A hilarious Old West sideshow

“Come in, don’t be shy,” says saloon girl Delilah Star. She and fellow shill Lester T. Higgins beckon us into a dusky arena, where fulsome Baby Belle Parker acts as giggling timekeeper. Upstage, their fellow Tricklock Company members lurk behind a burlap Wild West show drop, like triple-threat rattlers ready to strike when least expected.

There you have “The Glorious and Bloodthirsty Billy the Kid,” which ends its limited tour of Sacred Fools Theatre on Saturday. Galloping in from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival by way of Albuquerque, this tickling bust-up draws a bawdy absurdist bead on America’s affection for murderous galoots.

Created and directed by Joe Peracchio with various Tricklock members, “Billy the Kid” takes no prisoners. It spins out the saga of William Bonney from cradle to grave with song, dance and references that careen from commedia and circuses to “Deadwood” and the Three Stooges. Beneath the sleight-of-hand and slapstick, “Billy” has a subtle topical pulse amid the mania, shot through with rambunctious invention from its redoubtable troupe in multiple roles.

Kevin R. Elder’s naive Billy grows into grinning killer before our eyes. Kerry Morrigan makes a strong-voiced Peg Leg Peg, a touching Mrs. Bonney, and the funniest codger this side of Tim Conway. Gimlet-eyed director Peracchio lands his dynamic extremes as Lester and other sidewinders. Byron Laurie’s Wild Bill exhibits rare stylized control. Summer Olsson offers warm appeal, her stilt-walking Sheriff Danger sidesplitting. Kate Schroeder is delicious, whether simpering siren or galumphing gunslinger.

The raw-boned designs are impressive, especially Jason Mullen’s peyote-toned lighting, and the unpredictable, delightful verve makes “Billy the Kid” the kind of ribald frolic that theater exists for, by jingo.

-- David C. Nichols

“The Glorious and Bloodthirsty Billy the Kid -- The Greatest Serial Killer of Our Time! A Wild West Show and Cabaret,” Sacred Fools Theatre, 660 N. Heliotrope Drive, Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Ends Saturday. $20. (310) 281-8337 or www.SacredFools.org. Running time: 1 hour, 25 minutes.

*

Trysts and murder, well rendered

Cleverness is a virtue that shouldn’t be underestimated. Australian playwright Andrew Bovell’s 1998 drama “Speaking in Tongues,” now in its West Coast premiere at the Powerhouse, is certainly deft and well rendered, with a cunning and deliberately coincidental plot that is pitched just above the realm of the likely.

Like “La Ronde,” the piece is based on the sheer circularity of several extraneous relationships, all of which ultimately link into a narrative whole. The first act revolves around two random couples who hook up for extramarital flings, only one of which is consummated. But unlike “La Ronde,” the interactions range beyond the merely sexual. By Act 2, the ante has been upped from infidelity to possible murder.

Bovell stretches some plot points to an improbable degree. Though the play is set some 10 years in the past, arguably pre-cellphones, why does a terrified woman, stranded on a deserted road near a pay phone, use up her spare change making poignant calls to her husband instead of just calling the cops?

However, the far-flung action ties up neatly, and Bovell paints richly dimensional portraits of several diverse relationships, all flawed, some perhaps fatally.

In his directorial debut, Tony-winning actor Stephen Spinella (“Angels in America”) keenly syncopates the piece’s challenging, often overlapping dialogue. Still, Spinella doesn’t always do justice to his material, largely because of his uneven cast, which never quite musters the sheer facility required by the text. A notable exception is Anna Khaja as Sonja, a wronged wife who nimbly traverses the emotional spectrum from rage to acceptance.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Speaking in Tongues,” Powerhouse Theatre, 3116 2nd St., Santa Monica. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Oct. 8. $20. (323) 882-6912. www.openfist.org; www.powerhousetheatre.com. Running time: 2 hours.

