YEAR IN REVIEW 1993 : THEATER : From the Twilight to the Sunset : The changing climate of L.A. is reflected in a changing theater, as it was in Anna Deavere Smith’s noncommittal ‘Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992,’ but then there was ‘Sunset Boulevard’ to remind us some things never change

By any sound byte, 1993 has been the year of theatrical rectitude when it comes to political correctness.

The changing climate of Los Angeles was reflected in the changing climate of its theater: From Anna Deavere Smith’s noncommittal (and non-controversial) piece on the Los Angeles riots, “Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992,” commissioned by the Mark Taper Forum, to Culture Clash’s raucously politicized “Carpa Clash.”

Like the city, L.A.’s theater continues to be eclectic, scattershot and full of creative surprise. Like the weather, it knows no real seasons, but rambles on month to month, displaying an abundance that has little to do with quality, but that keeps proving, against all odds, that Movietown soil is surprisingly fertile ground for the stage.

Theater is a young person’s art and the turnover in so many 99-seat venues goes a long way to prove it. These spaces, where good theater but no money can be made, continue to serve efficiently as springboards and exercise-rooms for new work, new artists and new companies. They are not, however, places where permanence is likely to develop. Actors must be paid a living wage before they can be expected to live a life in the theater.

Despite shriveling economics, Los Angeles’ main stages (except for the sparsely occupied Los Angeles Theatre Center) managed to do business as usual. Zero-growth, in recessionary times, is a form of progress. There were no major catastrophes in 1993, which will have to pass for good news.

Long Beach Civic Light Opera scored two solid hits (“Dreamgirls” and “Into the Woods”). The national company of “Crazy for You” sizzled at the Shubert, thanks to James Brennan and Karen Ziemba in the leads, who gave the show a zest it never had on Broadway.

The Taper couldn’t top the exceptional year it had in 1992 (with “Angels in America” and “The Kentucky Cycle”), but except for its ongoing tendency to overplay political correctness, it is growing more comfortable with the role it has assumed (since LATC’s demise) as sole purveyor of major venues for ethnic ventures.

Correct or otherwise, the Taper is now the most political mainstream theater we have. But Anna Deavere Smith’s “Twilight,” the year’s most eagerly awaited new play, turned out to be a well-crafted Big Disappointment because of her decision to let the audience make up its own mind instead of making it up for them. Laudable? Only in theory, because theater without opinion, especially politically loaded theater, is, well, blank. In the end, “Twilight” was unintentionally a striking example of PC in action.

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Further afield, Costa Mesa’s South Coast Repertory, in its 30th season and counting, had another strong, accomplished year. Thomas Babe’s “Great Day in the Morning” was a massive, memorably theatrical warning bell about moral bankruptcy, and Roger Rueff’s “So Many Words,” a terse, involving spin on modern romance, left deep tracks in the mind. The company’s “Morning’s at Seven” made Paul Osborn’s charming old chestnut feel newly minted. And the theater could have done a lot worse than feature the incomparable and undervalued Kandis Chappell in so many of its best productions, notably “Hay Fever,” “Intimate Exchanges” and “Shadowlands.”

The news, alas, is downhill from there. Except for Jonathan Tolins’ “Twilight of the Golds,” a flawed but astonishing new play that derived much of its success from the shock value of a surprise plot twist, the Pasadena Playhouse’s 1993 entries were crowd-pleasers at best. This may have had as much to do with the continuing absence of an artistic director as with the Playhouse’s growing network of Southland theaters--wanting to play it safe with the communities where its shows tour. But safe in the theater usually means sorry, as demonstrated by the Playhouse’s sorriest entry of the year: the neither sweet nor smart “Sweet, Smart, Rodgers and Hart.”

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For the rest, here are some thumbnail assessments of the good, the bad and the so-so.

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Lloyd Webber Weathervane: A year without Andrew? Not bloody likely. “The Phantom of the Opera” may have closed its four-year-plus run at the Ahmanson, but to compensate for this vanishing act we had the arrival of the opulent, gaudy, mesmerizing and in every way spectacular new “Sunset Boulevard” at the Shubert, along with a playful revival of “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” (Pantages), a wretched “Aspects of Love” (Wilshire Theatre) and new rounds of “Evita” (still one of his best) and the perennial “Cats.”

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Broadway Barometer: More Los Angeles shows seem to be getting attention in New York, though not necessarily respect. The Pulitzer Prize-winning “Angels in America” garnered stratospheric acclaim and “Shakespeare for My Father,” which Lynn Redgrave first tried out in the Southland, captured a Tony nomination.

