A family’s ruin in an eyeblink

Adam Rapp’s one-man play, “Nocturne,” now in its Southern California premiere at the Black Dahlia Theatre, opens with a blatant hook -- the decapitation of a child. Although his drama contains flashes of brilliance, Rapp does not avoid all of the pitfalls contingent upon that circumstance.

As the lights go up, the Son (Adam Stein) baldly states, “Fifteen years ago, I killed my sister.” What follows is an exhaustive recounting of the tragedy and its aftermath. At 17, the Son, a budding piano prodigy, was driving home from work when he hit his little sister on the street outside their Joliet, Ill., home. That defining moment in the Son’s life has had not a ripple effect but the tidal destructiveness of a massive glacial collapse, one that emotionally froze the Son and his parents at impact.

The title is inspired by Grieg’s famous “Nocturne,” and indeed, the play is divided into music-like movements. Within that structure, the hero’s ponderings turn occasionally preposterous, as when he speculates whether his little sister made a suicidal dash in front of his car to escape the smothering sterility of American suburban life. Typically, however, Rapp’s rap is more subtle than that, with ameliorating moments of intelligence and poeticism.

Subtle too is Stein’s performance. Under Matt Shakman’s direction, Stein addresses his demanding role with an authoritative restraint that is almost meditative. Beautifully lit by Mike Durst, Craig Siebels’ sets are ingeniously suggestive of the protagonist’s progression, both emotional and circumstantial. Despite its flaws, Rapp’s richly internalized drama has the virtuosic specificity of an Anita Brookner novel.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Nocturne,” Black Dahlia Theatre, 5453 West Pico Blvd., Los Angeles. Wednesdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends Feb. 15. $20. (866) 468-3399. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.

*

AIDS drama ‘As Is’ revived

William M. Hoffman’s “As Is” was first produced in 1985, when AIDS was still an arcane malady with no effective drug protocols. Along with Larry Kramer’s “The Normal Heart,” which opened at roughly the same time, Hoffman’s is a groundbreaking AIDS play, one of the first of the genre. “As Is” quickly transferred from off-Broadway to Broadway and went on to win a Tony for best play.

Considering the surging AIDS infection rates, Hoffman’s play bears repeating. However, the Blank Theatre Company’s revival at the 2nd Stage yields mixed results.

The play catches its characters in freefall from the heady euphoria of post-Stonewall sexual freedom into terrible, dawning awareness. Rich (Neil Fournier), an up-and-coming poet, has left his lover, Saul (Edward Flores), for a younger and hunkier “muse” (John Srednicki). But when Rich contracts the disease, it is the loyal Saul who shoulders the brunt of his care.

Daniel Henning treats the material with a light but firm hand, maximizing the piece’s intrinsic gallows’ wit at every possible turn. However, that wit turns preciously arch in the exchanges between Saul and Rich. Although the tone of the play is stylized and slightly heightened, the central characters of Saul and Rich cannot lapse into artifice. Despite game attempts, Fournier and Flores fail to establish a believable romantic chemistry -- a shortcoming that keeps us at an unfortunate emotional distance.

An essential moment of catharsis is finally reached in Rich’s meeting with his terrified brother (the excellent Mark Arnold), whose wrenching breakdown in Rich’s hospital room inspires our raw empathy and pity. The cast also includes the first-rate Ellen Ratner as an ex-nun turned hospice worker -- a no-frills saint for troubled times.

-- F.K.F.

“As Is,” 2nd Stage Theatre, 6500 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends Feb. 29. $20. (323) 661-9827. Running time: 1 hour, 20 minutes.

*

Cissy Conner takes flight

Audiences with airplane issues may appreciate “Plane Crazy” at the Fremont Centre in South Pasadena. Writer-performer Cissy Conner’s multicharacter sendup of current air-current currency is a loop-the-loopy laugh ride.

The trip is hardly free from turbulence. “Plane Crazy’s” intent registers at once, thanks to Victoria Profitt’s first-rate first-class cabin set and the terminal-styled announcements.