*

Conforming to what is ‘normal’

Hunter Lee Hughes’ solo show “Fate of the Monarchs” at the NoHo Arts Center is an odd, erratic, but ultimately moving examination of the emotional turmoil that results when people suppress their true natures to conform to societal expectations of what is “normal.”

During the play’s brief running time, Hughes portrays several characters, all gay men severely battered in their poignant quest for love and acceptance. The first character, Harlan, is a small-town auto mechanic who adores his beautiful wife, but can’t overcome his longing to be with other men. The play’s penultimate character is Dorian, a male prostitute from Eastern Europe who, at the tender age of 22, feels that his expiration date in the youth-obsessed meat market is rapidly approaching.

Harlan’s stumbling progress toward self-acceptance ends in a steady, loving union with another man, and a renewed relationship with his wife and young son as well. But we suspect that Dorian, a beautiful dreamer whose reach far outstrips his grasp, is doomed to an increasingly sordid life of penury, disease and dashed hopes.

Opposite ends of a spectrum, Harlan and Dorian are the richest characterizations of the evening, well-rendered and acute. Unfortunately, Hughes’ other characters are a bit blurry, lacking the clearly defined traits that would make them distinctive.

The evening is linked, somewhat peculiarly, by Hughes’ interstitial monologue about the migratory habits of the monarch butterfly. Director Cody Bayne, abetted by video editor Patrick Kennelly, also contributes the superlative multimedia design, consisting primarily of filmed images ranging from gorgeous butterflies to inner-city squalor. Those flashing, frequently disturbing glimpses lend emotional resonance to Hughes’ prevalent theme -- that sometimes, like the monarchs, human beings must risk hardship and death to fulfill their natural imperatives. Effectively simplistic, that theme is frequently reiterated here, but bears repeating.

-- F.K.F.

“Fate of the Monarchs,” NoHo Arts Center, 11136 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays. Ends Sept. 18. $15. (818) 508-7101, Ext. 5. Running time: 1 hour.

*

Family drama not fully realized

In “Ascension,” playwright Maurice Chauvet studies the cumulative price of workaday dishonesty. We first meet Hancock Park homemaker Beth enduring her mother-in-law Anne, who moved after her husband’s death into Beth’s household (one of several locales in Sybil Wickensheimer’s competent set). Beth’s 12-year-old daughter has been caught shoplifting. Beth seeks an ethical perspective, which is her crucible, but Anne knows better: “She was raised by a television. That’s how it happened.”

Charlie, Beth’s lawyer husband, has his own crucible, involving colleague Dawn, who low-balls the import of their dubious billing and past dalliances. Meanwhile, Beth finds a sounding board in Father Matthew, while Anne’s children fear telling her the truth about anything (a family legacy).

As plays of ideas go, “Ascension” has notable pith, and its trenchant subject is interesting, thanks to director Michael Angelo Stuno and some fine actors. Sarah Aldrich gives Beth ripe conviction, and Kate McGregor-Stewart’s Anne expertly yaps away. However, Stuno’s choices sometimes fall prey to the overwritten text. Daniel Murray’s undefined Charlie is hardly a match for Rosemary Boyce’s Dawn. Father Matthew deserves better plotting, given Michael Gallagher’s vivid portrayal.

Then there is the uneven tone -- here Harold Pinter, there Larry David -- and the stakes are ultimately prosaic. For example, the business with Charlie’s sister (Marissa Hall) and her incognito boyfriend (Paul McKinney) is hilarious, not organic. And having two major unseen characters (the kid, Anne’s late husband) puts the juiciest action offstage. Supporters of producing entity Apartment A may favor “Ascension,” but this promising dramedy only half rises to the challenge.

-- D.C.N.

“Ascension,” Electric Lodge Theatre, 1416 Electric Ave., Venice. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Oct. 9. Mature audiences. $20. (310) 823-0710 or www.apartmentA.org. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.