‘Oedipus Shmedipus’ Is a ‘Funny Thing’

A funny thing happened on the way to Burbank: Rue McClanahan, one of “The Golden Girls” at NBC, decided to put a little show together--and put it on at beautiful downtown Burbank’s Golden Theatre.

What might have been another case of a Hollywood star doing a showcase number has turned into something more: “Oedipus Shmedipus, As Long as You Love Your Mother” has its own indelibly loopy personality, even if it is “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum” gone Greek.

The trademarks from the Burt Shevelove-Larry Gelbart-Stephen Sondheim Roman spoof are all here: the comic dislocation of American pop sounds in an ancient empire; the burlesque stereotypes; naughtiness played to middle-class tastes; mixed identities; the climactic, swinging-door chase. Still, if Shevelove and Gelbart stole from Plautus, McClanahan (with co-author Norman Hartweg) can steal from Shevelove and Gelbart.

“Oedipus Shmedipus” is ultimately its own show, from the relentlessly giddy spew of wordplay (Jim Brochu’s narrator slave, Eurascalas, as Terry D. Seago’s cowpoke-like Whippus Cracus yanks his garments: “Hey buddy, watch it! Eu-rip-i-des, Eu-men-i-des!”) to director Gregory Scott Young’s acute control over his pell-mell farceurs. Young’s credo is over the top and over some more , which is right for such rampant silliness, but it all might seem like so much amazing traffic control on the Golden’s small stage and Paul Manchester’s turntable set were it not for dead-on casting.

Comedians who can sing? Here’s a sampling: Clay Crosby as Puritas, who desires the hand of the beautiful Trembelina, until his dad gets in the way; Jeff Oetjen, as dad, suitably named Hornius Maximus; Elizabeth Anne Smith’s willowy, ditsy Trembelina; Sally Champlin’s brassy Anthropolita; Robert Jacobs’ gay (in all senses) slave, Sisyphus. Boosted by D. Jay Bradley’s boisterous four-piece band, the energy in this room could power a small city--like Burbank. Or a much bigger theater.

“Oedipus Shmedipus, As Long As You Love Your Mother,” Golden Theatre, 139 N. San Fernando Blvd., Burbank, Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 2 and 7 p.m. Indefinitely. $18; (818) 841-9921. Running time: 2 hours, 40 minutes.

Stark, Erratic ‘Beirut’ a Panicky AIDS Vision

In the future, where the late playwright Alan Bowne’s “Beirut” is set, his play will be seen as an emphatically paranoid response to AIDS’ effect on the body, and the body politic. Like the paranoia of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” in the midst of the McCarthy era, “Beirut” is the product of panic. But “Body Snatchers” artfully played the panic back on itself, with a stark wink into the face of horror; “Beirut” is simply, humorlessly, panic-striken.

The title refers to the locals’ name for the quarantined sector of Manhattan’s Lower East Side where victims of a sexually transmitted plague live out their last, isolated days, and T. Baker Rowell’s design at igLoo, in Hollywood, feels like a dungeon. In it squirms Torch (Chris Peditto), apparently once a prince of a fellow, at least to his princess, Blue (Kristina Loggia), who risks being caught by helicopters and “lesion patrol guards” to be with him.

Indeed, Blue’s--and the play’s--guiding principle is the choice between risking nothing and feeling dead, or risking death and feeling alive. This is liebestod in a “1984” world, which is hard to take seriously in any case, but especially hard in Daniel Pilburn’s fitful production. He and his actors haven’t found a way to rise above Bowne’s solemn and erratic dialogue, and, in Peditto’s case, sink into some inexplicable overacting.

As this love tale becomes increasingly hard to accept, it also becomes clear that it is an extended scene more than a play. Less clear are some curious choices, as when Richard Isaacs’ lesion guard enters to inspect Torch and the bright lights in the room somehow go out, with Isaacs inspecting by flashlight. It’s either a case of clashing realities, or a director unsure of what effect he wants.

“Beirut,” igLoo, 6543 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Thursdays-Sundays, 8 p.m. Indefinitely. $15.50; (213) 962-3771. Running time: 1 hour, 10 minutes.

1 Out of 2 Not Bad for ‘Three Short Plays’

With the middle play now canceled in the Powerhouse Theatre’s evening of Bradd Saunders one-acts, “Three Short Plays With Long Titles” is down to two. It’s just enough to make an evening, because each piece seems to come out of a different side of Saunders’ brain.

“Dinner in Mission Viejo” is Saunders’ own private Mission Viejo, but it sometimes resembles the same suburb I knew as a teen-ager. It’s Joe Orton Goes to Orange County, as executive Bill, wife Betty, son Joey and daughter Gloria sit down to a repast of roasted reindeer colon in teriyaki sauce, while the body of a newspaper thief Bill shot on the front lawn is lying in the living room. Saunders spoofs more than he can handle in the compressed time, but John York’s cast makes any “Married . . . With Children” episode pale by comparison.

Saunders turns serious, and ham-fisted, in “The Dorchester County Sheriff Department’s Annual Ball.” Street-wise Alice (Catherine Rusoff) is trying to sleep while waiting for her bus at the depot, yet upper-crust Natalie (Sandy Roveta) insists on talking with her about her problems. Saunders could have chosen any one of several credible situations--other than the one he chose--to place his dialogue on how differently poor and rich women view men. As it is, there’s no good reason why Alice, especially as Rusoff plays her, doesn’t quickly pummel irritating Natalie.

“Three Short Plays With Long Titles,” Powerhouse Theatre, 3116 2nd St., Santa Monica, Tuesdays-Wednesdays, 8 p.m. Ends July 31. $12; (213) 762-2381. Running time: 1 hour.