An icy journey inside a tragedy

In “Frozen,” playwright Bryony Lavery turns a chilling subject -- serial child abduction and murder -- into a chamber piece of isolation and grief. Getting its tone right must be enormously difficult, but director Paul Wagar and three remarkable actors have managed it in an Ark Theatre Company production.

The British dramatist’s 1998 play has some name recognition, since a Broadway production last year earned four Tony Award nominations.

The story is told from separate viewpoints, with its three characters talking directly to the audience at first, though not to one another. The Ark’s actors initially stand quite far apart, forming a triangle on the essentially bare stage. Each is intensely alone, frozen in place.

As Nancy (Bibi Tinsley), the mother of a missing 10-year-old girl, begins to relate what happened, one can subtly sense the effort it takes for her to maintain her calm, cheerful tone. Much the same is true of Agnetha (Jamie Virostko), a research psychiatrist who appears to have suffered her own deep loss.

The calm displayed by the third member of this triad is entirely different. Ralph (David Grammer) speaks in a voice all but devoid of emotion, except for the whine of petulance that creeps into it when he is complaining about everything that, as he sees it, conspires against him. Something is wrong here, and with a growing sense of dread, we realize what it is.

The piece does an astonishing job of connecting us with the emotions and mindscapes of a horrible tragedy while exploring a provocative thesis about what might lead to such monstrous behavior. If you’ve thought of seeing the play but avoided the negatively reviewed local staging of it earlier this year, here’s a chance to see it vividly performed, though with rudimentary lights and other visuals. Be forewarned, though: Much of what’s described may prove difficult to purge.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“Frozen,” Ark Theatre Company, 1647 S. La Cienega Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. today and Saturday, 2 p.m. Sunday, then 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays, through Nov. 13, and 7 p.m. Sundays only through Nov. 27. $20. (323) 969-1707 or www.arktheatre.org. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.

*

Bruce’s words

are still searing

Of the U.S. legal system, the late Lenny Bruce said, “In the halls of justice, the only justice is in the halls.” More zingers, many unfit for print, give the juice to “Lenny Bruce -- In His Own Words,” delivered by actor Jason Fisher in a remarkable turn. An UnCabaret presentation at the M Bar and Restaurant, this adroit solo show gives the visionary comic present-day potency.

Created by Joan Worth and Alan Sacks of Marvin Worth Productions (the late Marvin Worth had been Bruce’s manager and produced the 1974 film “Lenny”), “In His Own Words” is basic. After a blunt announcement -- “Ladies and gentlemen, Lenny Bruce” -- Fisher enters the supper club venue. Though Fisher’s physicality is not identical, his Gary Oldham-folded-into-Jeremy-Sisto quality seems an apt palette. He speaks: “What do you want me to do?” Channeling comes to mind.

For an almost too-airtight hour, key riffs and rants from this influential 20th century satirist pour out in slashing fits and starts. Rising nightclub star, social provocateur, obscenity trial defendant, heroin addict -- Fisher gets Bruce down cold, in mercurial cadence and caustic essence. In the process, he reminds us how incisive Bruce’s outrageous takes on everything from racism to fascism were/are, at times scarily prescient.

Worth and Sacks know their subject. The choice of material is shrewd, despite a slight impasse between theatre verite spontaneity and career overview. Improvisational edge and pocket history are a bit at odds. Moreover, Fisher’s body mike doesn’t support the “You Are There” factor. Nevertheless, Fisher is a discovery, Bruce remains an icon, and the savage relevance is undeniable.

David C. Nichols

*

“Lenny Bruce -- In His Own Words,” M Bar and Restaurant, 1253 N. Vine St., Hollywood. 10 p.m. Saturdays. Ends Dec. 17. Mature audiences. $18 + drinks ($10 min.). (323) 993-3305 or www.uncabaret.com. Running time: 1 hour.

Durang sends up American media

Christopher Durang is a dedicated gadfly who has made a career out of maddening the sacred cows of contemporary culture.

