‘Anatol’ still packs a punch

These days, when anyone’s bedroom can become an Internet sensation, there’s something appealing about the refined eroticism of “Anatol” at Pacific Resident Theatre. Arthur Schnitzler’s episodic look at sexual politics in fin de siecle Vienna may be faintly quaint, but its psychology holds firm.

Written in 1893, “Anatol” was the first play by Schnitzler, whose fascination with psychosexual behavior crystallized in his “Der Riegen” (“La Ronde”). Plotted in seven vignettes linked by self-adoring, self-deceptive Anatol (an expert Matt Letscher), the narrative hovers between elan and melancholy. Even as Anatol exults to confidant Max (Alex Enberg) about his latest love, he bemoans some other woman (it’s a wonder he can keep track).

Appropriately, a near-nude female posed high above designer Laura Fine’s fine Klimt-tinged set precedes each segment. This charming revival fields the reversals in Carl Mueller’s light-fingered translation with assurance, and director Dan Bonnell weaves a bevy of amorous foils around Letscher’s delightful roue. Rachel Avery makes a pert subject of hypnosis, and Ginna Carter’s after-hours supper date cracks up the house. Ursula Brooks and Martha Hackett are complementary married targets, just as Shiva Rose’s secretive fiancee and Valerie Dillman’s predatory mistress are flip sides of the same fascinating coin. Angela Wiggins (in for Judith Scott) as the circus star who cannot recall Anatol, Andrew Ebert’s waiter and William Lithgow’s valet complete the cast.

Luxuriating in Audrey Eisner’s elegant costumes, lighted by Jeremy Pivnick with evocative skill, this accomplished crew attends to cafe society strategies with waltzing aplomb. The detailed subtext unnecessarily lengthens some sequences, and certain aspects will raise feminist eyebrows. Still, the tone is correctly ambivalent, and if “Anatol” doesn’t seduce you, don’t expect him to shoulder the blame.

-- David C. Nichols

“Anatol,” Pacific Resident Theatre, 703 Venice Blvd., Venice. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 27. $20-$25. (310) 822-8392. Running time: 2 hours, 40 minutes.

Finding comfort in each other

In his 1993 play, Jonathan Harvey tells of a “Beautiful Thing” happening in the otherwise grim, gray environment of a southeast London low-income housing estate. Best known in the U.S. from the 1996 movie made of it, the story reverts to its original form in a poignant staging by Celebration Theatre.

Just shy of 16, Jamie (Nathan Frizzell) is wicked smart, but he’s not a natural sportsman, which earns him the disdain of other boys. Ste (Michael Tauzin), a few months older, is athletic and attractive enough to get along well with his peers but lives in hell at home, where his father and older brother use him as a punching bag. Kicked out of school, Leah (Kelly Schumann) has lost all sense of direction, save what she finds in the music of Mama Cass (providing the story’s soundtrack).

When Ste, sore from a beating, asks Jamie’s single mum (Sarah Taylor) whether he can stay the night, the lads find themselves bunked together. Talking alone, they feel less like misfits because, in each other’s eyes, they are beautiful.

Gritty as it is, the tale is idealized enough to make it a sort of fable -- a quality further emphasized (perhaps too much so) by Michael Matthews’ direction, which lets the lads off easy, with less self-consciousness and worry than the movie displayed.

The actors in the teen roles are older than their characters, making the story’s innocence harder to pull off, and performance quality (by a cast that also includes Nate Clark as Mum’s bumbling boyfriend) varies.

Even so, nuances reward those who watch closely: the symbolism of a closed door, the love silently indicated by a tap on the cheek and all of the other emotions written nervously on faces when they can’t be put into words. Each character stakes his or her place on this Earth -- bravely, unapologetically. We find ourselves rooting for them all.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“Beautiful Thing,” Celebration Theatre, 7051-B, Santa Monica Blvd., L.A. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends April 15. $20. (323) 957-1884. Running time: 2 hours.

Hashing out the future of theater

Commenting on her recurring panic attacks, the artistic director of a struggling theater company admits, “I’m scared of not mattering.”

Aren’t we all. Still, she’s speaking pointedly to the larger existential plight of L.A. Equity Waiver theater -- the central concern of “1 to 10?” from Hollywood’s Theatre District.

Company co-founder Max Riley’s heartfelt new three-character play was written with obvious affection and concern for an art form increasingly eclipsed by film and television. A committed cast drives the sentiment home despite some heavy-handed, repetitious dialogue.

Stubbornly defending the sanctity of her tiny theater, artistic director Sydney (Alice Ensor) takes principle to the limit, refusing to even consider casting actors with commercial agents or credits. Her obstinacy and imperious condescension pose a daunting challenge to her newly hired assistant, Ericka (Amy Rilling), a recent Yale graduate determined to prove herself in Sydney’s world.

The production benefits enormously from Jim O’Heir’s naturalistic turn as Ross, the world-weary theater manager who serves as Sydney’s conscience, confidante and emotional anchor, and takes Ericka under his mentoring wing.

Director Macario Gaxiola ably coaxes all the complex character shadings Riley’s script affords. More problematic is dialogue frequently composed of semantic definitions and distinctions rather than realistic conversation.

Sydney and Ericka offer well-articulated perspectives and pose important questions about the future of 99-seat theater, but they keep pingponging through the same arguments, and the narrative arc doesn’t warrant the full running time -- at this point, the piece requires either condensation or further movement toward real resolution.

-- Philip Brandes

“1 to 10?” The Theatre District, 804 N. El Centro Ave., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends April 29. $15. (323) 957-2343 or www.thetheatredistrict.com. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes.

