Varla Jean gives it her all

The holidays can be hard on anyone, but they’re especially trying for Varla Jean Merman, the genetically unfortunate chanteuse who claims to be the love child of Ethel Merman and Ernest Borgnine.

A devotee of show business practices several decades past, Varla Jean (otherwise known as Jeffery Roberson) believes that a performer hasn’t made it until she has appeared in her own Christmas television special. Tired of waiting for the industry to notice her, she pushes ahead, as best she can, with “Varla Jean Merman’s Holiday Ham!” That she must settle for the stage -- the Renberg Theatre at the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center -- instead of network television is but one in a lifetime of disappointments.

Crowned with a mountain of auburn hair and packed into sequined gowns, the tall, solidly built Roberson is at once ungainly and surprisingly sleek as he struts and shimmies in his best imitation of a ‘60s-era vixen. When singing, he approximates a remarkably crystalline soprano, a talent that -- as proved in previous local engagements -- sets him apart from his drag brethren.

Varla Jean tries to make an elegant entrance while singing “Ave Maria,” but things nearly turn tragic when she finds herself juggling three candles that are dripping hot wax onto her fingers. Deftly directed by Michael Schiralli, the rest of the show delivers such daffy delights as a deliciously Streisand-esque version of “Jingle Bells,” a wacky medley of “Carol of the Bells” and the disco anthem “Ring My Bell” (complete with hand bells), and a surprise appearance by Varla Jean’s beloved Ann-Margret (Maggie Moore, doing a wicked impersonation).

Varla Jean gives her all, despite the continual heckling of her piano player, the priceless Ricky Ritzel. Yet time and again, the message of the season -- family, babies -- dredges up painful memories. Varla Jean gets a bit weepy when this happens, but she’s a survivor. And that just makes her all the more fabulous.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“Varla Jean Merman’s Holiday Ham!” L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center’s Renberg Theatre, 1125 N. McCadden Place, L.A. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends Dec. 22. $25. (323) 860-7300. Running time: 1 hour, 20 minutes.

*

Letters detail family drama

With the Internet steadily debasing the written word, there is a courageous quality to “Transports of the Heart: Letters Through the Ages” at Write Act Repertory Company in Hollywood. Clyde Derrick and Gene Franklin Smith’s readers’ theater piece celebrates the supremacy of epistolary communication and the eternal pull of family ties.

Meg Kruszewska’s clean staging puts content front and center, with the imaginatively juxtaposed selections taking in historic figures spanning the centuries. From Abelard’s Heloise to Galileo, Thomas Jefferson to Amelia Earhart, their excerpted writings create a consistently intriguing collage of social issues viewed through a personal filter.

The Marquess of Queensbury’s denunciation of Oscar Wilde abuts modern-day gay American John Johnson’s wistful plea for paternal tolerance. Calamity Jane whoops it up in a letter to her daughter, while Groucho Marx takes hilarious shots at the brothers Warner. The conjoined letters of Marie Antoinette, Ethel Rosenberg and AIDS activist Mary Fisher to their children form a wrenching fugue, and so it goes.

The tech is spare and effective, notably Bob Decew’s lighting. The versatile ensemble consists of Graham Barnard, Lisa Cassandra, Wendy Gough, Ben Livingston, Scott O’Connor, Maggie Peach, Steve Peterson, Pamela Salem and Karen Marie Seigel, all of them wonderful.

True, such small-scaled, specialized theater seems ultimately suited to the academic circuit, a natural for Los Angeles school district audiences. Nonetheless, “Transports” is keenly thought-provoking and genuinely educational, which easily recommends it.

-- David C. Nichols

“Transports of the Heart: Letters Through the Ages,” Write Act Theatre at St. Stephen’s Church, 6128 Yucca, Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends Dec. 22. $20-25. (323) 860-8894. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.

*

‘Genius’ falls short of humor, logic

Whatever hopes and expectations might be fueled in anticipation of a play titled “The Genius,” the hard reality at the Bitter Truth Playhouse falls far short of them.

Mitch Giannunzio’s romantic comedy strains for laughs in reworking the artist-fakes-own-death-to-increase-value-of-work caper -- a scenario that hasn’t gained much traction since that screwball 1965 Dick Van Dyke vehicle “The Art of Love.”

This tamer three-character descendant blunts even the edge of deliberate roguery, revolving instead around a misunderstanding that could easily be cleared up at any point but isn’t for no apparent reason other than that, if it were, there would be no story left. There’s an intriguing epistemological tautology wrapped somewhere around that narrative axle, but it would take a real genius to unravel it, and there’s none to be found anywhere on this stage.

Instead, we’re left with the more mundane conundrums facing a weak-willed aspiring writer named Gerald (Matthew Godfrey) and his dotty Aunt Dottie (Jill Basey), a late-blooming amateur painter whose raw brilliance is to be accepted as a given.

Seeking a professional sales channel for Dottie’s work, Gerald turns to his old unrequited school heartthrob, Sara (Emilie Davezac), now divorced and the owner of a hip new gallery. After declaring her discriminating disdain for new painters, Sara is naturally smitten with Dottie’s work and promptly lapses into a marketing reverie predicated on the artist being deceased.

In hopes of kindling a romance, Gerald can’t bring himself to correct Sara’s mistaken impression, which leads to the predictable scandal and legal repercussions when a drunken Dottie reveals the truth at her posthumous high-profile opening.