But “The Kentucky Cycle,” which had the audacity to win a Pulitzer before playing New York, was mostly damned with faint praise, while “Twilight of the Golds,” which had lost its element of surprise by the time it reached Broadway, was shell-shocked by withering reviews.

Footnote: Off-Broadway and presumably out of the limelight’s glare, “Family Secrets” and “Pretty Fire,” a pair of one-person shows that made it big in small theaters in Los Angeles, repeated their well-earned successes. Is there a moral in this somewhere?

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The Year’s Highs--Serious: David Drake’s literary, moving and calisthenic “The Night Larry Kramer Kissed Me” at the Tiffany Theatre; the Pacific Resident Theatre Ensemble’s highly inventive, lyrical “Ondine”; the San Diego Old Globe’s burnished “King Lear” with a powerful Hal Holbrook in the title role; Eric Bogosian’s “Pounding Nails In the Floor With My Head,” the most accomplished set of monologues to date from this magnetic iconoclast, despite its impossible title, and Reza Abdoh’s noisy, immensely personal “Quotations From a Ruined City,” a deep lament for AIDS and other youthful terrors and devastations.

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The Year’s Highs--Silly: A perfectly timed and hilariously performed version of Tom Dulack’s “Breaking Legs” with veterans Danny Aiello, Harry Guardino, Gary Sandy and Karen Valentine at Cerritos; Paul Rudnick’s “Jeffrey” at the Westwood Playhouse (which closed last Sunday) one of those gay comedies that lets you see the seriousness of its underlying theme while never for a moment allowing you to stop laughing--and the “Ruthless!” send-up of child stars, stage mothers and theater critics still howling at the Canon.

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The Specials: Unquestionably, the Matrix Company’s doublecast “The Tavern” at the Matrix. The delectable gimmick here is that the stellar casts are mixed and matched daily, thus subtly altering the dynamics of each performance and keeping things fresh.

“Damn Yankees,” at the San Diego Old Globe and playfully directed by Jack O’Brien, was primed and poised for Broadway where it should have a real chance at a home run next Spring.

Herb Gardner’s “Conversations With My Father” at the Doolittle Theatre was his richest writing to date, almost too rich for the medium, but it had intense performances from Judd Hirsch and young J. D. Daniels as fighting father and son.

Finally “Cole,” the new musical revue based on the work of Cole Porter at the Henry Fonda, is something of a sleeper. It has a talented piano that moves itself about the stage and the year’s most impressive new-to-us performer: comedian Nancy Ringham, a vocally rich cut-up who can really deliver the goods.

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The Lows: the Pasadena Playhouse’s bland “Sweet, Smart, Rodgers and Hart” and Long Beach Civic Light Opera’s “From the Top!,” a muddled revue that wanted to be a showcase for Carol Burnett without any real idea of how to go about it.

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The Pits: “Southern Rapture” at the Met, with director Peter Fonda and country singer Dwight Yoakam lost in unrapturous Southern Gothic; Peter Sellars’ “The Persians” at the Taper, a misguided mishmash of Ancient Greek tragedy and the Gulf War; “The Will Rogers Follies” at the Pantages and Orange County Performing Arts Center, simply the poorest excuse yet for a musical.

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Favorite Comeback: The return to town of Joe Stern, producer of the Matrix Company, after too many years on loan to television’s “Law and Order.”

And Best Recovery: Neil Simon’s “Jake’s Women,” an intensely personal piece, reworked with guts and candor to become the humorous self-portrait it meant to be.

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A final word about our friends down south. The season at the La Jolla Playhouse didn’t have anything like the splash it made with “Tommy” or its endlessly inventive Art-Deco “Much Ado About Nothing” in 1992, but it did include two notable productions: a robust “Arms and the Man” and James Lapine’s cynical comic twist on Horatio Algerism, “Luck, Pluck and Virtue,” a promising work-in-progress.

The biggest news from La Jolla, however, was artistic director Des McAnuff’s decision to step down to pursue film and outside theater projects. It’s a major change that will profoundly affect the future of that theater.

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And speaking of changes, this column marks my last stand as theater critic of The Times. After 21 years of speaking my mind in public, it’s time to shut up and move on--to the Denver Center for the Performing Arts where, starting Jan. 3, I will be heading up the media relations and publications department and working the other side of the footlights as an artistic associate of the Denver Center Theatre Company.

Thanks for the memories. It’s been a joy and a privilege.

And one heck of a ride.