Then Conner boards the aisle, dragging that suitcase-on-wheels seen in every airport in the world behind her. Her flight attendant’s uniform is pristine, even the skirt Conner is donning while muttering, “Security breeds ... insecurity.” Her litany of indignities segues into the opening number, a modified take on Robert Lindsey Nassif’s “To Tame the Sky” (from Harold Prince’s musical “3hree,” seen at the Ahmanson in 2001).

This pressurized-cabin cabaret reveals Conner to be a pert talent in the Bonnie Hunt mold. Under Dan Belzer’s musical direction, Conner has an agreeable dusky voice, delivers satiric jabs and physical bits with clockwork timing and possesses a knack for instant personas, like Conner’s spot-on Cher, who confers with Sonny’s ghost on her in-flight stereo headset. A twisted sing-a-long follows. As late-period Katharine Hepburn, Conner’s wobble is erratic, but the voice is correct (though her younger Kate lacks nasal bite). And the original creations, like country diva Loretta LaRue or deadpan hostess Taffy Pull, are a hoot.

Director Bob Garrett can’t quite disguise the piano-bar contours. Conner’s celebrated Dietrich impression isn’t well integrated, and some dead spots amid the rewritten lyrics require refueling. Yet the buoyant gifts of its wacky star keep this daft red-eye flying by, and bring “Plane Crazy” to a happy, lap-strapped landing.

-- David C. Nichols

“Plane Crazy,” Fremont Centre Theatre, 1000 Fremont Ave., South Pasadena. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m. Ends Feb. 29. $16-$20. (562) 901-9799. Running time: 1 hour, 5 minutes.

*

1970 satire has present-day bite

Jules Feiffer’s “The White House Murder Case” is more than three decades old, but get a load of its topics: the specter of biological warfare, questionable intelligence reports, information spoon-fed to the media, policy shaped by the latest polls.

A stumblebum comedy driven by ego and opportunism, “Murder” pingpongs between a nightmarish battlefield and a secretive White House, imagining how destiny-shaping decisions really get made. Though first presented in 1970, during the Vietnam War, the play makes no specific reference to that conflict. In a Theatre Neo presentation at the Hudson Theatres in Hollywood, the satire seems newly minted.

Director Matt Kirkwood and his 11 actors give free rein to the “Dr. Strangelove”-style absurdity, delivering chills and chortles in equal measure. The show zips along nicely until just before intermission, when the plot takes a turn and sends everything off course.

The story begins with U.S. soldiers pinned down by a firefight in Brazil. The situation turns tragic when a decision is made (in grimly screwball “I say so if you say so” mode) to unleash an experimental nerve gas.

In Washington, the president (Lee Ryan) and his advisors point fingers and stab backs. Just six weeks before a presidential election, a weapon in their “peace arsenal” has “counter-achieved” its goal in “Operation Total Win.” What they do next will be for the good of their political careers, not necessarily the good of the country.

Portraying the attorney general, Michael Merton -- menacing yet meek -- scores high on the laugh meter. So does David St. James as a nerve-gas-injured Army general who produces all manner of strange noises through an artificial voice box and who, because of a paralyzed leg, walks with an exaggerated goose step.

The monkey wrench in the plot? The title offers a clue. But before this development entirely sidetracks the story, we are returned to Brazil, where an injured lieutenant (Tripp Pickell) and mysterious medic (Jon Malmed) have visions of peace. Alas, these are only fantasies induced by the nerve gas.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“The White House Murder Case,” Hudson Theatres, 6537 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Tuesdays-Wednesdays, 8 p.m. Ends Feb. 25. $18. (323) 769-5858. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

*

G&S; update goes heavy on whimsy

Think it’s just a matter of time before gay marriage is as legally commonplace as no-fault divorce? Think again: In “Duel,” Christopher Taylor and David O’s adaptation of Gilbert & Sullivan’s “The Grand Duke,” it’s the year 2501 in the fictional land of Pfennig-Halpfennig, and same-sex couples are still struggling for equal recognition under the law.

