Cold War Is Hot Again in ‘Pack of Lies’

Wasn’t it just yesterday that we celebrated the Berlin Wall’s demise? Or was it just yesterday that Aldrich H. Ames sold Central Intelligence Agency secrets to Moscow?

The Cold War is hot again, but timing isn’t what transforms the Actors Co-op’s impeccable revival of Hugh Whitemore’s 1983 espionage drama, “Pack of Lies,” into such a spellbinding experience.

Like John Le Carre’s novels, Whitemore’s play is more than a mere spy thriller. And it’s much more than a simple story of an ordinary family exploited by counterintelligence agents in the cause of national security.

It examines the nature of deceit, of how suspicion mutates into a dangerous psychological obsession. It asks a timeless question: “What’s the difference between one lie and another?” Just as in classic Greek tragedy, global political struggles become family feuds.

Based on a true story, “Pack of Lies” is set in 1960s England. To tabloid journalists, this Jackson family might seem tediously normal. Scandal is spilled tea, adventure a teen-ager’s forbidden motorcycle ride. Civil servant Bob (a superbly repressed Alan Johnson) likes a spot of tea after work. His wife, Barbara (an extraordinary Kristina Lankford), likes to pour his tea. Their daughter, Julie (Jennifer Manasseri, miscast), is obedient, cheerful and unassuming. Their best friends, the Krogers, live across the street and occasionally drop by.

That friendship ultimately ends the Jackson’s domestic tranquillity. But are neighbors “Auntie Helen” (a richly ambiguous Sarah Rush) and her spouse (David Schall, equally mysterious) the problem? Or are the British Secret Service insinuations causing the damage? Discretions grow into deceptions. Being friendly at Christmas “adds to the pattern” of suspicion. Gradually, every innocent exchange appears freighted with ominous meaning, every simple word sounds like a potential lie.

Director Mark Henderson mutes the potential melodrama, subtly maintaining suspense around habitual routine. The production design is the equal of any Equity contract production. Tim Farmer’s realistic kitchen and living room, Russell Pyle’s suggestive lighting, and Alan Falkner’s sound effects combine with a first-class ensemble to change the intimate Crossley Theatre into a house of secrets.

* “Pack of Lies,” Crossley Theatre, 1760 Gower St., Hollywood. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 2:30 p.m. Ends March 27. $7-$12. (213) 964-3586. Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes.

‘Hero in the House’ Juggles Two Genres

For an act-and-a-half of “Hero in the House,” playwright Brenda Krantz and director Chris DeCarlo successfully juggle genres. There’s the marriage-in-trouble sitcom as emerging feminist wife (a compelling Suzanne Ford) is bored with her sofa-salesman spouse (Lee Ryan, brave in a weakly written role). There’s the farce, as Napoleon Bonaparte returns from the Land of the Dead to help hubby regain command over the family. And there’s even romantic comedy, as the resurrected Emperor courts the wife.

But just before reaching the climax, the Santa Monica Playhouse’s fascinating artistic juggling act suffers a terrible accident: It tries to make sense of the nonsense. Until the futile attempt to inject significance, we’ve been entertained in the manner of contemporary spoofs like “I Hate Hamlet.” Such a silly concept can provoke opportunity for outrageous comedy, as in a seduction scene where Napoleon’s fetish for women’s feet is uproariously spoofed. But taking this silliness seriously provokes embarrassment, not epiphanies.

Not even droll Nicholas Cascone’s convincing portrait of Napoleon can defeat New Age cliches about our inner child. “Strong men express feelings” is both the play’s message and its Waterloo.

* “Hero in the House,” Santa Monica Playhouse, 1211 4th St., Santa Monica. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7:30 p.m. Ends April 10. $16.50-$18.50. (310) 394-9779, Ext. 1. Running time: 2 hours.

Ghost World’ Fails to Haunt

James McClure must have a severe case of writer’s block. How else are we to understand his latest effort, “Ghost World: The Coincidence”? A funny yet disturbingly derivative park-bench play, “Ghost World” resembles one of those glib warm-up exercises designed to oil the writer’s lamp before undertaking more serious work. It may be McClure’s homage to Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot,” but even at a mere 45 minutes the waiting feels repetitive.

Yet McClure is lucky at Theatre/Theater where “Ghost World” gets salvaged by exquisite acting and Jeff Murray’s precise direction.

Will Utay portrays a successful playwright-screenwriter in Central Park trying to enjoy lunch while being shadowed by an absurd stranger in a ludicrous Day-Glo outfit. The stranger turns out to be Jackie Jack the Sturgeon King, a half-written character from one of his unfinished plays. Ritchie Montgomery brings Jack vividly to life with lunatic comic expressions. It’s a treat to watch Utay and Montgomery Ping-Pong lines, but “Ghost World” is a sporadic hoot that fails to haunt.

The evening’s curtain-raiser is a minor sketch by Utay called “The Agent.” It, too, has its comic moments, thanks to the fierce performance by Howard George as an actors agent. It, too, is soon forgotten.

* “Ghost World: The Coincidence,” and “The Agent,” Theatre/Theater, 1713 N. Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends April 3. $10. (213) 469-9689. Running time: 1 hour, 10 minutes.

‘Doubt’ Questions World of Artists

Those who witnessed the sensationally hyped 1989 staging of “Once in Doubt” at Los Angeles Theatre Center should be gratified by its latest revival. A spare production at the Nancy Silverman Gallery emphatically eliminates any lingering doubts about Raymond J. Barry’s piece. Under Maria O’Brien’s energetic direction, a trio of charismatic actors provides convincing proof of the play’s staying power.

Robert Scott Brush is the self-destructive artist struggling with the creative process. A devout abstract expressionist, he takes Jackson Pollock’s drip-painting method to its logical dead end: splashing blood from his cut wrist over the canvas.

Eleanor Joy Lind is the artist’s accomplice, the wife whose rage somehow fuels his work. Michael Rollinson is the unsuspecting neighbor lured into the loft by their seductive games. Their repartee is fast, funny and demented, yet still manages to provoke serious questions about the art world.

* “Once in Doubt,” Nancy Silverman Gallery, 1009 N. Madison Ave., Los Angeles. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m. Ends March 14. $7. (213) 644-0955. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.

Griffin’s ‘Voices’ a Feminist Classic

Showcase theater has gotten a bad rap, automatically receiving dismissive comments from both theater professionals and critics. But sometimes unapologetic showcase work provides valid and valuable exposure to otherwise neglected plays and players. Case in point: a visiting production at the West Coast Ensemble of Susan Griffin’s “Voices.”

You know instantly why this show exists with a glance at the program. No biography of the playwright can be located. But there is extensive background information on each of the five actresses and the director, as well as a telephone number “for industry comps.”

And yet none of that matters because Griffin’s poetic examination of women’s issues is a neglected feminist classic that rewards repeated viewings. The text reverberates like a musical quintet as the characters speak directly to the audience about their lives, weaving in-and-out of each other’s stories, sewing a quilt of language.

This difficult sound collage requires a director with a conductor’s touch, and Clair Sinnett orchestrates the voices with radio drama precision. The ensemble never misses a vocal beat and each actress deserves to be mentioned: Jody Carter, Sharon Corbett, Michelle Mikesell, Penny Peyrot, Anita Swanson.

But so does the playwright. After all, it’s the show that best makes their case.

* “Voices,” West Coast Ensemble, 6240 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. Mondays-Wednesdays, 8 p.m. Ends March 16. $12. (213) 871-1052. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.