Macheath Is Back in Town

Bertolt Brecht, radical theatrical innovator that he remains, benefits from a strong hand on the throttle of his dramatic invention.

Unfortunately, the trains don’t run on time in “The Threepenny Opera” at A Noise Within, and director Walton Jones seldom evidences the strong-arm efficiency that would bring his derivative and unfocused staging into sharper relief. Like the Weimer Republic in which Brecht and Kurt Weill’s musical masterwork was initially written, this production, the West Coast professional premiere of Michael Feingold’s self-consciously raw-edged translation, suffers from an ideological vacuum at its heart--and a concomitant disorganization around its edges.

There’s plenty of sturm, drang and grittiness on display here, commencing with the wrenching opening image, a frozen tableau of hollow-cheeked starvelings that could have been lifted from the photographic archives of the Holocaust Museum. It’s a resonant opening salvo, a visual manifesto that puts us on notice: In the moment-to-moment exigencies of these lower depths, only survivors need apply.

On the surface at least, this is an impressive show, particularly in terms of the superlative design elements--Angela Balogh Calin’s witty hodgepodge of costumes, all beggarly rags, tags and velvet gowns; Rick Ortenblad’s stunningly Stygian set, which puts one in mind of an oversized Roach Motel; even the prevalent makeup scheme of uniformly ashen faces overlaid with grime. But the impact remains primarily visual, seldom impinging upon any emotional core. Neither do we experience a sense of true Brechtian alienation from what seems essentially a road show version of suffering humanity.

There are some flights of imaginative fancy in this stylistic potpourri. An amusingly whiny version of a ‘30s Fed, corrupt police chief Tiger Brown (Robert Pescovitz), gesticulates in front of a black-and-white blowup of Robert Stack; vicious Constable Smith (Kenneth R. Merckx Jr.) sports a prosthetic potbelly and a “Heat of the Night” Southern accent that would do Rod Steiger proud.

However, like jazz riffs in a funeral dirge, these playful touches occur so infrequently that they are ultimately more jarring than diverting. And speaking of jazz, musical directors Jeff Rizzo and Victoria Bradford have not conquered the apparent uneasiness of some novice singers within the cast, who seem baffled by the challenging dissonance of Weill’s score.

As Macheath, the formidable Geoff Elliott commands the stage with a reptilian intensity that threatens to overwhelm Erika Ackerman’s bird-like, twittering Polly. A social climber in a sewer, Deborah Strang strikes the perfect note of smug opportunism as Mrs. Peachum, the procuress wife of beggar leader Peachum (Mitchell Edmonds). And as the traitorous whore Jenny Diver, Becca Rauscher possesses a concentrated athleticism that stands out among the general diffuseness.

BE THERE

“The Threepenny Opera,” 234 S. Brand Blvd., Glendale. Saturday, 2 and 8 p.m.; Wednesday-April 17, 8 p.m.; April 20, 7 p.m.; April 24-25, 8 p.m.; April 26, 2 p.m.; April 30-May 2, 8 p.m.; May 4, 2 and 7 p.m. $20-$24. (818) 546-1924.