Solid ‘Shove’ leads to twists and turns

Genette (Ann Noble), the jury forewoman on a tabloid-grabbing New York murder case, has located Lowell (Josh Gordon), the ex-waiter she exalts in having acquitted. “Your trial,” says Genette, vibrating with a sense of mission, “is the first time in my life ... I felt I had some value as a human being.” As tension shivers between Genette, Lowell and fellow juror Seldon (Alex Douglas), Lowell replies, “I had sort of the opposite feeling.”

That hybrid style of character humor feeding latent suspense marks Mark Eisman’s “Shove” at the Road Theatre Company. Although this look at the aftermath of a high-profile trial initially over-deliberates between popular comedy and social tract, the tactic is finally persuasive.

“Shove” begins after the verdict, at the newsstand that centers Desma Murphy’s resourceful set design. Its owner, and “Shove’s” voice of reason, is Cathy (Liz Herron), Genette’s laconic benefactor. Having taken runaway Genette under her wing, Cathy has her own issues at stake.

Directed with terse economy by Sam Anderson, “Shove” grows oddly compelling as Act 2 proceeds. At Genette’s urging, smitten Seldon lands Lowell a security guard job at his Price Club-y workplace. This situation and Cathy’s wary instincts clash with Genette’s discontent, building to a stylized climax and ironic final twist.

The adept cast plays the archetypes without losing truth. Along with Christian Epps’ lighting and David B. Marling’s sound, they help Anderson keep the momentum going. Eisman can still tinker and trim, but, when push comes to “Shove,” this solid team carries us beyond reasonable doubt.

-- David C. Nichols

“Shove,” Road Theatre at Lankershim Arts Center, 5108 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Wednesdays and Thursdays; 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 15. $20. (866) 811-4111 or www.road theatre.org. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes.

*

A nostalgic stay

at ‘Grossinger’s’

Hoary borscht belt jokes, liberal sprinklings of Yiddish, unabashed sentimentality and facile familial angst. That’s “Saturday Night at Grossinger’s,” a comfy-corny, inch-deep valentine to the famed Catskills resort of yesteryear and its indomitable hostess, Jennie Grossinger.

Conceived by Rita Lakin and Doris Silverton, this newly reworked vaudeville-style musical comedy, presented by Theatre West, begins when a blizzard delays Judy Garland and other star entertainers en route to the famous hotel in 1962. What to do?

The Grossingers divert their “guests” -- the audience -- by putting on a show. In the spotlight, and, as it turns out, on the spot: matriarch Jennie, the force behind the hotel’s rise from boarding house obscurity to inclusive (all colors and creeds welcome), “fancy-schmancy” opulence.

The latter is suggested by a bit of showbiz glam and glitter courtesy of designers Melissa Ficociello (set) and Derrick McDaniel (lights), costumer Joanie Coyote, choreographer Devra Korwin and musical director Paul Chipello leading a small onstage band.

Music, by Claibe Richardson and lyricists Stephen Cole and Ronny Graham, is pleasant, if unmemorable, and Kevin Rittner’s sound is crisp. Under Susan Morgenstern’s painstaking direction, some surprise puppetry is a hoot, and the cast, led by petite powerhouse Barbara Minkus as Jennie and including Larry Gelman as gnomish Papa Grossinger, is more than game.

Nothing quite compensates, however, for the awkwardness of Cole’s book, a mix of frothy entertainment and maudlin family intervention that forces Jennie to apologize publicly for neglecting her children (Jeff Wiesen and Eydie Alyson) and for paying less attention to her husband, Harry (Bruce Katzman), than to the hotel’s comic emcee, or “tummler” (usually played by Barry Pearl; Michael Gabiano appeared in the performance reviewed).

-- Lynne Heffley

“Saturday Night at Grossinger’s,” Theatre West, 3333 Cahuenga Blvd. West, L.A. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays, except dark April 23. Ends May 22. $30. (323) 851-7977 or www.theatrewest.org. Running time: 2 1/2 hours.

*

‘Dreams’: just baffling visions

Entering “American Dreams,” the alleged musical satire by William Whitehurst and Robert Gross, you notice Alan Blumenthal’s set, a storefront erected in this storefront. Chain-link encloses the band upstage of a sign-covered grocery facade, complete with dumpster, which ought to be a clue.

Before it starts, proprietor Mr. Ree (Paul Kwo) welcomes us to his Korean American emporium with rabid political incorrectness. He and his colleagues, coated by John Dickey’s green lighting, deliver a dissonant prologue, “Dreamland,” where “anybody can.”

What they “can” is no clearer than the poly-chords and meter-free lyrics they gamely present. Villainous Texas hotshot T-Bone (Biff Wiff), whose singing recalls Roseanne Barr’s screech across the national anthem, has no such ambiguity. Disguised as Islamic militant Achmed Premed, this “Enwrong” executive threatens to explode the nuclear device around his midriff.

Other stereotypes form a quasi-Brechtian panel from Cracked magazine. Tinseltown tart Candy (Elissa Weinzimmer) praises bulimia in “Bon Appetit” and goes Broadway in “Candy Can,” which is debatable. Rhythm-deprived Root (Magellan Watts) throws down African American cliches in “Ain’t Black, Ain’t White, Just Blue,” impeded by the material and footwear that sasses him back.

Director Mike “Fuz” Edwards and choreographer Aubrey Elson bring the strictly workshop staging to focus on network anchor Dan Blather (Robert Briscoe Evans) and crew (Elizabeth Dement and Brad Rogers) -- “I’ll Never Do Game Shows Again.” At the end, apocalypse yawns, with the dismembered cast entreating, “America, Don’t Lose Your Head.”

This sight gag, like Mr. Ree’s opening, is loopy enough to make the general frat-house witlessness, which everyone obviously means as genuine comment, wholly inexplicable. It certainly might induce nightmares.

-- D.C.N.

“American Dreams: An In-Yer-Face Musical,” Eclectic Company Theatre, 5312 Laurel Canyon Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 7. $15. (818) 508-3003. Running time 1 hour, 20 minutes.