‘Taxi Dance,’ ‘Tales of Misogyny,’ ‘Guests of Nation,’ ‘South of Where We Live,’ ‘Vacancy’

Add Kelly Stuart’s “Taxi Dance” at the Cast to the spate of recent productions that depict descents into hell (also including the current “Castles Made of Sand” and “Edmond”). This one shows the influence of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, the late writer-director obsessed with hells on Earth.

But “Taxi Dance” is more interesting than much of Fassbinder’s work. Part of this stems from Stuart’s ability to depict innocence, which was of no interest to Fassbinder. Her subject is a nice woman from the suburbs named Janet (Noreen Hennessy). At the play’s start, she’s already in hell--a sleazy club, in which women are paid by the minute to dance with male clients--but her naivete is intact. Stuart wants to explore Janet’s internal decay, how she drops to the level of her surroundings.

In other words, there’s a real character to hang onto here amid the grime. She actually talks to her customers, unlike her fellow workers, who hand out empty one-liners (Stuart’s dialogue skillfully distinguishes between the two). Still, it takes a real actress to put across Janet’s comment that “this job is like a public service.” Hennessy does this line--like Janet’s descent--quietly and without excess.

Director Robert Glaudini has an uncommon knack for assembling casts for their visual as well as verbal strengths. “Taxi Dance” marks his best work to date, abetted by lights (Erika Bradburry), music and sound (Don Preston) and set (Nick Flynn and Erika M. Birch) that make you queasy. The women, especially Tina Preston and Diane Sherry, exude a sad sultriness; the men, especially Robert Gould, accent their vulnerability as they confess to Janet. Who would have thought that a play about how women are turned into commodities could also be about how people can listen to each other?

At 800 N. El Centro Ave., on Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m., through June 18. Tickets: $12-$15; (213) 462-9872.

‘Tales of Misogyny’

Among many other ambitious-sounding accomplishments, director Sara Paulson once staged a one-woman show based on a Donald Barthelme short story. Her latest work, “Little Tales of Misogyny,” at Al’s Bar, although adapted from several stories by Patricia Highsmith, is pure Barthelme.

It’s dotted with brief, cutting, often absurdist glimpses of human fear and loathing in extremis --in this case, the strange ways women are violated and objectified.

The glimpses are also often funny. “Heartpiece” plays on the old adage of a woman losing her heart to a man, done in witty silhouette. “The Hand” plays on the older adage of a father (a devilish Ron Campbell) giving his daughter’s hand in marriage, much to the suitor’s distress (Steve Alden, with eyes bulging). “The Dancer” takes tango’s sadomasochistic qualities to their logical end. “The Breeder” becomes a tale of a wife’s fertility becoming the best revenge against hubby’s domination (Steve Ruggles and Saratoga Ballantine).

Interspersed through these tales are vignettes--three women call out every synonym known in English for breasts , a wife (devastatingly dry Carol Rosenthal) neuters herself out of some need to save her marriage. The whole is paced with ensemble discipline, and kept in rhythm by the inventive music duo of Tino Cano and Caesar Lopez. Paulson has directed and adapted Highsmith the way Jane Zenzefilis designed the set: with economy (less than an hour running time) and a strong but uninsistent style. Drop the jarring finale, and it’s nearly perfect.

At 305 S. Hewitt St., downtown Los Angeles, on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, 8 p.m., Saturdays, 3 p.m., through June 24. Tickets: $5; (213) 829-3547.

‘Guests of the Nation’

Another utterly different short-story adaptation is Neil McKenzie’s play “Guests of the Nation,” from Frank O’Conner’s fiction work. In its sensitive treatment of a moral dilemma faced by soldiers in the Northern Irish strife, this long one-act at the Court Theatre makes a fascinating companion to the flawed Belfast drama, “Ourselves Alone,” at the Tiffany.

In their guts, Barney and Joseph, two IRA guards (Wally Kurth and Joe Colligan), know that it’s unwise to get too chummy with their British Army prisoners, Hawkins and Belcher (George Jenesky and Matthew Ashford). Hawkins is the brasher of the two Brits, yet he has the same concern. Slowly, they do make a bond, as supposed enemies can when thrown together by circumstance.

When duty calls, in the form of IRA vet Jeremiah (Frank Parker), Barney and Joseph are caught in a tragedy that recalls Stephen Crane. Ron Burrus’ production is slightly stolid in its seriousness, but Kurth, Colligan, Jenesky and Ashford show themselves to be compellingly serious actors. Parker and Kate O’Connell play two sides of the Irish mind without becoming symbols, and Peggie Reyna tosses in some dramatics in her unobtrusive signing of the performance.

At 722 N. La Cienega Blvd., on Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., until June 11. Tickets: $15; (213) 466-1767.

‘South of Where We Live’

With “South of Where We Live,” Kenneth B. Davis has written a fable on greed’s cancerous effect on the soul, but with a generally light hand. It trips when Davis starts sermonizing, and it abounds in ludicrous moments. Fables, though, should be given more slack than the average play, and Sy Richardson’s spirited cast at Theatre of Arts gives it an above-average reading.

Beginning with the premise that a self-improvement seminar for corporate and political ladder-climbers is made up of only black participants led by a black “facilitator” (Rosa M. Hill), “South” depicts a fracas of wills, egos and clashing agendas. Kenneth (Lewis Dix Jr., standing in for Tommy Ford) hides a fear of impotence with bluster, while Stan’s political ambitions are the sum of his parts (Franklin Johnson). Humphrey’s (Al Troup) hatred of Stan and a martyr instinct attract the blind, cool and collected Shelly (Gigi Bolden). Edwina (Maggie Files) thinks she knows the cure for Kenneth, but the haughty Marlena (Arlivia Fisher) knows the only cure for her ills is to shop.

Little of this is resolved as cleverly as the fracas is played out--fable-based comedy needs a wrap-up. But seen as following in the satiric, self-skewering stream of George Wolfe’s “The Colored Museum,” Davis’ play suggests a wisdom that can serve contemporary black theater very well.

At 4128 Wilshire Blvd., on Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 3:30 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $12.50; (213) 258-3279.

‘Vacancy’

One of the toughest tricks in play-writing is knowing when you’ve written a one-act, a two-act or a three-act. Lillian Hara and Dorie Rush Taylor have written a one-act with “Vacancy,” at East West Players--never mind the more than two hours running time, including intermission.

Or perhaps one can’t help but mind, considering the lengths Hara and Taylor go to stretch a rather simple situation. Rosie, a stern Dutch house worker (Diane Brewster) and naturalized U.S. citizen, has to adjust her prejudices to sharing her place with Anna, a recent Chinese emigre (Beulah Quo). At nearly every step toward their predictable split, Rosie tries to pick at any weak spot in Anna’s character, grasping at any excuse to be rid of her.

Things end as they began, but the feeling isn’t of a drama courageous enough to finish on a hopeless note. It’s of a play running out of steam, after repeating its characters’ conflict innumerable times and inserting too many “back story” memory scenes. Norman Cohen’s direction doesn’t put a better face on the blemishes; Brewster is beautifully focused, but Quo’s delivery is erratic.

At 4424 Santa Monica Blvd., on Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 2 p.m., through June 25. Tickets: $12-$15; (213) 660-0366.