‘Warren’: Storytelling as Memory

Watching Kedric Robin Wolfe at work in his solo play “Warren’s Story” at the Daniel Saxon Gallery Theatre, is to see a man take control of personal demons that have been stalking his brain for too long. This might not be news if this were a premiere of a performance piece, a form so often generated from dark, autobiographical places. But in Wolfe’s case, he has been doing “Warren’s Story,” on and off, for five years.

The reason that it’s not in permanent mothballs is that his story elicits surprise, joy and horror in ceaselessly invigorating ways, which is why Wolfe’s performance, directed almost invisibly by Scott Kelman, makes it feel fresh.

The yarn follows Wolfe’s own Uncle Warren from his Canton, Ohio, barber shop to the beaches of World War II Asia, where he becomes the second-most decorated Marine in the Pacific. Back home, “Warren the Fighting Barber” has to live with his heroism--not an easy thing.

Reader’s Digest material becomes a warped stream-of-consciousness, multi-generational epic on the ways life has of repeating itself, always when we least expect it. Wolfe has the advantage of a lanky, Olive Oyl body, which works in perfect symphony with his voice to stretch key moments into slow-motion sequences that Sam Peckinpah would have loved. This is storytelling-as-memory in action, displaying a weird truth--that what we really remember are those crucial, life-altering seconds that mark the end of one thing, and the beginning of something else.

“Warren’s Story,” Daniel Saxon Gallery, 7525 Beverly Blvd., Saturdays, 8 p.m. Indefinitely. $12; (213) 933-5282 or (213) 207-4380. Running time: 2 hours. Resumes Jan. 12.

‘Meat My Beat’ Probes Gay Latino Concerns

Another one-man show resides in the more familiar ground of emotional catharsis, spoken as a political/confessional aria. Albert Antonio Araiza’s “Meat My Beat,” at the Celebration Theatre, may try to push the limits of an audience’s comfort zone in its presentation of what’s on the mind of an angry, gay Latino. Araiza the performer, though, has yet to extend his show into the realm of galvanizing agitprop.

Araiza hates gay theater’s “poor-me”-isms as much as he hates homophobia, and he confronts white gays with their own hidden prejudices about gays of color. All of which theoretically makes him an ideal voice to up-end expectations and tastes.

But Araiza hasn’t found an interesting framework to encase his politics, influenced by the spirited guerrilla activism of ACT-UP. He manages some sharp impersonations and finishes on a tragic note with co-performer Refugio Guevara. Yet the very mode of revenge he wants to unleash on homophobia--”a life full of passion and intensity”--is barely suggested in a wan performance style.

“Meat My Beat,” Celebration Theatre, 426 N. Hoover St., Sundays, 4 p.m. Indefinitely. $10; (213) 666-8669. Running time: 1 hour.

‘Best Show in Town’ Overstates the Case

“The Best Show in Town”? Writers-performers Nancy Bacon and Andre Chimene must be kidding. Bacon was once the Groundlings’ resident director; despite “Best Show’s” roots in “The Imo and Allen Show,” which she and Chimene originated in Chicago, the evening at the Tamarind Theatre is deep in Groundlingsland.

The first half is a series of fair-to-poor skits, all skating past with almost no impression. The second half is Bacon’s dark comedy about a grieving Texas clan called, of course, “A Death in the Family.” It’s a working draft, blessed with some wicked business by Allan Murray in various guises, but it also sounds like a draft for a solid comedy-to-be.

The music is another story. The Groundlings rely on usually bland rock ‘n’ roll covers; the Tamarind troupe boasts the Big Boys Band, a sprightly quartet led by Chimene (banjo) and Hank Amigo (trumpet). With Dixieland roots, their spiritual theme song is something the rest of the show could use more of: “Crazy Rhythm.”

“The Best Show in Town,” Tamarind Theatre, 5919 Franklin Ave., Hollywood. Sundays, 7:30 and 9:30 p.m. Indefinitely. $8-$10; (818) 985-9227. Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes.

Uneven Offerings in Short Play Festival

In “Evening A” of the Burbage Theatre’s Festival of Short Plays, the sparest and most satisfying is Luzanne Irsheid’s “Permanent Address,” directed by Ivan Spiegel. Two women--fearful Melanie (the subtly nuanced Alison McHale) and escapist Claire (a superficial Joan Foley, replacing Debbie Devine)--wait by the mailbox for some word from the outside world. Irsheid wisely refuses to chart the situation, giving the feeling of mildly deranged women in space--where Claire dreams to be.

Playwright J.P. Allen’s man (Ian Gregory) in “Distance” must contend with yet another deranged woman (Suzanne Dudley) who calls him in the middle of the night. They’re strangers, and yet within minutes are locked in a life-and-death crisis. It’s this urgency that eludes director Frederick Johntz.

Johntz has his work cut out for him with Bill Corbett’s thudding “Down the Pike.” Into the TV-saturated lives of gas station owner Beatrice (Foley again, superficial again) and her mentally impaired nephew Gerard (Michael Korn) walks Pam (Taylor Gilbert).

Actually, she is running--away from her pursuing husband. Pam may be a loser, but next to the raving, befuddled Beatrice, she’s a genius. Corbett and Johntz mistakenly think that pathos follows from the pathetic: None of these people reflect anything larger than their small selves.

Short Play Festival, “Evening A,” Burbage Theatre, 2330 Sawtelle Blvd., West Los Angeles. Thursdays, 8:30 p.m. Ends Jan. 24. $15; (213) 478-0897. Running time: 2 hours.

Disastrous Casting in ‘Rape of Lucrece’

One would think that of Shakespeare’s two epic poems--”The Rape of Lucrece” and “Venus and Adonis”--”Lucrece” would be the better suited to the stage. More than “Venus,” it has conflict and an intriguing central idea: a sick symbiosis between victim and criminal that hand-wringing can’t ignore but that a higher moral ground could address.

Director Theresa Shiban’s ambitious hopes for “Lucrece” are undone by disastrous casting.

This may not be stageworthy in any case: much time is spent on Lucrece’s post-rape lament, reminiscent of “The Trojan Women,” but without its multi-character dynamics. Hisa Takakuwa as Lucrece is, like the rest of the cast, over her head, while Eric Briant Wells as Tarquin can’t begin to suggest the obsessions that drive him to rape. The observing chorus seems to not understand the unfamiliar verse, so they rush through it at breakneck speed--or rather, Shiban allows them to.

“The Rape of Lucrece,” Globe Playhouse, 1107 N. Kings Road, West Hollywood. Thursdays-Sundays, 8 p.m. Ends Feb. 24. $8.50-$25; (213) 654-5623. Running time: 90 minutes.