A Sorkin morality play in ‘Men’

With his snappy dialogue and rock-ribbed plotting, Aaron Sorkin is one of the better American dramatists of the 1950s. That his career actually began in the late ‘80s is a minor detail that has not deterred his steady ascent in both prestige and popularity -- proving that for all our supposed channel-surfing cynicism, some of us are still suckers for morality plays that end tidily with a verdict and an object lesson.

Sorkin’s 1989 play, “A Few Good Men,” is so old-fashioned that its scattered F words and references to Yoo-hoos seem almost shockingly anachronistic. More typical is a joke military lawyer Dan Kaffee (a swaggering Joel Berti) springs on a stiff-necked Marine (a haunting Sean McGowan) whom he is defending in a trumped-up court martial: “Did you hear the one about the Japanese fighter pilot who hated jazz? He bombed Pearl Bailey.” Naturally the Marine gives him a blank stare.

Similarly grim faces fill the buzz-cut ranks of director David Blanchard’s seamlessly earnest new production at Third Stage -- not least among them Blanchard’s own formidable Donald Pleasance-as-Travis Bickle countenance in the role of Kendrick, a Bible-quoting lieutenant. An impressively martial tone -- drumrolls, patriotic songs and call-and-response drills cover scene changes across Danny Cistone’s set of camouflage and barbed wire -- is sufficiently back-stiffening to prop up our interest, more or less, through the plot’s formulaic turns, in which no subtext is unexplained, no motivation unspoken.

If the result plays more like a solid revival of a well-worn classic than the show’s L.A. premiere, that’s not far off the mark. The cast has no weak links, though Angela Pupello’s swish and bite as Kaffee’s tightly wound colleague are a bit broad for the room. Dick DeCoit, with a scar that tells us as much about his character as any of his lines, seethes memorably as the piece’s unambiguous villain, the grizzled Col. Jessup.

Of course we know how it will all turn out, not because we’ve seen the movie but because Sorkin’s storytelling is as dutiful as any Marine private: He tells us what to expect and then gives it to us. At ease, indeed.

-- Rob Kendt

“A Few Good Men,” Third Stage, 2811 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m. Ends Dec. 20. $15-$20. (818) 842-4755. 2 hours, 40 minutes.

*

‘Shyness Is Nice,’ squalid and funny

“If it weren’t for the murder and the black specter of death hanging over my head, this would be one of the best nights of my life,” admits one of the bewildered roommates trying to make sense of pure chaos in Mark Spitz’s “Shyness Is Nice.”

Amid a raucous, riotous plunge into the most violent intersections of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, perhaps the biggest shock in Spitz’s very black comedy is the sweet coming-of-age story that emerges from all its flash and trash.

In an edgy, take-no-prisoners environmental staging by Suzan Fellman for Burbank’s Alliance Repertory Company, the entire venue is transformed into the grunge-themed apartment of nerdy rock devotees Stew (Adam Legg) and Rodney (Michael Cassady), with walls and ceiling covered in black trash can liners and furniture wrapped in cellophane and black tape.

Rendered with the hilarious precision of a good “Saturday Night Live” skit, Stew and Rodney are still virgins at 30 -- ostensibly in tribute to their celibate idol, Morrissey, but really because they have kept themselves in an emotionally safe state of arrested development, obsessively centering their lives on collectible recordings by their favorite bands.

The messiness of sexuality intrudes on these goofy man-children in an inescapable and hilarious way when their heroin- dealing friend Fitzgerald (played by Jeff Urquhart with a perfect mix of cheerful laissez faire and self-destructive instability) hires a flighty Australian refugee prostitute named Kylie (Erin Underwood) to deflower them.

While Rodney flounders in search of the perfect CD to play, Kylie practically devours Stew, and the resulting clash of awkwardness and aggression is side-splitting. Business turns riskier, however, when Kylie’s pimp, the tattooed, gun-toting Blixa (snarling, volatile Tolly Callaway), turns up to exact vengeance from Fitzgerald, who burned her on the drugs he used to pay for Kylie’s services.

Thanks to fine performances and Spitz’s sparkling dialogue, the laughs are constant throughout, even as the tone darkens amid a torrent of provocative language, violence and nudity. More problematical is the increasingly unbelievable behavior flimsily attributable to drug use -- would anyone follow a murder by phoning for Chinese food delivery? The absurdity undermines the life-changing insights the evening brings to Stew and Rodney.

But if you’re willing to suspend disbelief -- and a lot of value judgments -- this unabashedly squalid little gem has a gleeful charm and logic all its own.

