Language Is ‘Voice of the Hero’s’ Star

Understanding upfront that language itself occupies center stage is enormously helpful preparation for approaching Natalie Avital’s “The Voice of the Hero” at the upstairs Flight Theatre of the Complex in Hollywood. The show’s strengths and limitations are defined as much by Avital’s writing--an impassioned fusion of rap and traditional poetry--as they are by conventional stagecraft.

Dual casting from the ranks of an artistically ambitious but young ensemble introduces a random element of performance quality, and puts the focus even more on the message than its delivery.

Further strengthening its affinity with the spoken word, the evening warms up with an intense half-hour pre-show recital by either Steven Connell or Greg Crooks.

Within the thin but serviceable framework of a late-night talk radio show, Avital has scripted a moody octet for the voices of loners and misfits who call in to bounce their deepest secrets off the compulsively rhyming DJ Jeff (Josh Covitt).

Don’t look for realism here--we know right off that this all takes place in some alternate talk-radio universe because no one blames former President Clinton for anything. Instead, the callers follow Jeff’s mocking exhortation to “self-kiss your wounds with an ice cream tongue” in a series of sometimes evocative, sometimes tedious monologues.

The principal caller is Mark (Matthew Harris), a surprisingly thoughtful and eloquent street hustler unexpectedly forced to confront his own mortality. Having attracted something of a following through his frequent calls, Mark is the ostensible reference point for the other characters, who, in commenting on his situation, turn him into a projector screen for their interior dramas.

At one point, Mark dismisses a belligerent religious fanatic (Brian Lennon) as “just another ugly voice on the radio”--but it’s a distinction without significance in a category that applies equally to the entire menagerie on display here.

In this predominantly static cycle of voices, the limited dramatic arc involves our realization that Jeff is more central to the action than his detached commentator role at first suggests.

But the atmosphere of relentless brooding dampens any sense of real movement, with only the periodic visitations from a mystical feminine archetype (Hilary Hesse, sharing the role with Avital) hinting at the possibility of transcendental peace.

What this work--or at least this viewer--cries out for is to vary the tone with some levity.

Philip Brandes

“Voice of the Hero,” Flight Theatre at the Complex, 6476 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Thursdays-Sundays, 8 p.m. Ends July 21. $15. (323) 883-1509. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

*

‘The Years’ Aims to Be Modern Chekhov

“The Years,” receiving its local premiere as the inaugural offering of the UNITAS Theatre Company, begins with heroine Andrea (Michelle Correa) being mugged en route to her wedding. Her assailant (Terik Guindy), more significant than initially apparent, expresses pointed remorse even while absconding with the money.

Meanwhile, preparations are bustling at Andrea’s Minneapolis home, courtesy of take-charge cousin Isabella (Renee DeBevoise) and her sensitive sibling Andrew (Andrew Salamone). This parallel pair voice concern over Andrea and her sister Eloise (Nikki Braendlin), considering the recent loss of the sisters’ parents. Next, Eloise discovers husband Jeffrey (Greg James) is philandering, barely digesting this before Andrea’s bruised arrival.

That’s just for starters, with Cindy Lou Johnson’s 1992 dramedy vaulting two decades, taking in another marriage and mugging and a memorial by the final curtain. Charles Waxberg stages this attempt at modern Chekhov with a measure of technical resourcefulness and excessive acting-class maneuvers, permitting his likable cast lavish internal moments at the expense of pace.

The snappy DeBevoise and the understated Braendlin most successfully override this. Correa and Salamone fare best with emotional peaks and comic zingers, respectively.

Guindy makes roughly half of his twists ring true, more than James’ stilted adulterer manages, while Craig Christman’s arbitrarily written drunk is most notable for his front-row entrance.

Johnson’s script merges genuinely quirky humor with overly exposed construction, displaying subtext and foreshadowing like epaulets. This, along with sanitized dialogue scarcely representative of young moderns anywhere, ultimately resembles a relatively literate pilot for Oxygen TV.

David C. Nichols

“The Years,” Stella Adler Studio Theatre, 6733 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. Tuesdays-Thursdays, 8 p.m. Ends Aug. 8. $10-$15. (323) 993-5775. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.

*

Deception Cloaked in Tradition in ‘Gumsimao’

Ancient Chinese culture and contemporary freedoms collide in a big way in “Gumsimao,” a new play by Jean Colonomos that examines one of the stranger child-rearing mutations lurking beneath the veneer of assimilation in our melting-pot society.

Inspired by a true story recounted to Colonomos in a chance conversation, this quirky drama, set in New York City during the 1970s, revolves in kaleidoscopic fashion around Kenny (Alma Cielo), the daughter of tradition-obsessed parents who raise her as a son. It’s a decision that has profound consequences for Kenny’s self-concept as she goes from childhood through high school concealing her true gender. Think “Boys Don’t Cry” with chopsticks.

