Cornerstone’s ‘Twelfth Night’ Blurs the Bard at Taper, Too

Cornerstone Theater’s “Twelfth Night, or As You Were” at the Taper, Too is a spirited adaptation of the Shakespeare comedy of similar name. It’s full of contemporary hi-jinks that make the play accessible, while adding a serious topical component. Yet the trendy overlay sometimes blurs the Bard’s achievement.

Cornerstone Theater is familiar to Los Angeles from the community residencies and related productions it has been involved with since the group moved here in 1992. Yet prior to that, they also specialized in adaptations of classics, performed by ongoing company members as well as guest artists. The current comedy is its first new ensemble show since 1990.

Since both areas of Cornerstone’s work tend to address current issues, it’s no surprise that an agenda rules this retooled “Twelfth Night,” energetically staged by Bill Rauch. Yet with text changes (“Buddy boy . . . thou needest a glass of whiskey”), cross-gender casting and the text relocated to a Southern California Navy base, Alison Carey’s clever adaptation tends to get carried away with its gays-in-the-military motif.

Malvolio (understudy Rebecca Clark, in for the injured Ashby Semple), for instance, is not only played by a woman, but becomes a closeted lesbian. Unfortunately, this reading reduces her to a victim, when the character is written as more.

An uneven cast also exacerbates the adaptation’s liabilities. Christopher Liam Moore is a game Viola/Sebastian, and Shishir Kurup’s Feste and Benajah Cobb’s Maria are fun and poignant. But Toby Belch (a miscast Michele Mais) and some of his cronies seem pale by comparison.

* “Twelfth Night, or As You Were,” Taper, Too/John Anson Ford Theatre, 2580 Cahuenga Blvd. East, Hollywood, Wednesdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 2 p.m. Ends May 1. $14. (213) 466-1767. Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes.

Overly Sentimental ‘Color Rainbow’

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Mark Roberts is yet another solo performer who’s better than his material. His multi-character monologue, “Single Color Rainbow,” suffers from overly familiar characters and a muddled sense of purpose. Yet his ample comic talents are still apparent.

Roberts’ greatest assets are a beguiling charm and a knack for chameleonic transformations. With no more than an economical gesture or turn, Roberts changes into a range of personas, from a self-deprecating security guard to a slacker kid to a matronly video vigilante.

The changes are fluid and each character remains distinct from the next. Yet we’ve seen most of these folks before, or at least their kissing cousins. For like so many soloists working in this vein--the cross-section of L.A. citizenry--Roberts-the-performer is ultimately held back by Roberts-the-writer. The latter isn’t nearly as inventive as the former.

Roberts, who is an experienced stand-up, has more than a few memorable one-liners in his show. He describes imperiled school cafeteria workers, for example, as “one tuna melt away from the big sleep.” And he’s also slightly site-specific: “Do not dwell on the fact that his is a very old building and could crumble at any moment,” he warns his audience, “like the one across the street did.”

Yet the performer tends to get sucked into sentimentality, particularly when portraying down-and-outers. In fact, there are a couple too many benevolent bums in this show, ably directed by Stephen Rothman.

Roberts’ best characters are his nastiest--like the boozing, gun-toting one-armed tough guy who’s busy telling his memoirs to a cassette recorder. But he’s stacked the show’s deck on the kinder, gentler side, and it diffuses the impact.

* “Single Color Rainbow,” Fountainhead Theatre, 1110 N. Hudson Ave., Hollywood, Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m. Ends April 30. $10.-$12.50. (213) 466-1767. Running time: 1 hour, 35 minutes.

The ‘Insanity’ of 3 Implausible Playlets

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“Living on the Lips of Insanity” at the Complex consists of three fatuous Robert Patrick playlets set in the late ‘60s and ‘70s. These implausible scripts are about as literary as lava lamps, and no one involved emerges unscathed. Surprisingly though, some of the actors do have their moments.

“My Cup Runneth Over,” the best of the three, pits an inhaler-sucking would-be magazine writer named Paula (Heidi James) against her roommate, a ditsy singer named Yucca (Shelleyllyn Brandler. Supposedly, a last-minute fill-in gig has made Yucca an instant celebrity, and every glossy from People to Cosmopolitan is on the phone begging for an interview. Dweeby Paula, who spends her days racking up Cosmo rejection slips, is jealous.

Brandler and James, under Lisa Hunt’s sloppy direction, have some convincing exchanges, although their characterizations are generally one-dimensional.

Joel J. Edwards and Samantha Kaye enjoy a similarly qualified success under Ian Murray’s barely-there direction in “Cheesecake,” in which a young couple gets stoned. But the script is just empty calories like its namesake.

In fact, it’s nearly as unredeemable as “1967: Fred and Harold.” As in “My Cup Runneth Over,” a nebbishy character is in conflict with a more sensual one. This time, though, the protagonists are guys rather than women, and the conflict is about sex rather than envy. Actors Michael Lamb and John Lodico, and especially director Sarah Pasquin, do nothing to help matters.

Still, the true culprit is not any one of these mostly unseasoned actors and directors but Patrick, whose half-baked scripts add up to little more than living on the lips of inanity.

* “Living on the Lips of Insanity,” Dorie Theater, the Complex, 6476 W. Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m. Ends April 16. $10. (310) 285-4656. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.