‘To Be Let Alone’ Debates Homosexuality

Can the Supreme Court decide cases only according to legal principles--or do emotions enter into the court’s actions?

These questions are raised by “To Be Let Alone,” Charles A. Larson’s courtroom drama at the Burbage Theatre. The case in question is the 1986 Supreme Court decision upholding the Bowers vs. Hardwick Georgia sodomy conviction.

Larson, a Los Angeles attorney, was upset by the decision. According to a press release, he “wanted to shake everybody I knew and say, ‘Don’t you know what’s just happened?’ ” He lets us know in his script, but he doesn’t shake us up very much.

“To Be Let Alone” is more of a platform for debate than a play, heavily weighted by the homosexual viewpoint of the play’s prosecutors. Not that both sides are not well represented. They are. But what’s not said is as damning as what is, just as in the fuzzily thought-out Hardwick decision.

The conceit is that the five justices who voted to uphold the Georgia law have been kidnaped and put on trial by parties interested in proving their guilt.

It’s a loaded deck. It would help if “To Be Let Alone” held more emotional impact.

Don Galloway has some force as the suffering prosecutor, and Denise Y. Dowse is a firm, strongly defined judge. Walt Beaver’s Justice William H. Rehnquist has moments that almost catch fire, but the rest of the company doesn’t go much beyond the dry lines they’re given under Paul Gillette’s steadily plodding direction.

At the end of the performance I saw, the audience’s vote acquitted the defendants 21 to 14. Larson’s platform collapsed under the weight of the justices’ logic--and perhaps under some of the homophobia the freedom of the last 20 years hasn’t erased.

At 2330 Sawtelle Ave., Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends April 22. $15; (213) 478-0898.

Clowning Around With Ostreicher at Shepard

Sharon Ostreicher, in a late-night slot at the Shepard Theatre Complex, is a funny lady, and has a way even with this thin material that’s endearing and thoughtful.

It’s “Curtains” for the game little performer at a bar mitzvah in Reseda. Zap, and she’s at the Pearly Gates, confronted by Clutch, God’s assistant. Bedraggled in her torn costume, she’s told she has to make an audition tape for God. He’s “trendy” enough, but Sharon is warned that he has a habit of fast-forwarding past performance art.

At one point, she tells Clutch she can’t work without an audience. On the night seen, there was only a handful of people out front. Ostreicher deserves more live souls watching her frantic efforts to make the tape that will get her upstairs. She’s a clown, formerly of the Pickle Family Circus, but her talents go beyond that description.

At 6476 Santa Monica Blvd.; Fridays and Saturdays, 11 p.m.; Sundays, 2 p.m.; ends April 8. $10; (213) 464-2124.

‘Flame’s Call’ Tills Tired Soil at Shepard Theatre

Flame has a problem that’s propelling her toward suicide. But she keeps calling out for help in Nitza Henig’s semi-absurdist comedy “Flame’s Call,” at the Shepard Theatre Complex.

The problem is her craving for love, but Flame can’t see much past the next hug. Even the muddled ministrations of her friend Bea can’t break through her obsession.

Fortunately for Henig’s play, which tills tired soil with little imagination, the performance of Lori Street as Flame makes it worth watching. She gives the role color and attractive vulnerability.

Danna Hansen is also right on track as her clock-watching friend, and Suzanne Goddard is very good as a part-time nurse sent to calm Flame’s panic. The current subject of Flame’s misguided ardor, a bumbling doctor whose image casts a shadow on Flame’s taste, is played by Allan Kolman like a watered down Chico Marx.

The playwright directs her own work brightly but not far beneath its surface. She also directs the curtain-raiser, Samuel Beckett’s touching epitaph to the despair of the elderly, “Rockaby.” Lyla Graham is the old woman in a chair, rocking her way to her end. Graham has the rhythms right but recites the lines without insight, like a teacher reciting 19th-Century poetry to a bored class.

At 6476 Santa Monica Blvd.; Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m.; ends April 8. $12; (213) 466-1767.

Neil Simon’s ‘Fools’ Given Cartoon Staging at Gypsy

Neil Simon stepped out of his idiom, and tripped on “Fools.” His retelling of a bit of Jewish folklore about a village under a 200-year-old curse of stupidity isn’t helped by Lance Roberts’ staging at the Gypsy Playhouse.

Roberts, and most of his cast, break the first rule of comedy. They don’t trust the playwright one bit. They use funny wigs and cute voices to improve Simon’s comedy and, though this isn’t vintage Simon, at least it deserves a little respect.

Some in the company don’t succumb to the obvious temptations. Gabrielle Sinclair controls herself enough to bring out much of the humor in the role of a simpleton daughter, and Laurel Adams’ restraint almost makes the mother as funny as she should be. The most rewarding performance is Ed Galloway’s as the teacher who breaks the curse.

The cartoon approach of the production is indicated by Phillip J. Seaman’s crayon-style setting, in which one sign points to the next town--Burbank.

At 3321 W. Olive Ave., Burbank; Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m.; ends April 8. $12; (818) 954-9858.

Futuristic ‘Tangerine’ at the Tiffany Theatre

Joseph Hindy’s futuristic play at the Tiffany Theatre certainly does go “Off on a Tangerine.” A disgruntled college professor is trying to write what one presumes is his masterpiece, hindered by a shrewish wife and writer’s block.

When he storms off in anger at his impotence, his wife begins to read his story and the play proper begins. He’s written about a post-nuclear world where the average life span is 12 years. He’s a hunted revolutionary, she’s the innocent hero worshiper who ties her star to his comet.

The premise is obscured by pretentious writing. Hindy’s flash blinds the viewer to the play’s flesh.

Richard Lynch declaims most of his lines, as both the writer and the white-haired anti-hero, but Lisa Richards provides an interesting, complex image as both the simple girl of the future and the nasty wife who turns, for some reason, sweet at the end.

Patty McAneny’s direction leans too heavily in favor of clever writing, ignoring the guts of the play, but her staging provides interesting action on Robert Zentis’ imaginative setting.

At 8632 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood; Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m.; ends April 8. $17.50-$18 . 50; (213) 854-3684.