-- Philip Brandes

“Shyness Is Nice,” Alliance Theatre, 3204 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank. Fridays, Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends Dec. 21. $20. (800) 595-4849. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.

*

A worshipful look at the birth of AA

Until May 12, 1935, treatment for alcoholism was administered by well-meaning but clueless crusaders, exemplified by religious organizations like the Oxford Group, who lacked insight into life in the deep trenches of addiction. Not surprisingly, the recidivism rate was horrifying.

The treatment landscape changed with the chance encounter between Bill Wilson, a stockbroker from Brooklyn, and Bob Smith, a surgeon from Akron -- both alcoholics whose drinking had all but destroyed their careers and their family lives. The deceptively simple lesson they discovered in that meeting -- that it takes one to help one -- and the organization they built on it are the subjects of “Bill W. and Dr. Bob,” a biographical dramatization by Samuel Shem and Janet Surrey about the founding of Alcoholics Anonymous.

An often moving revival by the 68 Cent Crew theater company reunites founding director Ronnie Marmo and the principals from last year’s staging at another venue to inaugurate the company’s permanent residence at Theatre 68 on the edge of Hollywood.

Earnest, impassioned performances by the thoroughly professional Charles Hoyes as Bill W. and Art LaFleur as Dr. Bob humanize the stories of these pioneers, with all their personal triumphs and failures. Their dynamic is compelling: New Yorker Bill’s neurotic, visionary fire married to Dr. Bob’s Midwestern pragmatism shows us that successful intervention is as dependent on personality as on principle.

As Bill’s wife, Andrea Birkman embodies the tribulations of innocent bystanders caught up in an alcoholic’s self-destruction with particularly heartbreaking effectiveness.

Nevertheless, the play rarely transcends its serviceable but sometimes pedantic docudrama scripting; a few attempted artistic flourishes, such as the overlapping monologues that frame the story, are simply awkward. This limits the appeal to those who will appreciate the quality performances and the worthwhile message, without too much concern for narrative ingenuity.

Also worth noting are the commitment and hard work (still in progress) in transforming an empty warehouse space into a quality 99-seat theater with excellent sightlines. This is a company that clearly means business.

-- P.B.

“Bill W. and Dr. Bob,” Theatre 68, 5419 Sunset Blvd., Suite D, Los Angeles. Fridays, Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 and 8 p.m. Ends Dec. 21. $20. (323) 769-5800. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes.

Frozen humor in ‘Don’t Hug Me’

Unyielding Scandinavian shtick earmarks “Don’t Hug Me,” Phil and Paul Olson’s hokey-jokey karaoke crowd pleaser now at the Whitefire Theatre in Sherman Oaks.

Subtitled “A Minnesota Love Story With Singin’ and Stuff,” the show occurs at the Bunyan Bar, well delineated by Chris Winfield’s representative setting. Its snappish owner, Gunner Johnson (Jim Doughan, a ringer for Phil Silvers), wishes to sell and move to Florida. Neglected spouse Clara (Pat Musick) wants to stay, being a former Winter Carnival Bunyan Queen, after all.

Bunyan employee (and undiscovered songbird) Bernice (Amanda Tepe, a genuine find) sides with Clara. Her fiance, Kanute (Peter Breitmayer), who is also Gunner’s best friend, wants to buy the Bunyan. Enter sales representative Aarvid (Brad MacDonald), who is hawking the LSS 562, a voice-activated karaoke machine (created by John Ivanoff).

This supplies the musical component, playing spoof hits by fictional chart-topper Sven Yorgenson, a polka prodigy with past ties to both Johnsons. The tune stack features titles like “I’m a Walleye Woman in a Crappie Town,” “Little Ernie Eelpout” and “Victim of My Y Chromosome” (which rhymes “cojones” with “chromo-so-mes”).

Under Paul Kreppel’s sitcom direction, the relentless regional jokes recall the “Great White North” segments from “SCTV” on steroids. The triangular subplot involving Bernice, Kanute and Aarvid sinks in Act 2. Here Aarvid, fearing Kanute’s wrath, pretends to be gay, resulting in stereotyping that would be inexcusable even on “Will & Grace.”

The reviewed performance elicited audience hysteria, which seems a tribute to the peppy troupers trapped in this throwback. Their heroic efforts are futile: “Don’t Hug Me” isn’t a musical but an overstretched Garrison Keillor sketch with synthetic songs and subzero humor.

-- David C. Nichols

“Don’t Hug Me: A Minnesota Love Story With Singin’ and Stuff,” Whitefire Theatre, 13500 Ventura Blvd., Sherman Oaks. Fridays, Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m. Ends Dec. 21. $16. (818) 516-7052. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.