The primary challenge here is establishing a credible reason for this bizarre circumstance, successfully achieved through Michael Yama’s potent portrayal of Kenny’s relentlessly autocratic father, Weiman. In a splintered series of confessions, Weiman reveals his guilt over being the only survivor of a doomed family who sacrificed everything to smuggle him out of China, and the ancient pressure he feels to continue their line at all costs.

Weiman’s arranged marriage to the equally traditional Maeling (Cici Lau), a paragon of domestic docility, sets the stage for their desperate stratagem when they fail to produce a male child. They even go as far as arranging Kenny’s marriage to an already-pregnant girl--a move that will preserve the good name of both families, but at the terrible price of imprisoning the two youths in a relationship built on a lie.

It’s the last straw for Kenny, already in turmoil over keeping her secret from the boy she’s attracted to, her lifelong friend Colin (Ogie Zulueta). The pretext of a heart murmur spares Kenny the anatomical revelations of gym class, but the sensitive yearnings she can’t conceal lead Colin to conclude his buddy is gay. Horribly conflicted between her sense of family loyalty and her feelings for Colin, Kenny assumes the nickname “Lyman” as the overly symbolic expression of a persona built on deception.

In telling Kenny’s story, Colonomos employs a fractured chronology that her program notes trace to the influence of choreographer Merce Cunningham. But narrative isn’t dance, and this trendy, overworked technique, which skirts character interplay by relying on revelatory monologues, proves double-edged.

On the plus side, the juxtaposition of scenes from various points in Kenny’s life ingeniously mirrors her fragmented identity. Although the events are not terribly difficult to follow--the sequence of episodes follows a coherent thematic, if not temporal, flow--the intellectual challenge of this puzzle-box presentation impedes emotional involvement with Kenny and her predicament.

Jennifer J. Yun’s visually stylish staging makes good use of the expansive Playwrights’ Arena venue (still following a self-imposed 99-seat limit), incorporating traditional Chinese elements, such as tapestries, red silk costumes and even a narrator (Cathleen Chin) who mimes I Ching coin tosses while reciting cryptic fortune-cookie aphorisms. The play achieves broader resonance, however, with its heartbreaking depiction of the way parents can make their innocent children pay the price for their own unfulfilled needs.

P.B.

“Gumsimao,” Playwrights’ Arena at the Los Angeles Theatre Center, 514 S. Spring St., Los Angeles. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m. Ends July 21. $15-$20. (213) 473-0640 or (213) 485-1631. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.

*

Brotherly Behavior That Spans the Centuries

Two brothers, as different as night and day. One is open-minded and generous, the other judgmental and tightfisted. Each is trying to pass his values on to a son--an effort that is about to yield comic surprises.

Though written in 160 BC, “The Brothers,” by the Roman playwright Terence, remains a keen study of human behavior, carried along on a wave of farcical humor. It can still lay ‘em in the aisles, as is demonstrated in a free outdoor presentation by the Action/Reaction Theater Company in Glendale’s Brand Park.

The performance is given on the lawn in front of the Doctor’s House, a Victorian structure with twin latticework-trimmed porches that frame separate entries. As incongruous as this might seem, it actually serves as a credible approximation of the multi-door facades that the Romans used.

Besides, the playful mishmash of styles is what makes this production so much fun. While Don Nelson’s colorful, toga-like costumes evoke ancient times, the witty new translation by Christopher Pearson speaks in a present-day vernacular of such phrases as “I’m out of here,” “Get a grip” and “I’m dead meat.”

The action occasionally stalls, but most of the time, it zips along--under Michael Holmes’ direction--in a frenzy of eye-bulging, hair-pulling angst and reeling, party-hearty merriment.

Micio (Walter Beery) is a liberal-minded urban bachelor who, because he is wealthier, is raising one son for his conservative rural brother, Demea (Joseph M. Hoffman), while Demea raises the other son on his own. The boys reflect their upbringings: Aeschinus (Michael Beck) looks, talks and acts like a carefree surfer dude, while Ctesipho (Jason Lynn Thomas) is a clean-cut bundle of nerves. The crafty slave Syrus (Kelly Franett) helps guide both sets of brothers toward a better understanding of themselves, while Geta (Thomas Sullivan), attached to the household next to Micio’s, pumps up the comedy by vacillating, when upset, between histrionic wreck and “WWE Smackdown!”-type tough guy.

In both generations, it is the brother accused of loose morals who turns out to be more truly moral--a twist still in use in any number of sitcoms.

Daryl H. Miller

“The Brothers,” Brand Park, 1601 W. Mountain St., at Grandview Ave., Glendale. Today and Sunday, and July 19-20, 7:30 p.m. Ends July 20. Free. Call (818) 786-1045 to secure seating in the provided plastic chairs, or bring blankets or lawn chairs. Running time: 1 hour, 55 minutes.