THEATER REVIEW : High Concept Sinks Operatic ‘Fire Under Water’ : The ambitious Fullerton production reads like it should be a put-on, but in its seriousness it just gets silly.

In an earlier era, Joe Noone, the ostensible hero of Michael Mollo’s new play, “Fire Under Water,” at the Tribune Theatre, wouldn’t have been on stage.

He would have been on vinyl, the emotional center of a concept album by Pink Floyd or Yes or the Moody Blues. The lonely figure with his head in the clouds whom no one, not even his wife, understands.

Back then, in the great old days of the late ‘60s-early ‘70s, the Christ motif would crown him for good measure. He would probably die, a visionary for his people, whose eyes are now opened to The Light.

In 1994, on the Tribune’s starkly bare, black stage, it’s all a bit ridiculous.

That’s until Act II, when it’s all very ridiculous, and very clear that Mollo hasn’t written a play at all, but verse for a concept album without backup band. The concept might be taken from Robert Bly’s men’s liberation tome, “Iron John,” but an “Iron John” that has been left out in the sun to spoil.

Early on--hearing Michael Zittel’s arch reading of Joe, watching the cavorting of the lesbian lovers (Lynnae Hitchcock and Shannon McDuff), who seemingly live with Joe and wife Sara (Erica Dewey), checking out the goofy fable play performed for the local men’s-lib group by Joe’s extremely libidinous and semi-clothed mom, Maggi (Jennifer Bishton, at least 15 years too young for the role)--it’s easy to wonder if “Fire Under Water” isn’t some kind of put-on of New Age silliness in general and terminally serious spiritualists in particular.

After all, Maggi’s ribald act as an androgynous creature in Eden has some of the cute charm (with help from Bishton) of Shakespeare’s plays-within-plays. Joe is instantly a silly character, announcing to one and all that he wants to die and “return, pure,” that he wants “to dismantle the Evil System,” and that sugar addiction is bad for you (all this is one speech).

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How could he not be the butt of a playwright’s joke? If the playwright takes him seriously, that’s how.

The few mitigating moments of humor in “Fire Under Water” blow away like ash, leaving a tortuously sincere study of a young man who, at best, has a major Christ complex, and at worst is a megalomaniac in deep need of professional care.

The nadir of Joe’s dark night (no, months ) of the soul is when he thrashes about on stage like a man-sized polliwog on angel dust, wrestling, it seems, with the ghost of his father. Zittel comes close to resembling a World Wrestling Federation freak, alone in the ring without pads.

No one--not Sara, not Joe’s supposed best friend Sam (Bradley A. Whitfield)--has a clue how to put Joe in his place. Joe’s method of conversation is like a blockhead shaman dude, saying to Sara that “I don’t expect you to understand my purpose.” Nor, it seems, does Mollo expect us to understand his.

His writing is too in love with a kind of ersatz Beat poet lingo, like a guy who’s just dropped acid to Kerouac for the very first time and wants to tell everyone about it.

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Call it the New Hippie Theater, substituting meaningful human interaction and perception with on-stage rites (accented by Gina Karaba’s masks and Joaquin Rodas’ spooky lights) that might be led by witch priestess Starhawk. And all of it is topped off with opaquely versified dialogue that no actor--and certainly not these actors--could ever get their mouths around.

Director Mollo stages playwright Mollo, which definitively suffocates this play. Another directorial point of view-- any other--would have challenged the playwright to think through what he was trying to say.

The actors seem to obey Mollo’s wishes, which include Zittel daring to make a public embarrassment of himself. He has the sinewy body of a deep-sea diver (Joe’s profession) but speaks almost robot-like. Only Whitfield and Bishton have any real stage presence or honest emotional grounding.

You have to admire any American playwright, and any American theater, for going after a mythic style--especially a young theater like the Tribune, which is surrounded by a host of safe, fuddy-duddy, user-friendly theaters hooked on nothing but revivals.

The great danger is that without disciplined consideration of the ideas behind myths and how they’re dramatized, and without actors trained in the mythic approach invented by the Greeks, you’ll get mythic egg on your face.

Next up for the Tribune folks: “The Tempest.” O brave new world . . .

* “Fire Under Water,” Tribune Theatre, 116 1/2 Wilshire Ave., Fullerton. Friday-Saturday, 8:30 p.m.; Sunday, 7 p.m. Ends July 31. $5 . (714) 525-3403. Running time: 2 hours, 45 minutes. Michael Zittel: Joe

Erica Dewey: Sara

Bradley A. Whitfield: Sam

Jennifer Bishton: Maggi

Lynnae Hitchcock: Bobby

Shannon McDuff: Julia

Joel Beers: Doc

A Revolving Door production of Michael Mollo’s drama. Directed by Mollo. Lights: Joaquin Rodas. Sound: Cary L. Pealer and Chris Dalu. Costumes: Gina Karaba.