Trouble lurks in a perfect family

War wounds. Homelessness. Desecration of the Earth. The topics at the core of Steve Tesich’s “The Speed of Darkness” loom large in the American consciousness, making this an appropriate time to return the 18-year-old play to the stage. In an astutely directed, sensitively acted presentation at the Secret Rose Theatre, the material seems newly vital and urgent.

This piece has always been tricky, though. Shifting awkwardly from domestic drama to full-blown tragedy (and threatening a further deviation into brooding fantasy), it pulls theatergoers out of the moment and forestalls the story’s impact.

Tesich -- the late, Oscar-winning writer of “Breaking Away” -- envisions a South Dakota family headed by a decorated Vietnam vet (Dick DeCoit) who is also locally admired for his acumen in the construction business. His wry, even-keeled wife (Cheryl McWilliams) and bubbly high school senior daughter (Samantha Klein) keep him grounded and content. But: Hello, who’s this? A narrator (Matthew D. McCallum), who steps forward to tell of a fall from grace.

Turns out, secrets lurk in this cozy living room, and more are buried on a nearby mesa. After a housing development has been proposed for that mesa, a now-homeless military buddy (Alan Safier) pays a surprise visit.

DeCoit’s raspy cadences call Clint Eastwood to mind, as does his steely bearing. After the veneer cracks, though, Daddy goes off the deep end. Safier faces a harder task: making believable a character who’s more writerly invention than flesh-and-blood human being. Somehow, the actor succeeds at being vaguely ominous yet saintly, and the intensifying drama, under David Blanchard’s direction, begins to resonate as we learn the sacrifices these men made during the war and long after.

The show is presented by Tolland TheatreWorks in association with Old Country Productions.

-- D.H.M.

“The Speed of Darkness,” the Secret Rose Theatre, 11246 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends April 1. $25. (818) 754-5753 or www.tollandtheatre.com. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes.

Oscar Wilde, in his twilight

After his release from prison in 1897, ostracized Oscar Wilde spent the last two years of his life in abject poverty, broken in body and spirit. In desperation, he turned to public lectures for income, thereby providing the historical setting for playwright John Gay’s celebrity bio-logue, “Diversions and Delights.”

Originally popularized in 1977 by the late Vincent Price, this solo performance re-creates one of those speaking engagements delivered under a pseudonym during Wilde’s self-imposed exile in Paris. Hutchins Foster dons Wilde’s velvet mantle in August Vivirito’s staging at the Complex.

Although prey to the format’s inherently stagey artifice, Gay’s well-researched and skillfully constructed script offers whimsical philosophizing and rueful reminiscences in Wilde’s notoriously flamboyant style.

Foster nails the posture of effete narcissism (“to love oneself -- there is the beginning of a lifelong romance,” he purrs while swilling absinthe). Yet flashes of bitter self-awareness erupt from behind the breezy persona. Maintaining the last shreds of dignity that separate him from total humiliation is the subtextual struggle of the piece, and simply getting through his lecture represents a minor triumph.

Leaping from discussions of aesthetics and decadence to intimate confessions about the homosexual love affair and betrayal that ruined his life, Foster’s Wilde demonstrates the freewheeling associations of an indefatigably nimble mind. Less convincing is the boyish agility with which he floats around the stage and languidly drapes himself across his speaker’s armchair -- except when briefly called for in the script, there’s no sign of the ravages that two years of hard labor wrought on Wilde’s body. Physicality should be as big a part of his struggle here as psychology.

Under the shadow of approaching death, Wilde acknowledges he’s fighting to free himself from any bitterness against the world. Yet he can’t resist satirical swipes such as: “All drama critics can be bought, though judging from their appearance they can’t be very expensive.” Sorry, Oscar, but the check just wasn’t big enough.

-- P.B.

“Diversions and Delights” Ruby Theatre at The Complex, 6472 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends April 8. $20 (cash only). (310) 869-7546. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

‘Sleep’ can’t get up and at ‘em

We enter the Garage Theatre for “Each Day Dies With Sleep” to see a tree of plastic foam bones hung with oranges against one wall, iconic pictures framing a curtained platform on the other. Designed by Darla Kay Davis, the decor suits Jose Rivera’s abstract 1990 study of an abusive father, his beleaguered daughter, and the hunk she escapes to Hollywood with, and if only it were enough.

Scuttling about on all fours in Yammy Swoot’s nightmarish lighting, Nelly (Karla Leticia Saldana Dominguez Suarez) has every reason to leave her mysteriously expanding home. The 11th of 21 children born to Augie (Adam Soriano) and his unseen wife, Nelly is hardly the “pinhead” her father calls her. That’s where mechanic Johnny (Jerry James) comes in, traversing the two banks of audience seating like a troubadour.

Johnny, whose affairs (and illegitimate children) with Nelly’s sisters are local lore, yearns to be a model, and Nelly must elude Dad’s attention. Then, after a paralyzing accident fells Augie, the kids head west to open a celebrity garage. Emotional betrayals, multiple metaphors, a fire and a hurricane leave this trio in a synoptic dilemma.

Inventively staged by director Kristal Greenlea, this presentation has everything going for it except a script worth revisiting.

Rivera seeks magic realism and a level of cultural provocation that his ornate poetry and portentous symbolism simply don’t deliver. Despite the company’s heroic effort, “Each Day Dies With Sleep” is textually opaque to the point of somnolence.

-- D.C.N.

“Each Day Dies With Sleep,” Garage Theatre, 251 E. 7th St., Long Beach. 8 p.m. Today and Saturday. Ends Saturday. $15-$20. (866) 811-411 or www.theatermania.com. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.