Early Moliere farce fails to fizz

Smooth professionalism attends Moliere’s 1653 fledgling “The Bungler” (“L’Etourdi”) in its local debut at West Coast Ensemble. The first full-length farce from comedy’s master counts evident assets in director Jules Aaron’s smart designers and eager players.

“Bungler” opens with its cast in dressing-room mode as the stage manager wanders through seeking actor Steven Einspahr, who plays valet Mascarille. This cousin to Pseudolus of Roman times is “Bungler’s” motor, arranging affairs for (and despite) his master, Lelie (Joey Borgogna), the title imbecile, who loves virginal Gypsy Celie (CB Spencer).

Rival swain Leandre (Alex Kaufman), highborn Hippolyte (Erika Amato), three paternal buffoons (Dan Alemshah, Pablo Marz and Larry Lederman), an oily conspirator (Matt J. Popham) and a deus ex machina unaware (Gil Bernardi) supply convolutions, sound effects and upstage witness.

Einspahr, a condensed John Goodman, and his gallant colleagues devour the rhyming couplets of Richard Wilbur’s translation. Set designer Tom Buderwitz’s revolving units, faux-proscenium and exposed backstage have apt Illustre Theatre aspects. Shon LeBlanc’s costumes and Jeremy Pivnick’s lighting would suit Berkeley Rep, and Aaron stages the commedia-flavored complications with trademark flair.

Such skill makes “Bungler’s” dearth of fizz doubly frustrating. Wilbur’s verses are often charming, seldom convulsive. The archetypes Moliere deploys seem neutral in light of later satirical masterworks. Tangled plot points emerge in talky description of offstage events, and the slapstick loses steam early on.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended,” goes one line. The latter reaction seems unlikely; the former impulse is sporadic. Still, this rarity may appeal to curious neoclassicists and unassuming audiences.

-- David C. Nichols

“The Bungler,” West Coast Ensemble, 522 N. La Brea Ave., L.A. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. No performance July 4. Ends July 25. $22. (323) 525-0022. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.

*

Odets revival has successful liftoff

The title of “Rocket to the Moon” alludes to connecting with life, and author Clifford Odets explores his metaphor in masterful fashion. This 1938 classic has the subtle infrastructure of a sonata, which is how the smooth revival at Pacific Resident Theatre (a co-production with West Coast Jewish Theatre) presents it.

Unlike the politically driven “Waiting for Lefty” or “Awake and Sing,” Odets here favors emotional detail over societal issues, though cultural accuracy grounds the narrative. Protagonist Ben Stark (Michael Bryan French) is a Manhattan dentist facing midlife crisis. His disillusioned wife, Belle (Melissa Weber Bales), steers Ben in the safest of directions. Her estranged, wealthy father (the superb Richard Fancy) urges an opposite approach.

During one sweltering summer, Ben’s fulsome, barely qualified receptionist, Cleo (the wonderful Dana Dewes), offers unexpected rejuvenation. Their mutual regard blooms into an elegiac romance that becomes a double-sided triangle with beautiful logic. The bittersweet resolution rivals any in Odets’ canon.

Director Elina de Santos commands excellent designs, particularly Stephanie Kerley Schwartz’s sepia-toned set -- Edward Hopper meets Irving Penn. As Ben, the understated French is still evolving some inner choices, but he ignites with Dewes’ radiant spontaneity. Bales’ deft Belle avoids castrating-wife cliches, and Fancy seizes the day and the audience.

The proficient ensemble takes in Scott Conte’s Broadway wolf and Vince Melocchi’s strapped fellow dentist, although Choppy Guillotte’s wiseguy doctor overstresses his zingers.

“Rocket” is a long play. The lush fidelity with which De Santos explores the near-Chekhovian nuances sometimes flirts with inertia. Nonetheless, the group devotion to Group Theatre honesty is estimable, and recommends this accomplished vehicle.

-- D.C.N.

“Rocket to the Moon,” Pacific Resident Theatre, 703-707 Venice Blvd., Venice. 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends Aug. 1. $20 to $23.50. (310) 822-8392. Running time: 3 hours.

*

Curtain rising on this one too soon

Sometimes a production is so rough-edged it’s difficult to evaluate the play itself.

Such is the case with “Before It Hits Home,” Cheryl L. West’s drama about a dying young AIDS sufferer who returns to his family in search of support and care but is ostracized by many of his kin. The play, which has since been optioned by Spike Lee as a potential movie, was first produced in the early 1990s, about the same time as West’s well-received drama “Jar the Floor.”