These include a sweet, slow-witted actor, Ludwig (Kevin Artigue), and his ardent fiance, Oscar (Michael A. Shepperd), and the love/hate duo of theatrical impresario Madame Dummkopf (Elizabeth Tobias) and her leading lady, Julia (Emma Barton).

The hopelessly convoluted plot has Dummkopf’s theater company ascending to the nation’s leadership with the aid of a foppish lawyer (Mark Doerr), whereupon Ludwig finds himself at the front of a four-marriage pile-up. There’s an ostensible satire of official hypocrisy, or abuse of power, or something or other, in here somewhere, but the whimsy is laid on a bit too thick, and under director Randee Trabitz, with too broad a brush, for anything to stick. Designer Paul Spadone’s mostly tacky, seemingly arbitrary costume and set choices don’t invite us take anything here very seriously, even on the show’s own somewhat-futuristic terms.

Still, there’s a fair amount of ticklish fun to be had, particularly in perfectly timed comic turns by Barton as the troupe’s butch drama queen, by Michael Bonnabel as a Gallic smoothie, and above all by Christopher Neiman as a sweaty, venal duke.

The cast is vocally adept with David O’s slick pop-musicalization of the score. But O’s chugging, synth-rock syncopations, dashed with witty soul and hip-hop inflections, make only a loose fit over Gilbert’s overstuffed lyrics and Sullivan’s square harmonies. The result sounds like nerdy, overachieving progressive rock -- in other words, like early Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Ameenah Kaplan’s choreography may best exemplify the ups and downs of this strenuous romp: Her steps are infectiously goofy -- and stompingly rafter-shaking. Light on its feet this “Duel” is not.

-- Rob Kendt

“Duel,” presented by Oasis Theater Company in association with the L.A. Gay and Lesbian Center’s Lily Tomlin/Jane Wagner Cultural Arts Program at the Hollywood Court Theater, 6817 Franklin Ave., Hollywood. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 4 p.m. Ends Feb. 15. $20. (323) 878-2290. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes.

*

Priestly abuse fuels psychodrama

“Evil” isn’t too strong a word for priests who abuse young parishioners’ childlike trust to coerce them into sex; it’s not even too strong a word for the apparent conspiracy of silence at high levels of the Catholic Church that effectively shielded such sexual predators from censure until quite recently.

But for “A Comfortable Truth” playwright and director Mark Kemble, priestly pedophilia is not an evil born of mere human weakness and exacerbated by deep denial. It is a metaphysical, near-Satanic force of corruption, embodied by smiling, diabolical Father Grant (Paul Lieber). An equal-opportunity predator, this busy “neighborhood padre” apparently assaulted 10-year-old Thomas Gordon and his parents on the same historic November day that JFK was assassinated. Father Grant even looks a bit like Lee Harvey Oswald, people tell him. Hear the symbols crash, ladies and gentleman.

The play looks back on this mythical death of Catholic innocence from 1974. Thomas (Zack Graham), now a 19-year-old punk with his own unpromising rap sheet, is making accusations about Father Grant; conveniently, he’s seeing a church-employed psychiatrist (Alan Blumenfeld) who can be trusted to quietly discredit them. The good doc’s favorite method appears to be hypnotizing his characters with a hand-held clicker, letting them free-associate, then springing them awake with the words, “Spark anything?”

This sort of trick is fair enough for basic exposition, but Kemble overuses it. And as a crucible of catharsis, the shrink’s couch is too easy a shortcut for Kemble’s mountingly ludicrous psychodrama.

His staging is often deft and striking, with robed acolytes intoning prayers and supplying props and effects from dark crannies of Juan Carlos Malpeli’s creepy set. And his actors -- who also include a searing Shareen Mitchell and a properly pathetic Greg Mullavey as Thomas’ parents -- are top-flight. Too bad Kemble’s righteous outrage at the worst of priestly sins has him aiming too broadly here to strike any real targets.

-- R.K.

“A Comfortable Truth,” presented by the Group at Strasberg in association with Superior Street Productions at the Lee Strasberg Creative Center, 7936 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m. Ends Feb. 22. $25. (323) 650-7777. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.