‘Latinologues’ reduces indignities to laughter

Let’s apply Newton’s third law to emotions for a moment. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So despair propels us toward hope, frustration toward accomplishment, tears toward laughter.

Comedy often works on this principle, turning something that ordinarily would prick our anger into something that tickles the ribs. Examples of this can be seen in “Latinologues,” in which writer-director Rick Najera takes some of the sting out of illegal immigration, menial labor and prejudice by getting people to laugh at them. His ever-expanding repertoire of monologues and sketches keeps turning up in Southern California, this time in the small Studio space at the Coronet Theatre.

A highlight of this edition is Najera’s portrayal of an effusive movie executive whose hilariously awful ideas for the Latino market include “My Big Fat Mexican Quinceanera” and “ ‘Titanico’ -- Cubans on a raft with a slow leak.”

More poignant is the tale of a hyper-macho busboy (Fernando Carrillo) whose ego gets bruised by the blond of his American dreams, and the story of a pregnant young woman of Dominican descent (Monica Ortiz) who calls herself “the virgin of the Bronx” and insists the guy who impregnated her must be an angel “because he just vanished.”

The most powerful monologue focuses on an earnest, affable janitor (Joseph Perez Bertot) who takes great pride in his work and thinks he’s found a perfect life working in New York high-rise office buildings until a certain day in September 2001.

As with any comedy show, this one lapses at times. Signs of desperation emerge when Najera must duplicate a gag -- a second banana mindlessly echoing the words of his superior -- to try to pump up sketches about a drug lord (Carrillo) and a Chicano student group (with Paul Saucido).

Still, the hip, young audience at a recent performance kept the room filled with laughter.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“Latinologues,” Coronet Studio Theatre, 366 N. La Cienega Blvd., L.A. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m. Ends Aug. 30. Cast and monologues may vary. $20. (310) 657-7377. Running time: 1 hour, 20 minutes.

*

Strong testimonial to sibling devotion

Rare vitality and soul-searching honesty accompany “Batman & Robin in the Boogie Down” at the Elephant Theatre in Hollywood. Writer-performer Juliette Jeffers’ solo elegy to her late brother and the Caped Crusader fantasies of their traumatic Bronx childhood is an effective showcase for a remarkable talent.

The Caribbean American Jeffers, familiar from such TV series as “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,” displays imposing range. From initial appearance dragging a metaphoric suitcase to final tableau with same, Jeffers has a death grip on both her craft and her audience.

Act 1 offers Jeffers’ recollections of how television’s Gotham City offered escape from sexual abuse and neighborhood violence for her and elder brother Lloyd. Act 2 brings Lloyd’s chronicle of the same events, as Jeffers channels his viewpoint to achieve communion and closure.

Under Reggie Rock Bythewood’s strong direction, the designs are adroit, with Kirk Herzbrun and Terilyn A. Shropshire’s atmospheric soundscape especially helpful.

This is a deeply personal labor of love, essentially beyond criticism. However, if Jeffers’ synoptic trajectory is knowingly drawn, it doesn’t always sustain its structure. There are unnecessary digressions, over-explicated passages, and Jonas Chaka’s tickling human beat-box is underused.

Yet, although “Batman & Robin” might have greater festival viability if refined to one searing double-edged act, Jeffers’ gifts are undeniable, and easily recommend this funny, touching testimonial to the power of sibling devotion.

-- David C. Nichols

“Batman & Robin in the Boogie Down,” Elephant Theatre, 6322 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Thursday-Saturdays, 8 p.m. Ends Saturday. $20. (323) 769-6242. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.

*

Music lifts story of aspiring singer

A funny thing happened to “Black Olive” on the way to its inaugural production at Stage 52. Originally workshopped as an R&B; musical set to the music of the late Marvin Gaye, writer-director Mark Swinton’s morality tale about the tribulations of an aspiring singer in 1960s Harlem hit a major snag when Gaye’s estate denied performance rights to the songs. That setback proved the best thing that could have happened to Swinton, who turned to hip-hop musicians Professor Taka, K.B. and Tarik to craft original music and lyrics in the style of Motown hits.

The songwriting team came through with a score that skillfully conjures up the era’s soul-stirring R&B; explosion, including affectionate stylistic nods to Gaye, the Supremes, Ike and Tina Turner and other Motown figures.

The score’s balance of freshness and familiarity adds plenty of punch to Swinton’s heartfelt though far-from-subtle story of Terrell (Johnny Gilmore), a rural farmhand who moves to Harlem to pursue a singing career. Terrell’s heart is a mile wide, just waiting to be trampled by the cynical sophisticates of the club scene, who deride him despite his obvious talent (Gilmore’s superb voice requires no suspension of disbelief here).

Terrell must also care for his brother Pooh (John Jones), a sweet-tempered but mentally disabled innocent with “USDA sacrificial lamb” stamped all over him. Naturally, there’s a beautiful girl (Ashley Davis), whom Terrell meets at his boarding house and who joins him for romantic ballads and inspires him to his higher nature.