In scenes bouncing between a split set of Dottie’s rural cabin and Sara’s gallery, improbabilities mount at every turn. Lapses in internal logic are glaring, but it’s the absence of a reason to root for any of these characters that proves the truly insurmountable hurdle facing director Joen Nielsen Lewis. Dottie is cantankerous without charm, and Gerald is too spineless to earn our interest, much less Sara’s love. While Sara is a self-absorbed prancing pony, Davezac’s accomplished comic timing offers the one bright spot in an otherwise undistinguished effort.

-- Philip Brandes

“The Genius,” the Bitter Truth Playhouse, 11050 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 2 and 7 p.m. Ends Dec. 29. $15. (818) 766-9702. Running time: 1 hour, 55 minutes.

*

Modern-day nativity scene

The sight of a homeless, modern-day Joseph pushing a pregnant Mary through the streets in a shopping cart is but one of many vivid images in Grupo de Teatro Sinergia’s “Pastorela.”

Devised by director Ruben Amavizca and his actors, this reworking of a traditional Christmas pastorela unfolds in an urban park very much like MacArthur Park, just a couple of blocks from where alternating Spanish- and English-language versions of the show are being presented in the Unity Arts Center’s Frida Kahlo Theater. The setting becomes a potent symbol of Los Angeles -- a place where people from many walks of life brush shoulders yet never really notice one another until a miracle brings them together.

A centuries-old tradition, the pastorela, or shepherd’s play, is told from the viewpoint of the flock watchers, who, on their way to visit the newborn Jesus, are waylaid by devils who want to prevent such adoration. Typically, each community peppers its version with local references and commentary.

Here Jose (Sergio Lennell Guido) searches for a place for Maria (April Ibarra, alternating with Juanita Devis) to give birth, while a prostitute (Marina Dena-Santo) wrestles with her conscience as she prepares to abandon her daughter (the incandescent Jeanine Monterroza) in hopes that the youngster will find a fuller life with someone else. Amid references to immigration searches, fake green cards and confiscation of unlicensed vendors’ wares, these disadvantaged families receive assistance from a poor flower seller (Teresita Cuadrado), a voluptuous store clerk (Jacqueline Caldero-Guido), a cow escaped from a transport truck (Arely-Lorena Araniva) and an angelic gardener (Pete Leal).

The devil disguises himself as an officer of the law (a swaggering Edwin Rivera Corcios) and gains a follower when a meddlesome Asian store owner (Laura Vega) begins to rat on her neighbors. Though presented comically, these characterizations can be painful to watch. Consciously or not, they indicate how far Los Angeles must progress before it can achieve true unity.

Much of this will fly over younger children’s heads, as will the handful of bawdy bits. Still, “Pastorela” could prove enlightening for many kids, and they’ll get to swing at a pinata at show’s end.

-- D.H.M.

“Pastorela,” Unity Arts Center’s Frida Kahlo Theater, 2332 W. 4th St., L.A. In Spanish: Fridays, 7 p.m.; Saturdays, 5 p.m.; Sundays, 2 p.m. In English: Saturdays, 2 p.m.; Sundays, 5 p.m. Ends Dec. 21. $10; $8, students and seniors; $5, children younger than 12. (213) 382-8133. Running time: 55 minutes.

*

Equal time for male private parts

Not so long ago, public discussion of one’s private parts was frowned upon by polite society. Now, people can’t seem to hear enough, as “The Vagina Monologues” phenomenon continues to grow and the two-month run of a copycat piece, “The Penis Monologues,” has been extended.

The discussion sparked by Eve Ensler’s “Vagina Monologues” has been healthy, and Willard Manus contributes some intriguing -- if not exactly earth-shattering -- observations about men and their reproductive organs in his new play.

The show is playing through Saturday at the Jewel Box Theatre Center in Hollywood and will move in January to the Odyssey Theatre in West Los Angeles. Whereas Ensler based her show on interviews with 200 women, Manus has meshed his own writing with excerpts from works by Philip Roth, Charles Bukowski, John Rechy, Hubert Selby Jr., Pedro Juan Gutierrez and others.

The compilation benefits enormously from a crisp concert-reading-style staging by Louis Fantasia and playful performances by John Aniston (father of Jennifer and known to soap lovers as Victor Kiriakis on “Days of Our Lives”), John DiFusco (key creator of the Vietnam War drama “Tracers”) and Leon Morenzie (so powerful earlier this year in International City Theatre’s “ ‘Master Harold’ ... and the boys”).

Seated at music stands and reading from scripts in what looks vaguely like a rec room, the actors share their insecurities about size, contemplate whether men really think with their crotches, consider the fears -- founded and unfounded -- that their loins have inspired, weigh the pros and cons of condoms and circumcision, and so on.

Some segments directly copy “The Vagina Monologues” -- e.g., “If your penis got dressed, what would it wear?” -- but most strike off in new directions.

Among the most powerful moments: DiFusco’s howl of pain as he reads from the Ron Kovic memoir “Born on the Fourth of July,” describing the high price that one paralyzed soldier paid for his country.

-- D.H.M.

“The Penis Monologues,” Jewel Box Theatre Center, 1951 Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood. Friday, Saturday, 8 p.m. Ends Saturday. $10-$15. (323) 469-4434. Moves Jan. 3 to the Odyssey Theatre, 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., West L.A. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends. Jan. 26. $19.50-$23.50. (310) 477-2055. Running time: 1 hour, 5 minutes.