A chilling look at a Cold War strategist

There’s no shortage of turbulence in Ken Urban’s new drama, “The Absence of Weather,” a surreal, fragmentary exploration of the troubled -- and troubling -- life of James Forrestal.

The first to serve as the Truman administration’s newly rechristened secretary of Defense, Forrestal played a pivotal role in shaping America’s Cold War strategy and policies. The self-proclaimed head architect of a new world, he presided over the transition from the moral clarity of the World War II era to the shadowy quicksand of covert ops and unholy alliances.

In Mark Seldis’ atmospheric staging for Moving Arts, Forrestal -- split between two actors -- remains an enigmatic figure who allows no easy judgments.

As the haunted older Forrestal who resigned his post in 1949 after a mental breakdown and soon thereafter leapt to his death from his hospital room window, Alexander Wells is consistently enigmatic and intriguing. When his Forrestal describes himself as unremittingly serious, somewhat obscure and hard to know, it’s an understatement. Tristan Wright maintains an equal measure of diligent coldness as he steps us through Forrestal’s early career.

In an accomplished performance as Forrestal’s neglected wife, Jodie Schell bridges the man’s public and private sides and provides his closest brush with human feeling.

Driven by ambition, an obsessive need to rise above his social station and rabid hatred of Communism, Forrestal becomes increasingly self-aggrandizing and delusional, raving about his mission to stop the Red Menace and the spread of Zionism in Palestine. His excesses ultimately alienate his lifelong friend (Jeffrey Landman) and betray his intellectual mentor (Dale Duko).

But Forrestal was also a victim of the machinations of the Washington scene. Many of his dire predictions came to pass, and despite his breakdown his policies were still adopted.

Urban gets heavy-handed when he bends chronology to embrace later national wounds -- Vietnam, suicide bombers and 9/11. Nevertheless, he effectively raises the unsettling question: Were national policies set by a lunatic, or was Forrestal simply ahead of his time?

-- Philip Brandes

“The Absence of Weather,” Los Angeles Theatre Center, 514 S. Spring St., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends March 27. $15. (213) 622-8906 or www.movingarts.org. Running time: 1 hour, 20 minutes.

*

Opportunism amid national tragedy

Married suburbanite Ben sits in a downtown Manhattan loft, staring into space and ignoring his madly ringing cellphone. The loft’s owner, Abby, who is Ben’s boss and mistress, enters, bearing cheese with barely maintained composure. Yesterday morning, their unplanned tryst prevented Ben’s arrival on Wall Street. This morning, Ben finds himself among thousands of unaccounted-for persons.

His emerging agenda and the clash it sparks is at the core of “The Mercy Seat” in its Southern California premiere at Hunger Artists Theatre. Neil LaBute’s study of adulterous opportunism on Sept. 12, 2001, divided critics when it premiered off-Broadway in 2002 with Liev Schreiber and Sigourney Weaver.

Understandable, yet there now seems more effect than affect to LaBute’s juxtaposition of an affair in meltdown with omnipresent national tragedy. Despite gaps of logic and the LaBute trademark emphasis on dialogue over action, “Mercy Seat” has lacerating potential.

This makes the lack of bite to director Margaret O’Hora’s honorably intended staging doubly frustrating. The tone is more efficient than realistic, often vying with noises from outside the industrial park venue, and both creditable actors are miscast.

Chey Kennedy’s Ben has a fluid internal life, yet his boyish quality suggests neither a royal jerk nor the office Lothario. Though Katherine Prenovost’s Abby manages some neat hairpin turns, she hardly reads a decade-plus older than Kennedy, and she struggles with lines.

Designs are adequate, with Mark Garfinkel’s sound nailing that cellphone (LaBute’s third character), though costumer Jessica Beane doesn’t give Abby’s wardrobe the requisite coating of ash. “Mercy Seat” represents LaBute in mature contrarian’s mode, but, regrettably, the subtleties needed to land his elliptical, post-Pinter voice go missing here.

-- David C. Nichols

“The Mercy Seat,” Hunger Artists Theatre, College Business Park, 699-A S. State College Blvd., Fullerton. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Also, 8 p.m. March 18. Ends March 20. Mature audiences. $15. (714) 680-6803. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.

*

A sojourn with a social reformer

Sojourner Truth, who rose from slavery to freedom and fame, was both lionized and pilloried as a 19th century preacher and social radical. A celebrity in her day, Truth peddled leaflets to support the abolitionist cause she so fervently embraced, emblazoned with her picture and the phrase “I Sell the Shadow to Support the Substance.”

In “Sojourner: The Story of Sojourner Truth,” at the Hudson Backstage, writer-director Les Wieder invests too much in the historical substance while neglecting the undocumented possibilities in the shadows. Wieder’s reliance on biographical detail results in a sometimes dry chronology. Still, Truth’s life was undeniably fascinating, and Wieder treats his subject with compassion and authority.

