‘Yourgrau’s Safari’ at Saxon-Lee; ‘Torch Song Trilogy’ in Long Beach; ‘St. Valentine’s Day’ at Actors Alley;’ ‘The Big Knife’ at Tracy Roberts

Barry Yourgrau has a way of growing on you, like ivy.

His new show, at the Saxon-Lee Gallery, is called “Barry Yourgrau’s Safari,” and like a lot of his work, it’s a double-entendre. A long fiction piece titled “Safari” makes up the evening’s second half. But before that, he reads eight shorter tales (all from his published collection, “Wearing Dad’s Head”), a forest of charming characters and absurd yet direct language through which we hunt for clues and meanings.

One could only wish that most of our better-known playwrights were writing at the level of Yourgrau’s fiction. He consistently manages two things that set him apart from most experimental writers: He narrates in the present tense (hard to sustain) and he writes in declarative sentences.

His is a technique that never calls attention to itself, which is why his reading style, a juggling act of broad hand gestures and broader facial contortions, can be a disservice to his elegant prose.

In “Safari,” about a father teaching his son the finer points of big-game hunting--in their back yard--and short works like “My Father” and “Hula Horror,” writer and reader fuse electrically. Nothing in Yourgrau’s world is as it seems, and hazard intrudes on suburban life (the big game are high-priced props Dad bought, but what about the ferocious, very real dog next door?). In his finely crafted balancing act of high English and worlds falling apart, Yourgrau keeps you listening.

Musician Bill Roper opened the evening with a poker-faced visage and obvious classical training that belied an irreverent performance of Matthias Bamert’s “Incon-Sequenza.” He proved that tuba players can go on alone.

At 7525 Beverly Blvd., Saturdays only, 8 p.m., through Sept. 3. Tickets: $12; (213) 933-5282 or (213) 629-2205.

‘Torch Song Trilogy’

From its triumphant beginnings, Harvey Fierstein’s epic “Torch Song Trilogy” raised two worrisome questions: Could anyone other than Fierstein play the role of Arnold (yes), and was this a play, or three acts in search of one?

Still searching is the second answer, thanks to Ashley Carr’s production at the Long Beach Studio Theatre.

Richard Hochberg doesn’t try to erase Fierstein’s presence, but simply treats Arnold like just another complicated character who could only exist on the stage (how, oh how is this going to work on film?). He accomplishes the narrative’s difficult transitions, which follow Arnold from his salad days as a stripper (and a slightly embarrassed participant in the gay recreational sex scene) to being mom to a juvenile delinquent. Even more impressive, Hochberg makes us want to follow Arnold even as Fierstein’s dialogue retreats into the land of the glib.

There are still these three acts, virtual mini-plays unto themselves, that staunchly refuse to coalesce. “The International Stud,” in which Arnold and Ed (Paul Cairns) meet, date and fall out with each other, is transparent fluff compared to the superb interplay of clashing wills and dialogue in “Fugue in a Nursery.” Now, Ed is living with Laurel (Deborah Jean Templin); she wants to come to an understanding with Arnold.

“Widows and Children First!” concludes Arnold’s tale with occasionally soppy, sitcom sentiments. Arnold and Ed are still trying to figure out their relationship (Cairns becomes more engaging with each act), but the key here is Arnold’s mother (Shirley Romano) and her problems with his frank gayness. The play, alas, is showing its age: Coming-out issues have been entirely supplanted by the AIDS spectre in gay drama. But seen today as a pre-AIDS play, it also has added poignancy.

Carr’s cast follows Hochberg’s energetic lead, though there’s some slippage into line readings. The oddest factor here is the design: Jerry Halbert’s set and Ann M. Archbold’s lights look slap-dash in act one, and terrific after that. By plan, or by accident?

At 5021 E. Anaheim St., Long Beach, Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sun. Aug. 21, 2 p.m., through Aug. 27. Tickets: $10; (213) 494-1616.

‘The St. Valentine’s Day Zin Tasting’

In this age (has it ever been otherwise?) of artists jumping ship for the quick buck, there are never enough plays examining the artist’s moral responsibility. Joe Besecker’s “The Annual St. Valentine’s Day Zin Tasting,” at Actors Alley, goes beyond matters of finance and pits an author of a sudden best-selling novel against his friends who scream foul over the way he’s depicted them in the book.

It’s not Robert’s day (Steve Barr). He’s not only persona non grata at the wine-tasting party Terry and Bernie are throwing, but his ex-wife Barbara (Sally Loyd) is now dating a woman.

Robert’s response is deliberately shocking. Next to my art, he says, “whatever hurt you feel fades in comparison.” But it’s also something of a put-up job by Besecker; only late in the play does Robert employ the obvious and ironclad defense: This is fiction , folks. He either can’t hide behind that claim because his creations are artlessly close to their model (in which case, we’re not dealing with an artist at all), or everyone’s too dumb to address the aesthetics defense.

These aren’t dumb people though. They’re San Francisco yuppies, miserable in paradise. Besecker’s way of showing these lives through flashback segments does immense harm to his play’s increasingly gripping drama. It’s a way of putting the puzzle pieces together (and one of them displays an earthquake of a performance by Jim Kester, as the druggie in the circle of friends), but it clogs the flow of the party scene.

Director Michael Lilly works seamlessly around the set of Actors Alley’s other show, “What I Did Last Summer,” and has cast this ensemble drama astutely.

Brenda Lilly’s Paulette is pure bitchiness, and husband Michael Blakley lets us see why she needs other men. Barr’s Robert, however, is too stoic for his own good.

At 4334 Van Nuys Blvd., Sherman Oaks, Mondays through Wednesdays, 8 p.m. Free. (818) 986-2278.

‘The Big Knife’

Revenge is not always sweet. A good example is Clifford Odets’ turgid “The Big Knife,” now in a Richard Zavaglia revival at the Tracy Roberts Theatre.

The knife of the title is Hollywood (more precisely, the power wielded by the studio moguls), but the knife is in Odets’ hands as well, and little good comes of it. After years of writing good plays, lured to Hollywood to write for money, Odets wrote “The Big Knife” as a response to being used.

His hero/actor, Charlie Castle (Richard De Munn), is hardly a sufficient fulcrum of tragedy. Instead he’s as used up as the starlets who flounce in front of him, and the studio guys who operate behind him. His wife (Kathryn Graf) and agent (Milt Jamin) are the moral center; mostly, they pontificate.

Zavaglia’s production doesn’t begin to send out the noir ish mood Odets intended. De Munn’s performance is cipher-like, while Sandy Passman and Jack Kosslyn are superb incarnations of cold power. Scott Berridge’s set looks like an afterthought, and the usually talented J. Kent Inasy has made do with a fixed bank of floodlight bulbs which make every stage picture look like a flash-lit Polaroid.

At 141 S. Robertson Blvd. Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7:30 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $12.50; (213) 271-1478.