‘12 Angry Men’: Insights Still Crackle

Times, attitudes and bigotry rarely change. That’s why a play like Reginald Rose’s “12 Angry Men” can stand revival every now and then. Its insights into the human condition are as valid--and pertinent--as they were when the play was first telecast on “Playhouse 90” in the mid-’50s.

One of the advantages of this production by Company of Angels is its use of the original teleplay (the film traded lines between characters to suit actors). In spite of a few anachronisms in its updating, it’s still a powerful indictment of some of the flaws in the jury system caused by the mind-set of jury members.

Louis Mawcinitt’s stark jury room set is lit just as starkly in Christopher Collins’ design. It’s a stark play, and the realism of the writing is echoed in the believable downpour of rain visible outside during the deliberations. There’s no doubt the room is in Manhattan, and the costumes chosen by Adriana Wilbur easily define the jurors as New Yorkers.

It’s all a solid-gold setting for a gem of a staging by director Julie Cobb, harsh and honest, seething with the title’s anger, but not ignoring the humanity beneath the jurors’ facades, nor their humor.

As they decide the fate of a 19-year-old Puerto Rican who purportedly killed his father with a switchblade, the jurors crackle like a slow-burning fire, pulsing hot, with sparks pouring periodically into the darkness of their task.

The actors don’t miss a shade or tone of the combustible writing, from Tony Maggio’s gentle, intelligent and persuasive leader into clear thought, to Christian Svensson’s effectively underplayed man from the slums who knows about switchblades; from Charles Cyphers’ blustering narrow-mindedness and Lee De Broux’s brooding bigotry, to Roxanna Shirandami’s calm, bright immigrant and Clement E. Blake’s beautifully etched sports fan, worried about his tickets for that night’s game. They are only the standouts in a fine cast.

* “12 Angry Men,” Angels Theatre, 2106 Hyperion Ave., Silver Lake. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 4 p.m. Indefinitely. $12-$15; (213) 466-1767. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.

Woman’s World in ‘Willow Grove’

From Kingston to Wartburg--to Willow Grove--Tennessee people don’t change. Like Rhonda Dotson’s “Walker Women of Willow Grove,” they’re clannish, insular, by turns lovable and perverse.

Dotson knows her territory down to the last blade of grass and the oldest saws (“She looks like dust on a dress”). And she knows her Tennessee women. Sometimes, like mother Maggie (Lou Hancock), they grow wise with age. Sometimes, like prudish daughter Billy (Joan Hanson), they learn a hard lesson easily. Other times, like easygoing daughter Joyce (Pamela Brown), they can’t learn, only regret.

Billy’s daughter Melissa Sue (Claire Partin) is different enough to want to accept a scholarship at UCLA, prompted by Charles, a visiting ex-local boy (Steven F. Anderson), who lives in L.A. and writes books. Joyce’s daughter Sondra (Kat Green) wants to move to L.A. with Charles for her own reasons. Both are scandalous suggestions, and Dotson’s twist at the end lays bare the sadness of demands that a closed-off society makes on its members.

The production at the Complex, under Bonnie Pemberton’s incisive, astute direction, with an impeccable cast and an evocative setting designed by Paul Petrasek, is a little gem, although Charles might in future become a more powerful dramatic force in the women’s lives if, like the other men, he is only referred to. This is a woman’s world.

* “The Walker Women of Willow Grove,” Complex, 6470 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 4 p.m. Ends Sunday. $10; (213) 466-1767. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.

‘Double Dealer’ a Delightful Romp

Certainly William Congreve was the Noel Coward of his day. His rarely done, usually ignored “The Double Dealer” gives ample evidence to the fact.

The 1693 play is a delightful romp about an imminent wedding between Mellefont (Todd R. Hansen) and Cynthia (Elizabeth Dement). But devious friend Maskwell (Spencer Belgarian) doesn’t see it their way. He wants Cynthia for himself, and sets off a series of intrigues, liaisons more giddy than dangereuses , to achieve his goal.

Congreve’s weaving of lords and ladies in and out of each other’s beds and boudoirs sparkles with wit. Although some of his rococo flights of conversation, designed for the audiences of his time, tend to slow the very modern action. They could be cut.

Modern the action is, particularly under Michael Van Duzer’s energetic direction at the Globe Playhouse. He keeps his chessmen moving and their libidos at full throttle. Howard Schmitt’s costumes, centering vaguely around the middle of the 19th Century, give the up-to-date idea (Maskwell has a wristwatch), and the soundtrack thumps to a mambo beat. It all works, even though perhaps it shouldn’t.

The secret rendezvous are fraught with spice, a flavoring understood by a good part of the uneven cast, particularly the hilarious by-play between Bonita Friedericy’s marvelously broad, intricately shaped Lady Froth and Richard Speight Jr.’s devilishly foppish, libidinous Brisk.

* “The Double Dealer,” Globe Playhouse, 1107 N. Kings Road, West Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends Dec. 20. $15; (213) 463-7340. Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes.

View From Back of Pickup Truck

They’re everywhere. They stand in the bed of a pickup truck, their faces hard to the wind. They’re truck dogs.

This particular “Truck Dog,” in the person of James Donlon at Theatre/Theater, is different. He wants us to know what’s on his mind. And there are some weighty things bothering him. His “driver,” for instance, sometimes thinks he’s running things. Then there are those dreaded red racers that bare their fangs as they attack. And there’s the whole world out there to see.

Donlon, who wrote the piece with Charles Oates, is most successful when he’s honestly the truck dog. Less so when the dog begins to dream and anthropomorphizes into a commentator on life in general, and his travels to such places as New Orleans.

The magic in Donlon’s vision is seen most clearly and indelibly when his truck dog is valiantly trying to “find his center” as the pickup lurches off onto another highway.

* “Truck Dog,” Theatre/Theater, 1713 N. Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood. Thursdays-Fridays, 8 p.m. Ends Dec. 18. $12; (213) 850-6941. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.

‘Talkers Talk’ Is Too . . . Talky

In Stuart Lee Phelps Jr.’s “Talkers Talk,” at the Showcase Playhouse, that’s basically all his subjects do. But their talk never goes anywhere. “Talk” is a series of monologues about and by various stereotypical Hollywood types, from a gay acting coach to a misfit actor’s manager, from an actor just off the bus to a shyster attorney grabbing a phony accident claim.

They’ve all been seen before, and Phelps adds nothing to the canon. Ernie Davis, who performs the whole piece nonstop, does add color, detail and honesty to the cardboard cut-outs and almost makes them come alive.

* “Talkers Talk,” Showc a se Playhouse, 6572 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Saturdays-Sundays, 7:30 p.m. Ends Dec. 20. $5; (310) 397-1262. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.