Durang takes on the tabloidization of the American media in “Betty’s Summer Vacation,” a Los Angeles premiere presented by Workshop 360 at the Electric Lodge in Venice. Admittedly, the press, which is routinely reviled with impunity, is a far softer target than, say, the Roman Catholic Church, which Durang so notoriously sent up in his bitter parody “Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All for You.” However, although he sometimes seems to be straining for sheer outrageousness, Durang can still push the envelopes of propriety. But then, that is precisely the point of this outlandish exercise, which revolves around Betty (Lydia Ellison), a sensible naif who co-rents a summer home with a scabrous gang straight out of Jerry Springer’s best nightmare. Betty’s motor-mouthed friend, Trudy (Tasha Ames), is an incest survivor on the brink of a breakdown.

Trudy’s mother, Mrs. Seizmagraff (Diana Castle), has an overactive libido and absolutely no moral boundaries. Ditto stud muffin Buck (Anthony Ames), an obnoxious seducer who craves sex at least 20 times a day. Keith (David Weidoff) is a twitchy head case with a penchant for keeping heads in a case -- quite literally.

Homeless degenerate Mr. Vanislaw (Keith Sellon-Wright) fits right into the generally psychotic ambience. Then there are those annoying voices in the ceiling (John Srednicki, Azizah Hayes and Alex Quijano): a bizarrely echoing “laugh track” that soon proves distressingly corporeal.

Although her cast doesn’t always measure up to its material, director L. Zane manages an ably antic staging that neatly juxtaposes the buoyant with the grim. Set designer Mia Torres’ perfectly ordinary beach house anchors the surreal proceedings. The performances are mostly able, and Weidoff is a real standout as a serial slayer with a heart -- not necessarily his own. However, although mechanically assured, Ellison and Ames’ performances are about as deep as you’d find in a “Girls Gone Wild” video.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Betty’s Summer Vacation,” Electric Lodge, 1416 Electric Ave., Venice. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 27. (310) 578-2228. $20. Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes.

*

LaBute is an

acquired taste

Painful intent marks the staccato work of playwright Neil LaBute, and “The Distance From Here” is no exception. In its Los Angeles premiere, this grim 2002 look at slacker ennui in the Pacific Northwest carries the streetwise venom expected by fans of “Your Friends and Neighbors” and “Bash.” Whether the production by the notably promising Los Angeles Theatre Ensemble bridges the distance from Kurt Cobain-tinged collage to comprehensive drama is debatable.

Set in 1994, “Distance” follows Darrell (Nathaniel Meek) and Tim (Michael Lovan). These high school nihilists, first seen at the zoo, are rudderless LaBute prototypes. Especially Darrell, who lives in lower-class squalor with his mother (Kimberly Patterson) and her Gulf War vet boyfriend (Justin Zsebe). Darrell is the deceptively calm alpha dog, Tim his uneasy yes-man. At least Tim has a drive-through, which aimless Darrell scorns. He has a different ambivalence toward semi-stepsister Shari (Meredith Hines) and her ever-wailing baby. What possesses Darrell, though, is jealousy over Jenn (Lauren Eckstrom), his on-again, off-again girlfriend.

Director Theodore Perkins approaches LaBute’s R-rated suburban teen-speak with festival precision. Designer Francois-Pierre Couture’s setting of sheet-metal walls and a Venetian blind-sided living room, Jenny Bloom’s lights and the sound cues are helpful.

The staunch cast is brittle, enervated and vicious as needed, with Albert Meijer’s pet shop employee a smart cameo.

However, barring some poetic post-Mamet monologues, the jagged narrative meanders from opaque to unsavory. Plot convolutions do not equal meaning, and the climactic crib from Edward Bond’s “Saved” is gratuitous. Though skillfully realized, “The Distance From Here” leaves a bitter flavor that is at best an acquired taste.

-- D.C.N.

“The Distance From Here,” Promenade Playhouse, 1404 3rd St., Santa Monica. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays. Ends Nov. 5. Mature audiences. $20. (800) 595-4849 or www.latensemble.org. Running time: 2 hours.