‘Cities’: A Dead End for Dreams at Figtree

The loss of dreams and where that loss can put us is the subject of three short plays gathered under the umbrella title “Cities,” at the Figtree Theatre. They’re well worth the less than two hours it takes them to unfold.

The production is spare. L. Lewis Stout’s set grows in detail as each play grows in size and scope. The writing is also spare, but as rich as it needs to be to rip open the wounds of disappointment.

Bruce McIntosh’s monologue “Jill,” smoothly directed by the author, places actress Victoria Haas in a straitjacket in a Connecticut asylum, reciting the important events of her short life. Nothing worked--not family, not her fascination with art history (she lost her virginity at Sotheby’s), not the cowboy “around a crimson van with white trim” at Madison Square Garden. But Haas makes it work. It’s a sensitive piece of writing.

Tennessee Williams’ “Talk to Me Like the Rain and Let Me Listen” moves north to Manhattan’s Eighth Avenue. It’s the ‘40s, and the Man and Woman have reached a dead end.

McIntosh and Lisa Houle, as the couple, show with delicacy and insight their brief moments of false optimism, and their quick slide to despair. Len Donato’s direction gives the performance force.

McIntosh is less open but just as intricate as the sleazy New York type looking for a comet’s tale to grab in Willy Holtzman’s “San Antonio Sunset.” Mr. Stone is looking for a black blues singer to record. It’s 1936.

Michael Whaley, as the singer from the jukes, is fascinating as he teaches the white man about the blues--and the facts of life.

Michael Klock is very good as the desk clerk, who can look the other way but doesn’t miss a thing. He and McIntosh make the final scene dangerous and intriguing as the clerk lays bare Mr. Stone’s own reason for fear. The dark period mood is nicely amplified by the straightforward, muscular direction of Philip Granger.

At 6539 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood; Wednesdays and Thursdays, 7:30 p.m.; indefinitely. Tickets: $10; (213) 960-8870.

Bridging a Cultural, Generation Gap in ‘Oasis’

Vic Tayback is a charmer as the patriarch of a Lebanese family in S.K. Hershewe’s “An Oasis in Manhattan” at the Venture Theatre. He’s fighting not only a generation gap, but the large gap between the old world and the new. However, his fight is no different from that of the parents in “Romeo and Juliet” or “Abie’s Irish Rose.”

The parental consternation is over the marriage of Youssef’s daughter Olga (a charming Lainey Hashorva) and Freddie Schroeder, a young Jewish student (a crisp, ingratiating David Jahn).

The action is spiced with the lively performances of Zee Tobin as Olga’s all-American teen-age sister, and the warm, controlled mother of Diane Dorsey.

Outside of a few overplayed small roles, the company is sharp and sincere and, under T.J. Castronova’s direction, they bring energetic life to Hershewe’s derivative sitcom.

Richard Fulvio’s Manhattan apartment set makes a perfect frame for the action, but can’t obscure the fact that Tayback’s performance holds it all together.

At 3435 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank; Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; ends April 14. Tickets: $12.50-$15; (818) 846-5323.

Road to ‘Country’ Hits a Few Bumps at Burbage

Some plays need help, particularly when the playwright doesn’t have an ending up his sleeve. The help provided in the case of Gilbert Girion’s “Bad Country,” at the Burbage Theatre, detracts rather than enhances the work. It looks tacked on.

“Bad Country” concerns a family facing the loss of its mother. Satirically slanted or not, it’s drafted in the style of John Steppling, and also owes a lot to Sam Shepard.

The performances of John Pappas, as the no-good brother Jimmy, and Kari Lizer, as his sister’s girlfriend, acknowledge the debt with respect and erudition. Jim Haynie is also strong as the errant father, but O-Lan Jones as the sister presents a series of attitudes rather than a performance.

The rest of the cast is unremarkable, though Andy Griggs’ direction provides every opportunity. What Griggs hasn’t solved is the script’s feeble attempt at commenting on itself. A couple of goofs look too planned, and the gimmick of visiting Japanese theater buffs who examine the theater during the play (and provide the trumped-up ending) doesn’t work.

At 2330 Sawtelle Blvd., West Los Angeles; Thursdays through Saturdays, 8:30 p.m.; Sundays, 7:30 p.m.; ends April 1. Tickets: $12; (213) 478-0897.

‘Gentleman’: Victorian Farce at Celebration

At first glance, Giancarlo Stampalia’s “Gentleman’s Gentleman” at the Celebration Theatre is a delight, a Wildean-styled farce, Victorian in shape and as wickedly naive as a cucumber sandwich. A second glance reveals some holes.

Most of the problems stem from the script’s wandering away from its original intention and turning into almost serious drama. There are also distracting details, such as referring to a gentleman’s gentleman as a butler. He’s a valet. A butler is another animal altogether.

Steven Myles is Thomas Trilling, the dandy who poses as his own valet in order to win the lady of his choice. He’s a little heavy-handed most of the time, except in the frothy opening scenes. Christopher Nixon is much surer in an on-the-button performance as the valet who finally wins the undying love of his master.

Sarah Lilly, as Trilling’s original fiancee, and Michael Scott Shaw, as the obsessively gay brother of Trilling’s new idol, are both on a level with Nixon’s airy delivery.

The cast works well under Michael Benedict’s direction.

At 426 N. Hoover St.; Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m.; indefinitely. Tickets: $12-$15; (213) 876-4257.

‘Dragon Slayers’: Black Comedy for Adults Only

The publicity for American Puppet Theatre’s production of Stanley Keyes’ “Dragon Slayers” says it’s for “mature audiences only.” It most certainly is.

The company has a “kids’ show” arriving during the spring, but leave the little ones home for this one. This black comedy concerns a troupe of puppeteers in Berkeley whose communal urge is first to get each other’s clothes off as quickly as possible, then to get out of puppeteering into the Siamese fighting-fish racket.

The puppet show of the title, which the company is in the throes of creating, follows the story line of the film of the same name, but not to any great length. There is little puppetry in this production.

If the two worlds, real and puppet, were more integrated, it might all come together. But the play itself is quite ordinary.

Bradford Mays’ direction doesn’t help. The actors scream at each other, to little dramatic effect, and the whole has an unmistakable aura of disorganization.

At 1625 N. La Brea Ave., Hollywood; Wednesdays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays, 2 p.m.; indefinitely. Tickets: $10; (213) 874-6427.