A Smoldering Revival of ‘Summer and Smoke’

The more you see of Tennessee Williams’ plays, the more you sense that soft, sickly, static, dream-like quality that’s so evocative of the playwright. Good productions convey this mood, and the revival of “Summer and Smoke” at the Odyssey is substantial: tremulous, genteel and smoldering.

Initially performed in a workshop run at Pacific Theatre Ensemble in December, this guest production catches the atmosphere of a drowsy summer in a Gulfport town just before World War I. As the Delta nightingale and virginal Alma Winemiller (a little sister to Blanche DuBois), Jill Jacobson vivifies the moral demand of the play: that in the crumbling of Alma’s ideals we should feel a part of civilization going with her.

Jacobson never overplays Alma’s breathless laughs and fluttery hands as she struggles to reconcile body and soul as symbolized by a brooding angel in the park and an anatomy chart in her doctor’s office. As the object of her suppressed love, Scott Lincoln’s young doctor is brash, restless and lustful with a veneer of easy charm.

The play has 14 roles and director Alan Cooke draws tasty supporting performances from Gloria Hayes’ brazen flirt, Elizabeth Rainey’s material girl, William Galligan’s mama’s boy and Elmarie Wendel’s dotty old lady.

The production’s weakness is the absence of an artful set design. A maw of blackness envelops the interiors and exteriors which are judiciously placed props: the angel and its water fountain and scattered Victorian furniture.

You miss the play’s expanse of fleecy sky, its fragile walls and conversations among the ruins. In compensation, Philip D. Widmer’s lighting delicately divides the play’s framework.

“Summer and Smoke,” Odyssey Theatre, 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., West Los Angeles. Wednesdays-Thursdays, 8 p.m., Saturdays, 9:30 p.m., Sundays, 4 p.m. Ends Feb. 23. $12.50-$17.50; (310) 477-2055. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.

‘Tower of Masks’ Has Its Moments

Two years ago, when playwright-actor John B. Martin staged “Zeitgeist,” his slant on urban relationships, the difference a venue can make was underappreciated. It was performed in a chic little theater in the Beverly Hills Rodeo Collection (later the victim of zoning ordinances). Martin’s new show, “Tower of Masks” at the Burbage Theatre, is yet another variation on life’s sexual follies, but it’s not nearly as sharply staged as “Zeitgeist.”

The major reason is that the production has no set, no particular lighting scheme or even rudimentary design. Throwing a couple of props--even if it’s sexy lingerie--in front of a bilious curtain doesn’t hack it. Not at these prices.

But there is some good news.

The play, developed by the eight cast members in the Zeitgeist Theatre Group Workshop, interweaves sexual dalliances around the premise that it’s risky to judge people by first impressions.

Martin is amusing, even unexpectedly touching, as a rigidly nervous Clark Kent executive who in the privacy of his home makes love to a mannequin. All the women are full of verve--Julia Rhoda’s prudish secretary, Casey Kramer’s metallic dominatrix, Linda Martin’s lascivious blonde and Rachel Wells’ bundle of repressed sexuality. The latter hilariously gets off during a confessional, and it’s the priest’s nervously deadpan reaction that makes the scene work.

The show, directed by Sidney Wickersham, suffers one embarrassment--a scene in a trendy boutique where a customer (macho Boyd Holister) plays sexual games with a woman shopper and shows up in some lingerie. An unfunny, hairy man in a Bo-peep namesake is gross anywhere, but particularly on a stage.

“Tower of Masks,” Burbage Theatre, 2330 Sawtelle Blvd., West Los Angeles. Fridays-Saturdays, 9 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends March 1. $12-$15; (310) 478-0897. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

Bewitching Analogy on the Game of Life

The second of the two one-acts collectively called “Free Fall in a Plague Year” at Theater of N.O.T.E. (a.k.a. New One-Act Theatre Ensemble) is an electric piece with a ferocious performance by Jack Moore. He portrays an infielder on a major league team who’s not a team player. He’s a sociopath, and playwright Grubb Graebner has created a bewitching analogy on the “game of life.”

As the entitled character in “Gary Gilmore at Third Base,” Moore, under Bob Kip’s visceral direction, invites death with the fervor of the real Gary Gilmore (who waived his rights and was executed by firing squad in Utah).

We see three teammates working on and behind the pitcher’s mound, two squeaky-clean, uniformed “normal” players (Russell Smith and Todd Stanton), and the rebellious, profane, sloppily garbed Moore, who self-destructs in vulgar public and private loathing as the game progresses.

What, the play asks, do you do with such madness? Especially when the conventional guys are animals themselves. Moore is sensational, an actor whose cup is so full it vaporizes.

In the opener, “The Birdwatcher, a backward blink” by Glen Berger, a man on a quest for the missing Doomsday Book of William the Conqueror runs into a lot of mysterious birds and a twinkling of light before the darkness. Staged to a self-conscious point of obscurity by Karen Hott, it remains garrulous, obtuse and incomprehensible.

“Free Fall in a Plague Year,” Theatre of N.O.T.E., 1305 N. Kenmore Ave., Hollywood, Thursdays - Saturdays, 8 p.m., Ends Feb. 29. $10; (213) 666-5550. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

Hearts Are Wild in Romantic Farce

The dining-out dating ritual in first-time playwright Cheryl Bascom’s “Deconstructing Romance” at the Matrix is fun for the first act. But as the actors tumble into farce, the matches and mismatches lose their zest and a strained mania reduces this comedy of manners to a dining-room “Love Boat.”

The clever premise finds the carping of a couple on a wretched blind date ruining the otherwise sunny date of the romantic couple at the adjacent table. The next night, after gossip is exchanged and friends are drawn into the fray, all the bedeviled parties show up again at the same restaurant.

Chaos reigns until Cupid’s arrow impales all the pumping hearts, with a merry fade-out awkwardly reminiscent of those geometric wedding knots at the end of a Shakespearean comedy.

As the nervous blind-dates-from-hell, Lycia Naff’s relentless chatterbox and Taylor Negron’s insecure milquetoast (he steals the show) are identifiable portraits of trouble in loveland. Larry Poindexter is well cast as the perfect date, and John Hammil gives a nice, unobtrusive spin to a square husband. Everyone is a “type.”

Director Bill Molloy has the mechanics down, on a slick set designed by Greg Grande, but this play still feels like a blueprint.

“Deconstructing Romance,” Matrix, 7657 Melrose Ave., Los Angeles. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m., Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends March 1. $15-$17.50; (213) 660-TKTS. Running time: 2 hours.