‘Place’

When Randy was a kid, he wanted to be St. Francis. But Randy’s brains have become a little fried. The party of the ‘60s and ‘70s is over.

“I wish I still wanted to be St. Francis,” Randy says, in a throwaway line that exposes like an X-ray the malaise, the torpor, the stasis of a group of pot-smoking friends in their 30s who never made the transition from a drug culture to a 9-to-5 world. Randy’s big dream now is to open a worm farm, sit back, smoke pot and enjoy life.

Actor James Oseland as the quirky Randy in the striped tank shirt doesn’t exactly steal Robert Hummer’s new drama, “Place,” at the Cast Theatre, but his jangly nerves illuminate this scenario of burnout cases.

The production, developed in the Cast’s Foundry workshop, answers the question of whatever happened to the zonked-out street people who carried their stash in cellophane bags. They didn’t all become yuppies. Arrested development is what happened here. Randy and his four friends (Jon Slade, Noreen Hennessy, Tom Waldman and Molly Cleator) are still hanging out, and that’s their problem.

Playwright Hummer, who also directed, subtly dramatizes characters who not only lead dreary, inarticulate lives but whose actions also give them the curious sensation of people swimming under water.

The tone and style suggest a sensibility filtered through the minimalism of some of the work associated with John Steppling, the Heliogabalus and the Padua Hills Festival, sources with whom the cast members have worked.

Short scenes, unfolding within a set of dark, speckled drapes that suggest a motley circus tent, propel the human discord.

At 804 N. El Centro Ave., Tuesdays and Wednesdays, 8 p.m., through Dec. 20. Tickets: $10. (213) 462-0265 .

‘Unstable Conditions’ Plays from Iceland are rare enough, and a house full of Icelandic-speaking opening-nighters cast a particular ambiance to the world premiere of “Unstable Conditions” at the Burbage Theatre Ensemble.

But the two one-acts by visiting Icelandic playwright Sveinbjorn Baldvinsson have little to do with life in Iceland. The works are universal in their poetic intent on the one hand (“The Stars of Caesar”) and responsibility for wartime atrocities on the other (“Visiting Hour”).

The productions, under Paige Newmark’s crisp direction, feature strong dual acting credits by Panos Christi. He’s an old man in a mystical friendship with a little boy (a tenderly believable Joe Elrady) in “Stars of Caesar” and a wheelchair-bound, post-Vietnam explosives genius who gets the shock of his life in “Visiting Hour.”

Elizabeth Herron limns well-etched roles as a mother and a nurse in the respective plays. And David Mack menacingly vivifies a Vietnam-scarred veteran in the brittle atrocity-themed “Visiting Hour.”

The disparity between the two works gives the evening a jagged edge, but the expressive Christi smooths the surfaces with chameleon grace.

At 10508 W. Pico Blvd., Mondays through Wednesdays, 8 p.m., through Dec. 20. Tickets: $5. (213) 839-3322.

‘The Head’

Weird science buffs may want to check out “The Head,” a late-night horror at the Attic Theatre.

The comic book brew has the stirrings of a poor man’s “Rocky Horror Show” until the show runs out of imagination. That’s when a ring of thugs invade the play’s grim laboratory. For a while, though, the byplay between Tim Barber’s disembodied head and his lover is risible stuff. The head’s lover and maintenance man is a proper doctor wonderfully played by Neil Zevnick’s strait-laced scientist.

Barber’s earnest dome gleams from atop a black cabinet in the center of the stage. It’s a great head, strongly animated and vocally rich. But William S. Leavengood’s plot disposes of the doctor-lover too soon, depriving the play of a riotous relationship, and devotes too much time to the gang of goons, featuring a Neanderthal-like Louie Bonanno.

Jannette Rovack’s lighting and Caro Walker’s malevolent set are apt touches. Lauren Tewes directed.

At 6562 Santa Monica Blvd., Fridays and Saturdays, 10:30 p.m., through Dec. 9. Ti c kets: $10. (213) 462-9720.

‘Fool’s Mate’ Boyd Holister’s one-man show about an actor backstage preparing to do a solo turn as Clark Gable is a moderately engaging diversion until you realize that the actor, not Gable, is the point of the show.

Holister, who wrote the piece, might as well be preparing to do Sonny Tufts for all you learn about Gable. OK, Carole Lombard’s plane crash is poignant, but what else is new? While Holister is the subject here, you’d like to see Holister doing more Gable. He has the King’s chunky build and voice, and he dons a mean mustache and Rhett Butler finery. But “Fool’s Mate” at the West End Playhouse lacks trajectory.

The focus rambles. The actor’s monologue about his days as a door-to-door salesman and his musings about holding an audience and capturing the actor’s truths might buttonhole you if these were Gable’s words. But, frankly, he wouldn’t give a damn. Meanwhile, vanity theater lives.

At 18034 Ventura Blvd., today through Sunday, 8 p.m., concludes Sunday. Tickets: $15. (818) 594-1089.

‘Bed’ and ‘Horse of a Different Color’

Theatre of N.O.T.E. has moved into a new home (the former Fifth Estate Theatre) with a pair of one-acts that dramatize family Angst. The acting and production values signal a healthy sense of search for the membership-based ensemble.

The freshest, most keenly felt work is Karen Spritzler’s fablelike “Bed” (as in bed of nails). An aging couple (nicely acted by a yearning William Jackson and a chattering Myrna Niles) find mellow reconciliation after the husband’s sensual encounter with the apparition of beauty (Taylor Donland). Judith Binder’s slow-motion direction is excessively still, but the work’s lyrical pulse is evident.

The other play, Christi Taylor-Jones’ “Horse of a Different Color,” is a derivative parody of the monstrous nuclear family-genre. What distinguishes the show is the symbolic and all milk-white set and costumes.

The inane mommy and daddy (Patricia Conklin and W. Vernon Newman) gorge and forge war over dinner with a rebellious, sensitive daughter (Dyanne DiRosario) as a callow younger brother (D.C. Douglas) slurps on. Expendable is a TV newscaster positioned above the action; the device is poorly staged and cliche-ridden. Gregory Cook directed.

At 1705 N. Kenmore Ave., Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, 8 p.m., through Dec. 14. Tickets: $12.50. (213) 666-5550.