A wacky cast runs rampant in ‘The Strip’

Renegade hilarity splays across “The Strip: A Living Comic Book” at the Evidence Room. The outrageous late-night serial returns in savagely funny form -- R. Crumb meets the Cockettes on a bender.

We arrange folding chairs about producer-director Kirk Wilson’s vintage low-budget lobby display, where three interlocking story lines collide with dance troupe Death Tap 2000. Justin Tanner’s “The Pink Section” is a John Waters-worthy anarchistic soap, West Hollywood as relocation camp. “American Nympho” mines prurient satire from author Michael Sargent’s riffing on adult magazine cartoons. Topping the lot is “Hildy Hildy” by Hugh Palmer and the incomparable Patricia Scanlon, as in the past a force of nature playing the haiku poet of the title.

The author-performers join a certifiable cast of regular lunatics and guest wackos. Before crashing a fete for the haiku elite, Hildy lectures truculent husband, Bob (Palmer), on the two faces of hip: “Blase and blas-B.” Palmer remains heroically deadpan despite Scanlon’s nuclear timing and Claymation mug. At the reviewed performance, visiting Manhattan emigre Chris Wells turned his super-agent’s clash with Scanlon into pure Dadaist dementia.

Linda Miller’s hearty Peaches and the Brian Newkirk-Tad Coughenor-Wilson triangle are emblems of the hysterical “Pink” brigade, whom Mink Stole’s maniacal matron and Brendan Smith’s homophobic turnkey menace with gusto. Tanner defies gender analysis as bewigged, bearded Breezy. Liz Davies, Keythe Farley and Jeff Buhler embrace “Nympho’s” titular sexpot and her menage-mates with fearless glee. Sargent’s Bob Guccione figure evokes Father Guido Sarducci as a Fabulous Furry Freak Brother.

Despite the inevitable variables -- some segments ramble, the Paula Kelley Orchestra is more coquettish than caustic -- “The Strip” remains a sidesplitting graphic novelty.

David C. Nichols

“The Strip: A Living Comic Book,” Evidence Room, 2220 Beverly Blvd., L.A. 11 p.m. Saturdays. Ends May 13. Adult audiences. (213) 381-7118 or www.evidenceroom.com. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.

*

Need more order in this court

Some 30 years after it was first produced, Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee’s comedy-drama “First Monday in October,” which hinges on the charged philosophical exchanges between two battling Supreme Court justices from opposite ends of the political spectrum, is still surprisingly diverting. There are durable issues to be found here, such as the parameters of free speech, the right to privacy and the need for corporate transparency.

Of course, tectonic shifts in the international situation give this period piece, set in 1975, a slightly dusty quality. But “Monday,” which was made into a 1981 film starring Walter Matthau and Jill Clayburgh, is first and foremost a star vehicle. And it relies almost entirely on the chemistry between the actors playing the two leads: Daniel Snow, an irascible old liberal lion for whom the rights of the individual are absolutely paramount, and Ruth Loomis, the court’s first female appointee, an unbending conservative.

Ralph Waite, who plays Snow, is best known as the sage patriarch on “The Waltons.” A beloved veteran of both stage and screen, Waite proves a convincing curmudgeon whose dry sarcasm can rise to levels of stentorian passion. Waite has all the elements necessary to make a fine Snow -- except his lines. His persistent struggle lends Allan Miller’s entire staging an under-rehearsed quality that is nerve-racking.

The uncertainty is apparently catching. The typically assured Laurie O’Brien, who plays Ruth Loomis, also seems uncharacteristically tentative. Exceptions to the general hesitancy are durably appealing Kent Minault as chief justice, and assured Scott Roberts as Snow’s admiring law clerk. Also assured are the production elements, most notably Victoria Profitt’s versatile set and Kathi O’Donohue’s fine lighting.

Perhaps this rough-edged production will smooth out. But for now, this court seems in dire need of a recess, and a few more rehearsals as well.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“First Monday in October,” Odyssey Theatre Ensemble, 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Wednesdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Call for exceptions. $20.50 to $25. (310) 477-2055, www.odysseytheatre.com. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

*

Heavy-handed, but effective

Greed and corruption never go out of style, but contemporary high-profile scandals involving corporate bigwigs and lobbyists lend particular timeliness to “Window of Opportunity,” Samuel Warren Joseph’s savage though heavy-handed new satire at the Met Theatre.

