Fernando Garzon Dominates ‘Cuba’ / ‘Catch a Pony’ at Whitefire / ‘Birth of Merlin’ Apes the Bard / Off Ramp Features ‘Lovers Leap’

Ostensibly, the focus in the father-son drama “Cuba and His Teddy Bear” is on a teen-age son’s tortured relationship with his immigrant, drug-dealing dad.

In this West Coast premiere at the Callboard, however, that focus is turned on its head. Debuting stage actor Fernando Garzon turns in such a powerhouse performance as the macho, albeit loving, Cuban father that the play becomes his story rather than the son’s.

(The same thing happened when the play was inaugurated in New York two years ago: Robert De Niro so dominated proceedings that the play became the father’s story there, too.)

In truth, it’s fine this way. What the production points up is that the electricity of a single performance can dramatically veer a play in an unintended direction. In this case, the result is a volume pitched sufficiently high to be, on occasion, grueling. But if the potential for a serio-comedy is lost, there’s no denying the dynamics on stage.

Hispanic playwright Reinaldo Povod’s seven-character play, set in a Lower East Side apartment, is semi-autobiographical. The 28-year-old Povod, in real life, was the Teddy in this play.

As acted by Eddie Castrodad (who understudied Ralph Macchio in the New York production), the son is too dimly etched, his narrative voice muted by Garzon’s dangerous, paternal voltage.

But Castrodad’s fall into cocaine addiction, his ugly encounter with a pair of scummy street addicts (jolting, scabrous turns by Jeff Meek and Anthony Gioia), and the son’s searing, drugged-out confrontation with his outraged father are torrid scenes grippingly directed by Bob Morones (a movie casting director making his directorial debut).

Beefy Peter Van Norden’s grungy buddy is rich support (his aloha shirt is a nice ironic touch). Maria Richwine is a spicy hanger-on; Jose Rosario’s jiving drug dealer, however, is an overripe caricature.

At 8451 Melrose Place, Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m., through Sept. 11. Tickets: $12.50-15; (213) 466-1767.

‘Catch a Pony’ The impact of the drug culture on another young playwright is starkly evident also in Daniel Radell’s “Catch a Pony” at the Whitefire Theatre.

Radell is an actor-turned-first-time-dramatist who, in taking the lead in his own play, has created a personal paean to the broken Vietnam veteran. The plot is rather hackneyed, but Radell has filled his drug-ridden streets of South Philly with pointed dialogue and jittery characters.

The play, set in the aftermath of Vietnam, is uneven. The action among street punks in a diner is vibrant but a central love story (between Radell’s addicted vet and Shannon B. Absher’s supportive co-ed) is trite.

Despite the elements of melodrama, the production somewhat remarkably leaves a raw imprint (except for set designer Tom Allard’s tacky kitchen-sink apartment, complete with a superfluous toilet).

Characters who are addicts and drug merchants are like yesterday’s gangster roles--they can be plums or lemons. Squatting on the floor, his arm flexed with a needle, or enduring the D.T.s, Radell is haunting. Sal Landi’s suave and menacing dealer is also strong. On the other hand, a cartoon pair of squabbling, callow druggies (Harvey Alperin and Charles Dougherty) come off as Abbott and Costello.

The play’s most difficult role, because it’s so clean and straight, is given substantial range by Michael Halpin. Allan Hunt directed.

At 13500 Ventura Blvd., Sherman Oaks, Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m., through Aug. 28. Tickets: $10; (213) 398-7742.

‘The Birth of Merlin’ Only indefatigable director Thad Taylor of the Globe Playhouse would come up with the alleged world premiere of a presumed Shakespeare play.

“The Birth of Merlin,” reports Taylor, is the Bard’s lost play, augmented by fellow Globe writer William Rowley, published in 1662, and with no record of performance--until now.

Be that as it may, some theatergoers may find the production interesting for another reason: The balloon-pregnant figure of Merlin’s mother (who is impregnated by the Devil while she sleeps in the Arthurian woods) is played by a lustrous Taryn Power, daughter of Tyrone Power and Linda Christian.

There are 30 other actors in this supernatural Elizabethan “Hellzapoppin’,” including a gnomelike turn by Broadway veteran Leonard John Crofoot as the prophet Merlin.

At times the subplots are incomprehensible and the tone is all over the harmonic scale--broad, low, fierce. This is a romp of a show, though, once you get the hang of its jangled rhythms. Lines occasionally flare with Shakespearean conceit, as when bulbous-eyed Alan Altshuld as the Devil tells Power’s ever-ballooning mother-to-be: “The fatal fruit thou bear’st within thy womb / Shall here be famous till the day of doom.”

At other times, you can’t understand anything (probably Rowley’s rewrites). As the clown, Christopher Sumpton jerks about like the Tin Man in “Oz,” but his diction is pure mush.

Vivid impressions number Philip Bordman’s dignified Hermit, Chale Joseph’s cobalt beauty, Michael McConnohie’s forceful general, Ron Kologie’s Saxon king, and Timothy Fields’ gleeful, flitting, gargoyle spirit.

At 1107 N. Kings Road., Hollywood, Wednesdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., through Sept. 9. Tickets: $8.50-$10.50; (213) 654-5623.

‘Lovers Leap’ An out-of-gas motorcycle is parked on a high, rugged ledge overlooking a New England town (evocative set design by Max Moody). Standing in graduation gowns under the moonlight (sweet lighting design by Jonathan Neale) are a teen-age boy and girl contemplating an alien future afterlife at an exclusive boarding school for students with behavioral disorders.

They talk about life and parents--pit stops at best. They make love, quarrel bitterly, fall into tender repose, know they’ll never be so together again. They step onto the cliff’s edge, clasp hands--”at the count of three”--and lift that first foot toward oblivion.

Now that’s a hard act to pull off. These characters sound like the kids in “The Breakfast Club.” But director Larry Gilman and actors Rob Reese and Lisa Allenick do manage to give Mark St. Germain’s drama (a fable really) a credibility it doesn’t otherwise merit in this Ferret production at the Off Ramp Theatre.

There’s no way you believe these characters are disturbed enough to end it all. But the drama is a natural showcase vehicle, and Reese and Allenick capture a brittleness and a set of repressions and passions that keep your attention most of the time. You never feel sympathetic, but that’s no fault of these actors. They work with care and considerable precision.

At 1953 N. Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood, Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 2 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $12.50; (213) 465-0070.