Deuce to another station. Stan does customer service the way John the Baptist embraced converts.

What a pathetically wonderful hero this guy is. Unger’s portrayal is so exquisitely underplayed that when Stan finally takes up a gun against the bulldozers, he doesn’t look ridiculous in the way Shepard’s dreamers often do, but becomes a funny little man with a quixotic soul.

Stan’s story is the one Hacker chose to focus on, but he’s managed such a rich ensemble that Fred’s or Lee’s or Deuce’s story would have done as well. And we almost forgot Dolores’ story (Gretchen West)--she is Fred’s girlfriend, who was supposed to nab the cash during the pre-curtain bank robbery (meant to keep the place afloat), but ended up in Reno instead.

The cast plays the play’s roughly bittersweet tone and attitude like a blues quintet reading each other’s minds, spinning out tunes you don’t want to end, with Hacker as a skillful conductor.

Performances are at 3116 2nd St., Santa Monica, on Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., until May 8. Tickets: $12; (213) 392-6529.

‘Pin Curls’

We know about Rosie the Riveter and her factory sisters doing their stateside part for World War II. But what about the Rosies of military hospitals, the nurses who decided to become doctors (even if their boyfriends had other ideas)?

Gale Baker Shick’s “Pin Curls,” at Room for Theatre, takes up the question, suggesting this might be a more interesting way of looking at how war affects the sexes.

Even though Shick soft-pedals the inherent political tensions, even though her writing tends to use exposition as a crutch, even if we seem to be in televisionland at moments, this is a refreshingly comedic tonic with real concerns and people who feel and think.

Betty Lou (Jacqueline Chauvin) is about to leave her hairdresser’s job at Bert Jrs. Beauty Shop (designer Gary L. Wissmann seems to have gone to the ends of known civilization to acquire his amazing period set pieces). The trouble is that while she’s been accepted for the Army Nurses Corps, fiance Sam (Randy Baughman) was rejected --but she shoves off anyway.

Career dilemmas only pile up when Betty gets the post-war bug to become a doctor. Then there are Betty’s hilarious cohorts--Joline (Julie Parrish), fellow hairdresser and the loosest woman in this Christian county, and two regular customers, sarcastic Lois (Jan Claire) and blue nose Maude (Gwen Van Dam). Shick also inserts tragedy into her comedy without losing the comedy.

By play’s end, she satisfies for all time any man’s curiosity about what women talk about when they’re alone with each other.

At one point, one of Betty’s pals reminds her that Sam “is a good shoulder.” That’s a good writer at work, and director Marcia Rodd respects the writing, rhythmically enforcing it with a sharp (never slick) ensemble pace. There have been so many fine ensembles in Waiver theater this year, this reviewer has lost count--but add the “Pin Curls” group to the list.

Performances are at 12745 Ventura Blvd., Studio City, on Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 4:30 p.m. , until May 1. Tickets: $12.50-$15; (818) 769-0234.

‘Wormwood’

Amlin Gray (“How I Got That Story”) is a fairly young playwright who has written a very old-feeling play called “Wormwood,” at Theatre/Theater’s Back Space. The strong point of Rocky Heck’s production is Heck’s own set, the sepulchral, cobwebbed back room of a Stockholm tavern.

Such a full set in such a tiny house! If only the play were as fulfilling. Ossian Borg (Philip Granger), a novelist who drank enough absinthe (main ingredient: wormwood oil) in the back room to stop his writing, is discussed almost posthumously early on. His wife Marika (Jill Heck) and her former art school classmate Johan (Josh Cohen), now reduced to waiting tables at the tavern, sift through the ashes of Ossian’s career out of which Marika might revive her own as a serious painter.

It sounds like compelling stuff, especially as Malachi the tavern owner (James Higgins) still has his claws into Ossian as part of a twisted personal/professional relationship. And when Ossian does appear . . . fireworks should go off.

They don’t, but it’s not only because of Gray’s grating imitation of Victorian speech (odd, since his obvious model should have been fluid translations of Strindberg). Problems multiply with enervating exchanges between characters we know must have said these things to each other before--can they be so upset over old news?

Heck’s cast is out of its depth, except, ironically, for last-minute replacement Higgins. Cohen and Heck employ such a curious ersatz-British accent that you wonder about their nationality. Accentless Granger is fatally boring.

Performances are at 1713 N. Cahuenga Blvd. Fridays through Sundays, 8 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $8; (213) 871-0210.

‘Final’

Bruce McIntosh’s new play, “Final,” at the Cassandra Gaylor Theatre shows what a small town this is: James Higgins played a weary patriarch in McIntosh’s last play, “After the Merrill Wake,” and Philip Granger is “Final’s” director. But where “Wormwood” is mired in the past, “Final” is mired in an undetermined future.

What begins as a seemingly conventional play about a psychiatric inmate (McIntosh) and his doctor (Clare Peck) turns into the story of a romantic man with a rock guitar lost in a techno-totalitarian state. It makes some good points about memory being the path to human worth, but the narrative is needlessly hampered by baroque twists and gimmicks, and McIntosh and Peck are not the actors to charge a text. Gregory B. Myers’ flat production design is an obstacle rather than a help.

Performances are at 6543 Santa Monica Blvd. on Saturdays, 8 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $9; (213) 462-7644.