‘Vindicator’ at Theatre/Theater; ‘Swing’ at Tamarind; ‘Love of a Pig’ at Theatre West; ‘Sting in Tale’ at O’Connor’s; ‘Skin Man’ at Al’s Bar

Just as “Chinatown” started out as a standard gumshoe yarn and resolved with a serious case of the Oedipal complex, so Quincy Long’s “The Johnstown Vindicator,” at Theatre/Theater, opens as a rough-and-ready newspaper room comedy and turns into . . . well, something else.

Long has concocted a perverse, anti-whodunit, but not all the ingredients mix well. From the very first scene, for instance, anyone paying attention has to be suspicious of Eve Brenner’s sicko mother. Leigh Hamilton’s Janet, the knockout star reporter, is too obviously the flame beyond the reach of Vern, our hero (John Shearin), and too disappointingly short in any of the plot departments. Indeed, Long is so ornery in his plot making that we half expect the catalytic murder to turn out to be a fake by the third act.

We won’t say more, except that Long is much more effective in his interim, comic scenes (Patricia Heaton’s outrageously verbose Pepper steals the show under everyone’s nose, including director John Korkes’) than in his denouement. The cast is up to the snap-crackle-pop dialogue, especially David Thornton’s indescribably crazy Carl, J. Andrew Bilgore’s nerdish cub reporter and the newsroom’s “Front Page” types played by Clement E. Blake and Russel Lunday.

For the small Theatre/Theater space, Jeff Murray’s dimensional set is exceptionally deep.

At 1713 Cahuenga Blvd., Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7:30 p.m., through Aug. 6. Tickets: $10-$13; (213) 466-1767.

‘Swing Time’

Writer-director Robert Spera’s “Swing Time,” at the Tamarind Theatre, wastes no time finding its rhythm. The overworked and underpaid crew of the “Cowboy Bob” radio show at WTAM pour in to the broadcast area to churn out another show. If “Swing Time” is to work on stage, though, this should not be just another show.

At first, it isn’t. Cowboy Bob (an amusing Dave Florek) is lost somewhere with his bottle, the fourth of the singing Klonsky Sisters is out and the scriptwriters haven’t finished the radio drama portion of the show. Producer Erma Stern (well-named but cloyingly played by Gigi Gay) is ready to become her own Stateside version of World War II.

In the spirit of pitching in during wartime, the show goes on, with a little help from a struggling singer (Deborah Scott) and an announcer ready to go to the front (Robert Jacobs). Isn’t radio just keen?

Yes, if you’re willing to settle for a clever documentation of a full radio performance, which is all “Swing Time” amounts to. The early crises are just a tease, and the tense moments during the radio drama segment feel a tad artificial. Like some of the Pacific Theatre Ensemble’s “period” productions--”Swing Time” includes some Ensemble actors--the point of the show seems to be to give the players an exercise and the designers a chance to do something different (Red Cloud: costumes; Ruby Guidara: sets and props).

They do these things well; it would be nice to see them at the service of a play.

At 5919 Franklin Ave., Thursdays through Sundays, indefinitely. Tickets: $12; (213) 466-1767.

‘Love of a Pig’

There are comedies that demand laughing at the characters, and then there are comedies, like Leslie Caveny’s perky “Love of a Pig,” at Theatre West, that hold a slightly cracked mirror up to the audience.

This audience includes the young, the educated, the neurotic, the unlucky lovers. Her hourlong piece does suffer from an in-crowd, yuppiefied point of view, but it’s a wonderful theatricalization of what in less imaginative hands would be just another stand-up routine.

Caveny plays Jenny--concert violinist, single and love- obsessed--as a loveable fool who is utterly sincere, especially when she addresses the audience. After calling another woman “a tramp,” she confides that “women like us like to refer to those women who have what we want as ‘tramps.’ ”

Jenny imagines true love happening between her and a cold-hearted bass player (Bob McCracken), then “replays” back what really happened--which only makes her more foolish and charming. A seven-person ensemble, under McCracken’s airtight direction, backs up Caveny (they sit on chairs, and jump into the scene on cue) like a Greek chorus with frisky enthusiasm.

At 3333 Cahuenga Blvd. West, Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 3 p.m., through Aug. 13. Tickets: $10; (213) 851-7977.

‘Sting in the Tale’

With a playwright team of Brian Clemens (“The Avengers”) and the late Dennis Spooner (“Doctor Who”), and a gimmick about a mystery writing team trying to end their creative block with a real murder, “A Sting in the Tale,” at Donald O’Connor’s Family Theatre, suggested real promise.

However, if Ira Levin is a third-rate Agatha Christie, then this is third-rate Ira Levin. One trembles at even spelling out the setup of Clemens’ and Spooner’s rickety plot, for the clues are advanced so obviously. Watching this “Sleuth” and “Deathtrap”-influenced, British-accented comedy unravel is like sitting through a series of bad jokes, which the comedian then reviews and explains.

Peter Reneday handles the smart half of the writing duo with requisite cool reserve and Helen Wilson’s sarcastic wife cuts like a stiletto, but Dave Morick’s American partner becomes a series of unfunny bug-eyed expressions. Director Phil Garris is as careless as the real and fictional writers.

At 12655 Ventura Blvd., Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 5:30 p.m., through July 30. Tickets: $12.50; (213) 466-1767.

‘The Skin Man’

Sample exchange from Gary Jacobelly’s “The Skin Man,” at Al’s Bar: Susan: “Truth is freedom!” Peter: “Truth isn’t free . . . it sucks away the marrow!”

That is about as specific as this pseudo-Pirandellian one-act gets. Peter (Timothy Hanson), we’re meant to think, is the lead in a play about a tortured playwright by writer-director Alan (Gary Ellenberg, who resembles, of all people, a young John Steppling). But as Linda and Susan (Karla Boos and Marie Capitti) float in and out of the tale of a precocious young artist engrossed with everyday horror, it isn’t clear whose play is whose. Then, the characters aren’t clear. Soon, we wonder if we’re not in someone’s--Jacobelly’s, director Sean Fenton’s--very bad joke.

Ultimately, a cast member laments: “Something is wrong with this play! I can’t figure it out!”

At 305 S. Hewitt, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, 8 p.m., through Aug. 9. Tickets: $5; (213) 680-1068.