From the opening audio montage of broadcast news sound bites about indicted CEOs and politicians -- set to John Lennon’s “Money” -- outrage at unapologetic immorality in pursuit of company profits thunders through every line of this intricate black comedy about an archetypally rapacious tycoon caught up in an increasingly high-stakes crime.

As the aptly named Roger Sizemore, Matthew Kimbrough is a suitably domineering, sociopathic presence, shrugging off an offshore factory fire that killed child laborers as “tragic -- we lost millions.” Secure in his government connections and his complete control of the company he founded, Roger makes no pretense of anything less than dictatorship when he hosts a weekend retreat to hire a promising Young Turk named Peter (Randy Irwin) to head a key project. To sweeten the deal, he has his corporate flunkey (Phil Proctor) hire a pair of prostitutes (Roxana Brusso, Hollace Starr) from a gnarly pimp (Ty Granderson Jones).

Very bad things ensue, in the course of which Roger finds himself uncharacteristically at the mercy of others, as the upper hand keeps shifting at gunpoint through a series of elaborate feints and twists.

Director Billy Hayes keeps the action moving at a nice clip, though the darker scenes are a tad polite where visceral menace is called for -- surprising, given Hayes’ pedigree as the author and real-life subject of “Midnight Express.”

More problematically, the potentially hard-hitting social commentary of the piece is undermined by its own cartoonish excesses -- in particular, the lack of believable shading to Roger’s painfully scripted mustache-twirling.

Unlike Roger, the other characters are not what they seem, and clever plot reversals enable some fine performances to breathe life into the polemical rants. The always natural Proctor excels in this regard, smoothly modulating between obsequious groveling and worldly wisdom. Brusso’s comically feisty Latina porn star also has some surprises in store.

Unfortunately, the obvious passion driving this production isn’t matched by playwriting craft. Given the chance to deliver a meaningful message about an important subject, it’s a missed window of opportunity.

-- Philip Brandes

“Window of Opportunity,” Met Theatre, 1089 Oxford Ave., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 14. $20. (323) 957-1152 or www.plays411.com/window. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.

*

This ‘Soul’ tends to be too flimsy

For more than 50 years, C.Y. Lee has documented the Chinese American conundrum from a populist angle. He does so again in “The Body and Soul of a Chinese Woman” at the Stella Adler. This latest play from the venerable author of the novel “The Flower Drum Song” is an allegory about a traditional folk dancer adrift in San Gabriel who yearns for assimilated independence.

A gong-launched prologue presents Amy Wu (Marilyn Zhu), who strums her Chinese harp after tangles with her ex-husband (Kenzo Lee), domineering aunt (Ho-Jung) and soul (Corinne M. Chooey). That’s right, her soul.

Throughout a narrative that references everything from the East West Players to Dick Cheney’s marksmanship, Soul pesters outwardly dutiful Amy to follow her impulses. These focus first on Amy’s appreciative boss (Joshua Cox), then on her supportive English teacher (Regina Palian). In between scenes, diaphanous dancers play Chinese goddesses (one of them male) who pull Amy into symbolic tableaux (choreography by Ashley Chisa Yano).

Director Peter Henry Schroeder has mustered agreeable designs in John Toom’s apartment set, Matthew Richter’s lights and Don Allen’s sound, yet he cannot bring “Body and Soul” together. Hunan-born Zhu is a lovely, graceful presence, but her authentic diction hinders comic pace. Her colleagues overcompensate, and the arbitrary “Blithe Spirit” aspects give Chooey little to sink her teeth into.

Moreover, despite everyone’s sincerity, “Body and Soul of a Chinese Woman” is not exactly unexplored territory from this author. That, along with the erratic realization and playing, bites into the longevity noodle of our patience.

-- D.C.N.

“The Body and Soul of a Chinese Woman,” Stella Adler Theatre, 6773 Hollywood Blvd. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays; 3 p.m. May 14 only. Ends May 14. $22.50. (323) 960-7744 or www.plays411.com/bodyandsoul. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.

Hellman’s themes can still resonate

Lillian Hellman’s 1934 drama “The Children’s Hour,” now at the Celebration Theatre, revolves around the plight of two female private school proprietors destroyed by rumors of their “unnatural” attraction for one another. Of course, in an era of sexual unrestraint, Hellman’s oblique treatment of lesbian themes may seem a bit tame. However, if approached with delicacy and restraint, the play still packs a surprising emotional punch.

