STAGE REVIEW : Engaging Journey Into the ‘High Lonesome’

“High Lonesome” is another play about an uptown type whose car breaks down in the boonies, leaving him changed and chastened by the locals.

But this production at the Figtree Theatre offers an interesting surprise twist, involving dialogue and complex characters, all ingredients familiar in the work of playwright Bruce McIntosh. Here McIntosh has two collaborators: Michael Newland and Roderick Spencer.

Clint, in a nicely delineated performance against type by Spencer, is a Manhattan art dealer. In a claustrophobic panic, he has deserted his wife and their children in a Denver hotel, and driven nonstop to his destiny not too far from Uncertain, Texas. He dozed at the wheel and hit something--he’s not sure what--and asks absolutely the wrong person for help.

His host Ray, an amateur painter with a talent Clint finally senses, plies him with Jack (Daniels), Texas Select beer and vague promises of assistance. Ray’s a sly cat, country wise and city wary, operating only on his own wavelength, played with subtlety and a winning oiliness by Newland.

However, Paul Scallan gives the most electric performance in his all-too-brief scene as Ray’s volatile brother, Lee, who might or might not fix Clint’s car.

Taylor Donlan is also top-notch as Londelle, Lee’s girlfriend, who doesn’t really care who goes out to sit with her in her truck, but Shane Patrick McCullough is too reticent, too receding, as the deputy who delivers the plot twist at the end.

McIntosh directs most of the proceedings at a comfortable, laid-back tempo, but might give more energy to some of the scenes for better contrast. The author might also think about setting up the twist more strongly throughout the play and moving its eventual disclosure to an earlier scene, giving Clint and Ray a bit more time to sort it all out. What really was it that Clint hit? The final moments seem too expedient and neatly tied up as they stand.

At 6539 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood; Friday and Saturday, 8 p.m.; Sunday, 7 p.m.; ends Sunday; $12-$14; (213) 960-8870.