‘Autumn Elegy’ at International City; ‘Table Talk’ at Powerhouse; ‘Bad Boy’ at Century City Playhouse

Dying, especially of the terminal cancer kind, takes some preparation. Charlene Redick’s very autumnal play, “Autumn Elegy,” at the International City Theatre is about one woman’s preparations.

This might remind some of Franz Xaver Kroetz’s “Request Concert,” also about a woman’s efforts to put things in order. And, in fact, Redick’s first act is nearly as spare with words as Kroetz’s play, which was wordless. Both women share the sense that, despite their realization of impending death, the dishes still have to be washed.

The crucial difference is that Kroetz’s single woman is preparing her suicide; Redick’s Cecelia Litchfield has ovarian cancer and is leaving Manny, her dependent husband of 50 years, behind. As it turns out, it’s his drama.

That is, whatever drama that’s here is his. And a great deal of the credit for the emotional texture belongs to Jack Axelrod, whose performance as Manny is akin to a smoldering volcano, ready to explode at any moment.

Axelrod does what is sometimes called an actor’s performance--the kind other actors would do well to study. Half of Manny is a hermit, immersed in his stamps and stocks and numerology charts. He is also the homebody husband, waited on hand-and-foot by Cecelia (Patricia Fraser). Watch how Axelrod moves about, or talks to himself, or just opens a book. This is a character performed in such a way that words aren’t necessary.

Unfortunately, when Redick believes that words are more necessary by Act II, her people recite an inordinate amount of poetry and other meaningful things. Far more stifling than any feeling of Cecelia’s fast-approaching decline (which Fraser, often a highly affected actress, suggests very well) is the sense that these are characters on marionette strings, controlled by a playwright who realizes too late that she has a play to make.

It is right that Cecelia does what she has to do, and we worry how Manny will cope in their homestead house as winter approaches. But that’s one of our earliest concerns, and it hasn’t budged an inch in over two hours (we might even worry less when we learn that the couple is financially secure).

Deborah LaVine’s production verges on in-your-face naturalism--the meticulous, behavioristic acting is matched by Don Llewellyn’s hyper-meticulous set, which includes whole trees and loads of front-yard soil--yet why do Paulie Jenkins’ lights suggest night when it’s day? A lot of effort, but the underwhelming play prods us to ask what all the effort was for. Save for Axelrod, who makes carrying firewood seem interesting.

At 4901 E. Carson St., Long Beach City College, on Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 2 and 7:30 p.m., through Aug. 27. Tickets: $10; (213) 420-4128.

‘Table Talk’

Bernard Velinsky has set his very loquacious but low-calorie comedy, “Table Talk,” in a time (according to the program) “after liberation but before the boom in condom sales.” The effect, intended or not in Jerry Lazarus’ haphazardly paced staging at the Powerhouse, is nostalgic for life before AIDS, but without any of the--ahem--afterglow.

The “liberation” seems to be all on the women’s side, especially for Rose (Merit Lisa Dowling), who tries to loosen up her pal Sarah (Francine Russell). The men cover a wider spectrum, from Rock’s (Randy Murzynski) obsession with sexual conquests to George’s (Don Nowak) whining over his separation, not of his own doing.

As pat, repetitious and ultimately formulaic as this business becomes--all the dialogues happen at lunch tables or bar tables or breakfast tables--it’s clear that Velinsky’s ear and sentiments lean in the men’s direction. The cue for this, and a case of poor dramatic judgment, is that Rock narrates the prologue and epilogue. The male bonding also convinces far more than the female variety. Yet Rock and his buddies are persistently the butt of Velinsky’s jokes, with Joel Weiss’ well-meaning Barry caught in between macho games and Sarah’s silly manipulations.

The drift toward confusion, and Lazarus’ weak grasp of comedy’s needs, gives these actors little to go on except stereotypes and those cuddly, nostalgic memories of life before condoms. Nostalgia, as Simone Signoret coined it, isn’t what it used to be.

At 3116 2nd St., Santa Monica, on Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m., through Aug. 27. Tickets: $10-$12; (213) 281-8299.

‘Bad Boy’

It’s “Boy’s” birthday, or so “Daddy” thinks. And what does he get his son? A bag of trash, which he dumps on his sleeping Boy. That fairly sums up their relationship iK. Wells’ “Bad Boy” at the Century City Playhouse.

Which is the central problem. Twenty minutes into this rough-hewn black comedy and everything has been summed up, with no place to go. Boy (Allen Lulu) is in his 30s and kept at home under Mommy and Daddy’s (Kathleen Slattery and Liam Stone) reign of terror. Even the Social Worker (Susan Savage) is in on the terror, having no desire to “cure” Boy for fear of losing a client. The neighbor (Walter Harrison) does want to take Boy away, for a camping trip where they’ll be alone together . OK, OK. We get it already.

Sick parents produce sick children--which we knew going in. But “Big Boy” comes very close to getting comedic pleasure in the sickness, as when Daddy is happy to take Boy to the zoo, but only if he brings a monkey home with them so he can cook it on a spit. Stone is very good with a monstrous, suburbanite smile. The listener may begin to wonder if the play isn’t also getting away with nastiness at Boy’s expense, and neither Lulu’s flat portrayal nor Michael Tomlanovich’s less-than-electric direction provides a moral point of view.

At 10508 W. Pico Blvd., West Los Angeles, on Mondays through Wednesdays, 8 p.m., through Aug. 30. Tickets: $5; (213) 839-3322.