STAGE REVIEW : Personal, Yet Compelling ‘Letters’

At the beginning of her one-woman show, Joan Hotchkis sings a few lilting bars from the Western ditty “Home on the Range.”

“Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam/Where the deer and the antelope play/Where seldom is heard a discouraging word--”

She stops abruptly.

“That’s a lie,” Hotchkis says, staring hard at the audience, all music gone from her voice. “I heard a lot of discouraging words.”

“Tearsheets: Letters I Didn’t Send Home,” at Sushi through Sunday, is Hotchkis’ intensely personal account of growing up in a Long Beach-based ranching dynasty. About 20 years ago, Hotchkis discovered her mother’s diary and later decided to construct a family history. At first, Hotchkis wanted to write a book; she later crafted a solo performance piece.

Watching this 80-minute show is a bit like reading someone else’s diary. At times, the revelations are spicy and titillating. At other times, Hotchkis’ subjects seem overly personal, and she fails to come to any discernible point. Despite the latter, “Tearsheets” succeeds as a compelling theatrical production.

Evocative staging techniques help the show immeasurably. Hotchkis, who also directed the piece, demonstrates a consistently keen eye for stagecraft. Using only a slide projector and a sparse assortment of props, she layers images on top of one another to create a stunning visual environment.

In one powerful episode, Hotchkis describes eating breakfast with her family. As she recalls her father’s imposing presence, a series of projected images flash on the torn sheet backdrop behind the stage, augmenting the descriptions. Hotchkis reads aloud from a newspaper story about Franklin Delano Roosevelt, for instance, and the former President’s face materializes on stage, adding a distinct, haunting quality to the scene.

Throughout the show, Hotchkis uses projections--many of them photos of her family.

Hotchkis also demonstrates virtuoso acting skills in “Tearsheets.” Re-enacting the chore of relieving her bladder during a cattle roundup is one of her funniest bits in the play. As Hotchkis struggles to hold onto her horse, undo her riding outfit and remain discreet all at once, the actress cleverly shows the contradictions of being a refined lady and a rugged cowgirl at the same time.

Thematically, Hotchkis draws a parallel between raising cattle and raising women. She complains that her family reared her to be a second-class citizen because of her gender.

“They taught me I was less than any man,” Hotchkis recalls, later adding, “I learned that a man’s pride is more important than a woman’s body.”

She makes a convincing argument, but undermines her position with some pointless tirades. At one point, Hotchkis complains that she married her first husband because he was “the opposite of my father.” Well, whose fault is that? It is this kind of whining that undermines the strength of the work.

Similarly, Hotchkis complains that her family never told her she was beautiful, and that this has been a continual source of trauma. Her parents told her she was “pretty” and “becoming” instead of “beautiful,” which somehow scarred her. The episode is incredibly petty and hard to swallow.

Hotchkis raises the stakes toward the end of the piece as she describes undergoing brain surgery. This unfortunate experience has little to do with her initial premise--the rigors of her sexist upbringing--but it does help the work’s drama build to a potent, visceral climax. It also creates some genuine sympathy for the actress.

“TEARSHEETS: LETTERS I DIDN’T SEND HOME”

Written, directed and performed by Joan Hotchkis. Choreographed by Emile Conrad Da’oud. Scenic design by Douglas D. Smith. Composer, Michele Brourman. Costumes by Lindsay Stewart. Additional staging by Aimee Greenberg. Stage manager, Elizabeth J. Murtaugh. At 8 p.m. tonight and Sunday. At Sushi, Inc., 852 8th Ave., downtown. Tickets $8-$11. 235-8466.