West’s play seems irritatingly digressive at points, but its passion and pathos sneak up on you, even in its unwieldy current production at the Coleman & Smith Artistic Company in Hollywood. There’s plenty of passion and pathos among this cast as well, although at this point it is undeveloped. Under the direction of Lamont A. Coleman, the frequent line flubs and lengthy scene changes are uncomfortably reminiscent of an actor’s nightmare. Indeed, one suspects that large portions of the play are being ad-libbed. That, coupled with the unnecessarily interminable scene changes and the irritating mood music that underscores key scenes, makes for a long evening.

Despite that, a couple of engaging performances emerge, along with plenty of intrepid, albeit raw, energy. To give the company its due, two major roles were recast a scant two days before the opening -- as good an argument for a postponement as you’re likely to hear. Why Coleman, the company’s artistic director and himself a last-minute replacement in a leading role, opted to push on and open the play when it is so obviously not ready for a public viewing is anybody’s guess.

Perhaps those rough edges may be smoothed down during the course of the run. In the meantime, however, this sadly under-rehearsed effort does little to showcase the untapped potential of its cast.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Before It Hits Home,” Coleman & Smith Artistic Company, 6902 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 3 and 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends July 11. $20. (213) 202-3235. Running time: 2 hours, 40 minutes.

*

Honoring Noel Coward’s spirit

The splendid and pointless new production of Noel Coward’s “Blithe Spirit” at the Globe Playhouse gets just about everything right: From Mark A. Thomson’s finely dressed drawing room set, its sage walls lovingly illuminated by Derrick McDaniels’ lights, to Shon LeBlanc and A. Jeffrey Schoenberg’s resplendent, nattily tailored costumes, the production couldn’t look better.

And with a seasoned cast under Gwen Hillier’s direction, it all sounds and moves about right too. As the contentedly married Condomines, Anne McVey and Nicholas Hosking have a genteel, amiably irritable rapport that starts the show buzzing along like a classic BBC2 sitcom.

It keeps on purring through the introduction of a friendly older couple (neatly underplayed by Richard Fox and Marsha Kramer) and the grand entrance of loopy psychic Madame Arcati (given a dry, bubbly rendition by Mary Jo Catlett).

By the first scene’s end, this dubious medium’s seance has summoned from the “other side” the late first Mrs. Condomine -- a pouty blond coquette named Elvira (Tracy Powell) whose specter only her still-smitten husband can see or hear.

The battle between this lucky fellow’s two wives, living and dead, is the play’s setup -- and its punch line, and indeed pretty much the whole ball of wax. It’s a gossamer thread to hang a full evening of theater on, and the strain is visible.

Certainly plot isn’t what drives Coward’s plays. Their true heartbeat is the rhythm of cocktails being mixed and served on a stage dotted with witty talkers. By that standard, this production honors the spirit of Coward. If only it didn’t follow the letter.

-- Rob Kendt

“Blithe Spirit,” Cowardice Theatre Company at the Globe Playhouse, 1107 N. Kings Road, West Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, 5 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 26. $25. (323) 960-7792. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes.

*

Bringing up baby -- and the parents

The mind-set of “Minding Goodman,” writer-director Art Brown’s populist dramedy at the Edgemar Center for the Arts, is apparent in designer Kristie Thompson’s astute setting. Asymmetrical platforms present a toy-strewn living room and an upscale physician’s office, backed by brown and blue sculpted drops like warped timber, or brainwaves.

An emergency montage from sound designer Ron Wyand introduces overloaded social worker Helen Henderson (Annie Abbott, sagely astringent). She bemoans this latest crisis involving the infant son of developmentally challenged Danny and Cheryl Goodman (Eric Scott Woods and Darcy Halsey).

After psychologist Andrea Rice (Janet Gunn) and ex-husband Dr. Stephen Mills (Christopher B. Duncan) clash on television over his controversial discoveries, Helen tags Andrea for the Goodman custody hearing assessment. The ensuing tangle results in Danny undergoing Stephen’s nanotechnology brain surgery. His sixth-grade intellect expands to responsible parenting levels, creating a rift with the unaltered Cheryl.

Judging by the “Awakenings”-level sniffles heard at the reviewed performance, empathetic viewers are embracing this production. The new venue and its use are impressive, especially Yael Lubetzky’s florid lighting. Brown wields the competent cast, including Nick Arquette and Andy Shreeman, in creative ways.

Yet the execution coexists with coy jokes, concave development and a leapfrogging small-screen narrative. Thematic focus runs amok, from eugenics and social comment to domestic heart-tugger, until the unseen baby seems a distant device.

“The laws of physics care little for our hopes and fears,” goes one line.

That indicates everyone’s noble intent; it doesn’t make this well-meaning soap opera dramaturgy, though.

-- D.C.N.

“Minding Goodman,” Edgemar Center for the Arts, 2437 Main St., Santa Monica. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 2 and 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 27. Mature audiences. $28. (310) 392-7327. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.