Wieder’s decision to use three actors to embody Truth at various intervals in her life works well, and the performers are all well-cast and capable. Angeles Echols personifies Truth at age 80, a doddering yet still feisty character who reflects on her past during a public speaking engagement. Sabah El-Amin portrays Truth as a timorous young slave who finally wins her freedom, and April Grace plays Truth from age 38 to 65 -- the years in which Truth ascended to renown. The portrayals are solid and thoughtful, although the performers occasionally seem to be dragging out their pacing at this stage of the run.

A wonderful live choir punctuates the action with period folk songs, while Paulette Cox’s lighting design and Matthew John Schmitt’s original compositions are richly conducive to the overall mood. Although one wishes it diverged into less-traveled byways, this “Sojourner” walks a righteous path.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Sojourner,” Hudson Backstage, 6539 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Sundays only. Ends March 27. $25. (323) 960-7744 or www.Plays411.com/Truth. Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes.

*

Lessons learned on ‘Mango Street’

Sandra Cisneros’ short novel “The House on Mango Street” is such an innately literary work that attempting a stage adaptation would be a daunting challenge under any circumstances. Yet despite limited resources that keep its production below fully professional standards, East Los Angeles Repertory Theatre Company’s committed, heartfelt effort lays unique claim to the cultural and emotional territory in Cisneros’ fictionalized memories of a young girl growing up in a poor Latino neighborhood.

Cisneros’ book excels at capturing the exploratory, self-created logic of childhood, viewing the world through a sharp, creative young mind that inventively interprets events around her but as yet lacks the necessary experience to understand their significance. The contrast with our sadder but wiser adult insight gives the book much of its humor and poignancy.

Amy Ludwig’s respectful stage adaptation honors Cisneros’ eloquent writing, leaving the narration-heavy text virtually unchanged from 32 of the book’s 44 short episodes.

Director Jesus Reyes stages these short scenes with assured authenticity. Nevertheless, the adaptation’s fidelity to the original text proves double-edged. As Cisneros’ young heroine, Esperanza, the likable Mariella Saba is an engaging and promising performer, but she brings a level of maturity and insight to her delivery that at times loses the character’s innocent charm. Rather than dilute the descriptive prose with added dialogue, Ludwig distributes the narrative -- sometimes in mid-sentence -- among the performers.

The principal speakers are Saba and Marina E. Gonzalez as Esperanza’s grown-up alter ego, revisiting her old neighborhood and reconnecting with her younger self -- creative liberty that helps enliven the text.

More problematic is the rapid succession in which the six supporting performers must switch roles to fit the changing scenes. An added impediment is the venue’s highly resonant acoustics, which make the narration hard to hear (sit close to the stage).

Viewers unfamiliar with the story may have a tough time keeping up, but for those who know and appreciate Cisneros’ book, this production offers it in theatrical form to an underserved community.

-- P.B.

“The House on Mango Street,” La Casa del Mexicano Theater, 2900 Calle Pedro Infante, Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Fridays, 1 p.m. Saturdays, 1 and 5 p.m. Sundays. Ends March 13. $12. (323) 788-3880 or www.eastlarep.com. Running time: 2 hours

*

Basketball: A shot at something more

It’s particularly difficult when writing about naif regional characters to avoid stereotype. Playwright Molly Newman, perhaps best known for the Tony-nominated “Quilters,” doesn’t quite avoid that pitfall in “Shooting Stars,” her period drama about a women’s basketball team vying for acceptance in a male-dominated sport. Director Hisa Takakuwa then takes a niggling dramaturgical problem and makes it glaring in her blatantly overblown staging at Actors Co-op’s Crossley Theatre.

The action transpires entirely in a Midwestern high school locker room -- a milieu so perfectly evoked in Tim Farmer’s grungy set, you can practically smell the sweat socks.

The year is 1962, and it’s business as usual for the Indiana Shooting Stars -- a sort of low-rent, distaff version of the Harlem Globetrotters. Known for playing slapstick exhibition matches against all-male teams, the Stars eke out a meager living under the tutelage of their smotheringly sexist coach Cassius (Gary Lee Reed), who slave-drives his “girls” 250 days a year across the South and Midwest. But when disaster disrupts their regular rounds, the Stars face a crucial decision -- and their first opportunity to prove themselves as athletes rather than cheap clowns

It’s tricky finding actors who are believable as athletes, and some of these performers are quite simply miscast. Worse, Takakuwa herself too often resorts to cheap clowning, straining for laughs instead of letting the humor result from organic character development.

A few performers tend to skim the surface of their characters, but generally remain centered, quite solidly, in reality. Crystal Huyett is quietly effective as a young woman resisting societal pressures to marry, while Maria Lay’s wistfully practical portrayal of an aging assistant coach shines as the gold standard of verisimilitude.

-- F.K.F.

“Shooting Stars,” Crossley Theatre, 1760 N. Gower St., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 2:30 p.m. Sundays. Ends April 24. $22. (323) 462-8460. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.