Scrap Theatre’s ‘Scrap Acts’ Goes 1-for-2 at Plate

“Scrap Acts” doesn’t necessarily speak to the quality of the two one-acts at the Fig Tree Theatre. It’s actually referring to the producing company, Scrap Theatre, one of L.A.’s several interesting, nomadic troupes that have a family, if not a home. The evening’s second piece, Matti Leshem’s “Hungarian Social Society,” isn’t scrappy at all.

Leshem’s subject here is so little treated anymore it almost seems taboo: the father-son relationship. Ernest (Joseph Whipp) wants to have his son Samuel’s help (Gregg Ostrin) in buying a grave plot, but Samuel grows increasingly uncomfortable with the venture, especially since the cemetery owner (Charles Kray) talks out of both sides of his mouth. Leshem allows the dialogue to meander and develop as emotional family discussions can, and director Shirley Moyers goes for an unhurried, thoughtful pace that lets us take it in.

The discussion in the opening one-act, Fax Bahr’s “Blanks,” is sometimes inaudible in the mouths of Charles Bailey-Gates and Delynn Binzel as former lovers, directed by George Bamber. When it’s audible, it’s usually banal stuff; Binzel’s Lanny is resentful that Bailey-Gates’ Cliff left her with no warning a year ago. Bahr throws in a useless metaphysical whammy that suggests that Lanny imagined the whole thing.

At 6539 Santa Monica Blvd., Saturday only, 8 p.m.; at Gardner Stage, 1509 N. Gardner, Nov. 11, 18, 25 at 8 p.m. $10; (213) 876-6043.

‘Mothers’ Reveals a Lack of Depth

The mother and daughter in Hindi Brooks’ “What Are Mothers For?” at Actors’ Alley have nowhere near the problems of Matti Leshem’s father and son, but they’ve kept a lot of secrets from each other. At a beachside resort, where they’ve come for a vacation, the single daughter (Diane Sainte-Marie) and widowed mother (Carolyn Field) slowly reveal their hidden selves.

The best aspect of Brooks’ two-act dialogue is that it’s never clear who’s leading whom into the confessional mode: You’d assume it’s the psychiatry-age daughter, but mom is also capable of inner and outer honesty.

Their clash is from personality and generational differences, which tends to keep things light and formulaic. None of this justifies two acts, and while Field, under Marsha Meyers’ direction, is keenly observant of the mother’s subtle manipulative touches, Sainte-Marie is all surface, like the play.

At 12135 Riverside Drive, North Hollywood, Tuesdays through Thursdays, 8 p.m., until Nov. 15. Free (donation requested); (818) 508-4200.

‘Strongest Man’ a Weakling at West Coast

Director Laura Fox’s last production, Ronald Ribman’s “Buck,” matched a brilliant, dramatic-comic attack on mass media with a staging that illuminated every dimension of Ribman’s sterling text. So Fox’s new production of Barry Collins’ “The Strongest Man in the World,” about how a 21st-Century Soviet capitalist media creates and destroys a weightlifting champion, looked promising on paper.

On the West Coast Ensemble stage, it’s a mess. Put aside a few opening weekend technical snafus; Collins’ play undoes anything Fox can do to pump it up. Perhaps aware of this, Fox allows her actors--especially Carol Barbee as the chief media villain--to frantically overact. This, combined with Collins’ utterly predictable rise-and-fall melodrama (complete with an endless sequence in an insane asylum), makes watching “Strongest Man” a weighty ordeal.

Unlike “Buck,” the weight has nothing to do with a meaningful critique of media power. Everything here seems an exercise, which is why Collins’ comedy never connects with its characters, such as the cynical journalist-observer (J. Pickett Bugg).

At the other extreme is Andreas Wisniewski’s pallid, much-abused weightlifter, who makes Woyzeck’s woes look like a Sunday stroll.

At 6240 Hollywood Blvd., Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m., until Nov. 18. $10-$15; (213) 466-1767.

‘Natural’: Complex Plot, Weak Farce

When a play’s action depends on something so contrived as the placement of two drinks--one poisoned, the other not--next to each other, it says much about the play. British TV writer Eric Chappell’s “Natural Causes,” at the Odyssey Theatre, is, to be sure, a farce, a revenge story and bloody-minded sitcom rolled into one. But director Mark W. Travis’ doesn’t hide Chappell’s highly manipulated plot machinery: He revels in it.

The central gimmick is that Walter (Julian Barnes), intending to aid wife Celia (Carolyn Seymour) in her own suicide, is constantly thwarted by the man administering the poison--Vincent (Kenneth Danziger), who represents Exodus, a suicide-assistance firm. Walter may just want to get rid of Celia, clearing the way for his lover-secretary (Melissa Bickerton). Vincent smells murder.

Then the glass-switching goes into full gear, which isn’t to say that this is lightning-quick farce, physically or verbally: Chappell shows signs of having written for the small screen too long (Kathleen B. Cooper’s set and the usually fine Ken Booth’s lights look like a TV set). Danziger and Ian Abercrombie’s good Samaritan inject some nice surprises, but “Natural Causes” soft-pedals its own devilish intents.

At 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., indefinitely. $15-$20; (213) 477-2055.

‘The Big Explanation’ Doesn’t Have Answer

Here’s a test: If you see Doug Gower’s “The Big Explanation” at the Matrix Theatre, try explaining it to someone who hasn’t seen it.

Odds are you won’t be able to. Gower’s workplace setting--a microfiche production office--is an initially ominous bullring of male emotions. Gary (Joel Anderson) runs the operation, but he can’t handle new guy Mark’s ineptitude anymore (Tom Isbell). That doesn’t mean that Mark is fired. Gary, it seems, takes an existential approach to personnel matters.

None of it adds up, especially since James Eckhouse doesn’t really direct his actors: He cajoles them toward greater and louder levels of hysterical breast-beating. It’s as if heavy-metal crazies had taken over a David Mamet play, just to trash it.

At 7657 Melrose Ave., Thursdays through Sundays, 8 p.m., until Nov. 11. $12.50; (213) 852-1445.

‘American Holiday’ a Collage of Oates

The 12 mostly one-character scenes that make up Joyce Carol Oates’ “American Holiday” may offer fans some variety in a steady diet of Oates novels. For everyone else, though, it will look like a collage coming unglued.

Part of the problem in Al Rossi’s L.A. City College production is that Oates’ intimate portraits of eccentrics, ranging from a man dressing up as a woman to a lady compulsively donating to charities, is swallowed whole in the Camino Theatre. This is a tough burden on the college actors, who would probably come across were they in LACC’s smaller Caminito Theatre. But there would still be the burden of Oates’ overworked prose.

At 855 N. Vermont Ave., tonight, 8 p.m., Saturday, 2 and 8 p.m. $7; (213) 669-5528.