A Bittersweet Lesson in ‘Quartermaine’s Terms’

St. John Quartermaine is a teacher. He is a distracted, disconnected, elegant, even endearing man who sits pondering his alienation in the midst of assorted faculty tensions that swirl about him in the staff room of an English-language school for foreigners in Cambridge.

In its Los Angeles premiere, British playwright Simon Gray’s “Quartermaine’s Terms” at Theatre 40 is a delectable production, bittersweet, occasionally hilarious and, finally, infinitely touching. Director Flora Plumb and a distinctive cast of seven give the production an exquisite tone of quiet turmoil.

The entitled performance by Jay Bell is affecting and evocative of boredom that never for a moment is anything less than compelling. As St. John Quartermaine (called “Sinjen”) sits gazing from his easy chair, absent-mindedly observing the furious eddies of jealousy, insecurity and passion among his fellow teachers, you feel how heartbreakingly attached he is to this faculty room (warmly designed by Thomas A. Brown) and these colleagues who have no time for him.

The production dramatizes with the soft scale of a tuning fork Quartermaine’s crumbling world. Here is a teacher who’s lost his ability to teach, can’t distinguish one student from another anymore, and serenely, even politely, knows it. Quartermaine’s inability to plug in and his disarming entreaties for companionship, always disguised in civility, is stage sorcery in the hands of the sublime Bell.

But he’s not the whole show. Vivid faculty types are rendered by the high strung Liz Georges, the paternalistic Robert Nadder, the accident-prone Dan Sturdivant, the self-deluding David Hunt Stafford, the self-involved Bruce Gray, and sweet, troubled Dee Croxton.

At 241 Moreno Dr., Beverly Hills, Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 2 p.m., through Sept. 23. $12-$15. (213) 466-1767.

‘Uptown’: 100-Proof Experience at Gnu

The barroom play often has lofty things on its mind: the need for illusion (“The Iceman Cometh”) or the loss of illusion (“Kennedy’s Children”). Then there’s the ostensibly unpretentious saloon drama that tastes like a shot of rye. Welcome to “Uptown” at the Gnu Theatre.

Director Jeff Seymour and beginning playwright Kenny D’Aquila have created a charged, visceral experience in the tradition of naturalistic theater. D’Aquila also takes a role actors drool for: a mentally impaired but unpredictable and violence-prone character, the linchpin of the four-member, all-male cast.

The plot--dealing with stolen money, a killing and barroom hostages--reads like pulp fiction. D’Aquila is courageous and convincing in a role that is strewn with land mines for an actor. His character is a sentimental concoction of a frightened, addle-brained dipsomaniac with a heart and a firearm. His character is so chipper, sweeping the bar and hopping up and down like a kid in his white socks and high trouser cuffs, that he could be a buddy of Elwood P. Dowd in “Harvey.” On the other hand, he might also kill you.

The play is about something, and that’s the crucible of responsibility when push comes to loyalty (personified by the bar owner, the earnest Richard Zavaglia). But in this play, breaking down the events and small-time characters (James Handy’s New York cop and Michael Russo’s weasel) is essentially beside the point.

The point, with major credit going to director Seymour, is the production’s raw energy, its textured stamp, and the imprint of a neighborhood Gotham watering hole (Seymour’s set design and Lawrence Oberman’s lighting convey a subtle musty flavor).

Stylistically, the play echoes David Mamet’s “American Buffalo.” You wish, however, that there were some sleeping heads or other drifters in the bar. It’s terribly empty for a Village drinking spot. Do only cops come to this place?

At 10426 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood, Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., through Oct. 21. $15-$20. (818) 508-5344.

Jury’s Still Out in ‘Self Defense’

An ambitious drama about an idealistic defense attorney in the Bronx, “Self Defense” self-destructs at the Coast Playhouse.

Writer-director Joe Cacaci, who, with producer Dan Lauria, brought the play here from the East Coast, invests his work with rigorous thematic focus: the legal deal-making, back-room game-playing, and the toll it extracts on defendant and attorney alike is promising material. But the sprawl of the piece, unfinished vignettes, the recounting rather than showing of crimes, blur structure and focus.

There are acting plums here. Protagonist Brian Markinson, re-creating the role of the caring defense barrister Mickey Reisman, is engaging and vigorous as a flawed character who overcomes a debilitating form of jailhouse/courthouse moral stupor. The show’s most blistering performance belongs to Kevin Davis’ angry defendant. Eddie Jones’ big-mouthed D.A. and Jake Turner’s dim child molester are also impressive.

But the multiracial production has no arc or momentum. Scenes between Reisman and a hooker client/lover (Nia Long)are flat, and another scene between Reisman and a garrulous attorney colleague (Richard Lenz) is inert.

At 8325 Santa Monica Blvd., Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., through Sept. 16. $10-$15. (213) 650-8507.

‘Melting’: Theater of Naked Angst

“Melting,” at the Callboard, is a technically ambitious, autobiographical flight from infancy to manhood, as shaped and warped by the ooze of the media.

Created and performed by David McGrath, “Melting” is confessional theater. A little of this, even in the talented hands of McGrath and director Zu Stears, goes a long way, particularly when the subject throws in his politics, simulates masturbation and takes off his clothes (on a darkened stage).

McGrath is an engaging performer, even in the throes of Angst. There’s stuff on his mind and he knows how to use a stage. “Melting” is not a stand-up routine. It’s full of theatrical devices.

When the show’s over, you know something about him. You applaud his anger and his humanity, but life in the late 20th Century is no less murky than it ever was. Next time McGrath shows up, let’s hope it’s as something other than his alter ego.

At 8451 Melrose Place, Fridays and Saturdays, 10:30 p.m., through Sept. 8. $10. (213) 669-0422.