Frustrated by constant failure, however, Terrell succumbs to the easy money of the drug trade, falling under the spell of shark-like Big Daddy (Derek “Khalfani” Morgan). The resulting battle for Terrell’s soul is fairly heavy-handed and predictable (especially when interrupted by evangelical commentary from a jarringly classical Greek chorus). But conveying Terrell’s story through song instills it with emotional urgency, thanks to a powerhouse three-piece band led by Russell Jackson. Lively choreography by Sandy Alvarez and Nicole Smith includes a Broadway-caliber showstopper in which an ensemble of Waldorf-Astoria employees erupt in joyful athleticism.

Overall, the piece could lose about 20 minutes of peripheral subplots and redundant musical numbers. But Swinton provides a great service in resurrecting the classic R&B; sound without sugar-coated nostalgia -- instead, his dramatic context helps us remember the connection between the gritty street scene and the soulful music that transcended it.

-- Philip Brandes

“Black Olive,” Stage 52, 5299 Washington Blvd., Los Angeles. Thursdays, Fridays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays, 2 and 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m. Ends June 19. $25. (213) 480-3232. Running time: 2 hours, 40 minutes.

*

‘Mating Game’ a little past its prime

Of the various theatrical genres generated on Broadway, the sex comedy is perhaps the most moribund. The cultural innocence against which the bedroom antics of “Mary, Mary” or “Cactus Flower” register vanished from the American landscape several decades ago.

This is the principal (though hardly isolated) difficulty facing Woodland Hills Theatre’s local premiere of “The Mating Game” at the West Valley Playhouse.

Robin Hawdon’s play about a talk-show star’s closet virginity is allegedly a sex farce, but little onstage supports the allegation.

“Mating Game” concerns Draycott Harris (Zander Schaus), a Manhattan television personality with a womanizer’s reputation, established in his opening scene with hot-to-trot Honey Tooks (Jennifer Taylor). It transpires that Draycott’s ladies’-man rep is a sham: America’s heartthrob has yet to experience coitus.

Hawdon draws his polyurethane plot entirely around this transparent premise.

All-too-foreseeable complications involve Draycott’s randy brother, James (David L. Corrigan); suspicious penthouse manager, Mrs. Finney (Beverly Caplan); and adoring secretary (and fellow sexual neophyte), Julia (Katharine Phillips Moser).

Director Jon Berry keeps things brisk, and the designs are slick. Actually, Victoria Profitt’s bachelor-pad set draws bigger laughs than the mainly community-theater-level performances or dinner-theater-quality script ever manage. “I’ve been wept on, stepped on and practically slept on!” is a representative one-liner.

Though the sincerity of all concerned is obvious, “Mating Game” is dated and lame; assembly-line playwright Tim Kelly’s canon seems like Neil Simon by comparison.

-- D.C.N.

“The Mating Game,” West Valley Playhouse, 7242 Owensmouth Ave., Canoga Park. Friday, Saturday, 8 p.m.; Sunday, 2:30 p.m. Ends Sunday. (818) 884-1907. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

*

Productions both one act too long

Admission may be free, but there’s still too high a price to be paid for sitting through “Fool’s Gold” and “The Ape” at Playhouse West Studio 2.

These meandering, witless one-acts by James Franco (who also directed) and Merriwether Williams bear all the symptoms of acting-class students performing acting-class exercises for an audience of acting-class students. For anyone else, they’re toxic viewing.

The opener, “Fool’s Gold,” is centered on, of all things, an acting class. Trading entirely on the cocky swagger that served him far better in TNT’s James Dean biography, Franco plays Brent, a self-absorbed aspiring actor whose attempts at manipulating others to advance his career predictably backfire. The smarmy, unpleasant tone is set early on when, at Brent’s suggestion, his fellow acting-class student and roommate (Vince Jolivette) uses a scene rehearsal from “The G-Menagerie” as a pretext to seduce his scene partner (Stacey Miller).

In the course of an endless run of pointless Hollywood name-dropping and insider jokes, Brent maneuvers a vulnerable character named Chloe Spielberg (Robyn Cohen) into getting him an audition with her famous director dad. Did I mention that the results are predictable? They’re also startlingly unimaginative and downright lazy -- in the acting class and audition scenes, for example, the voices of the unseen instructor and director are represented by staccato wah-wahs from a muted trumpet, ducking altogether the tiresome burden of writing actual dialogue.

“The Ape” proves equally excruciating. For a change of pace, here Franco plays Harry, a self-absorbed aspiring writer whose attempts at manipulating others to advance his career predictably backfire. Imagine Harry’s discomfort upon learning that his newly leased Manhattan apartment is occupied by a talking gorilla, then multiply by 10 to determine your own discomfort level watching this cross-breeding of “The Odd Couple” with a simian version of “Mister Ed.”

-- P.B.

“Fool’s Gold” and “The Ape,” Playhouse West Studio 2, 10634 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood. Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m.; ends June 29. Free. (818) 955-7013. Running time: 2 hours, 55 minutes.