Director Matthew Bankston’s staging, while sensitive and sincere, doesn’t always measure up to the material. Set primarily in a 1930s girls’ school, the action opens with a cozy scene of the young ladies in a sewing and elocution class. Yet even though their circumstances may be quaint, the characters cannot be, or else the entire play becomes artificial and irrelevant.

Unfortunately, Bankston keeps these schoolgirls mired in caricature. As Mary, the bad girl who tells an even worse lie, Stephanie Marquis only lacks a mustache to twirl, while Robyn Scrivener, who plays Rosalie, the terrified girl forced to back up Mary’s deception, skips and postures like a refugee from an “Our Gang” short. That’s a shame, because both are potentially fine actresses who just needed a little directorial restraint to bring their characters to full fruition.

Bankston is more successful with the adult roles, particularly the fine Sarah Taylor as Martha, the maiden lady school proprietor, whose hidden desire for her friend and business partner Karen (Liz Pellini), is brought to the fore by Mary’s lie, with tragic consequences. Straightforward and in control, Taylor invests the sometimes strained tone with a restorative naturalness, as does the admirable John Mullen as Karen’s loyal physician fiance.

Unfortunately, Pellini’s stiff and uninspired portrayal, earnest though it may be, proves an ongoing drag on the proceedings and keeps full catharsis at bay. However, in a role that lends itself to caricature, Donna Pieroni, who plays Martha’s aunt, a shallow and histrionic former actress, gives the production a needed boost by embracing her richly comic, ultimately contemptible stereotype.

-- F.K.F.

“The Children’s Hour,” Celebration Theatre, 7051B Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 7. $20. (323) 957-1884. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.

Writer sidesteps tough issues

Controversial historical figures make tempting targets for dramatic exploration, but they present pitfalls as well. The larger the life, the greater the risk of coasting on self-evident significance -- especially when the life is as long and influential as Robert McNamara’s.

Katy Hickman’s sprawling historical fiction “Bright Boy: The Passion of Robert McNamara” takes on the challenge of assessing the famous -- to some, infamous -- secretary of Defense in the Kennedy and Johnson administrations. In its quirky, committed debut production from Ensemble Studio Theatre-LA, Hickman’s play mines still-relevant questions about genius, hubris and social responsibility from McNamara’s career. Its whirlwind tour of biographical milestones, however, precludes more than surface treatment, let alone answers.

James Eckhouse’s stylish staging plays up the more whimsical elements in a set (by Laura Fine) built from rusted 1960s-era office furniture. We first see the 78-year-old McNamara (crusty, charismatic Garrett M. Brown), in a wheelbarrow: He’s being driven by his young assistant (Graham Sibley) to Mills College in 1995 to speak at a memorial for his former colleague and ideological adversary, Dean Rusk. A sudden collapse and brief hospitalization launch McNamara on a surreal retrospective of his life.

Despite many accomplishments -- reversing Ford Motor Co.’s sliding fortunes, a long stint as president of the World Bank -- McNamara’s touchstone legacy remains his support and enforcement of Vietnam War policies he knew to be untenable. His failure to speak out, some charge, was an unforgivable abdication of principle and integrity in favor of blind loyalty.

“I have an image problem,” McNamara concedes early on, fending off criticism as misunderstanding. But in Brown’s acerbic yet thoughtful portrayal, he comes to question the truth of accusations leveled at him, and the meaning of his life, while having increasingly wacky encounters with a conflicted college president (Keliher Walsh, in a nicely understated turn), her brother (Hugo Armstrong), a shellshocked Vietnam war vet bent on revenge, and a trio of student activists (Corbett Tuck, Tracey A. Leigh, Kim Chueh) who are digging a giant hole for reasons that remain unexplained because “as soon as you say why you’re doing something, you lose power.”

That’s an easy out that Hickman’s play uses more than once to dodge the work of mining insight. For a more in-depth exploration of many of the events and issues raised here, check out the reflections of McNamara himself in the Errol Morris documentary “The Fog of War.”

-- P.B.

“Bright Boy: The Passion of Robert McNamara,” Electric Lodge, 1416 Electric Ave., Venice. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 7. $22. (213) 368-9552 or www.EnsembleStudioTheatreLA.org. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes.