A wacky star is born in ‘Tinseltown’

Knowing silliness attends “Tales of Tinseltown” at Actors Co-op. Although Michael Colby and Paul Katz’s goofy pastiche about a farm girl’s Hollywood rise and fall at the hands of 1930s fan magazines occasionally errs on the sappy side, it’s brainlessly entertaining.

As columnist Adele DeRale (the wonderful Maria Lay, in for Diana Georger) and company inform us in the opener, “The Public Wants to Know.” That public includes starry-eyed Ellie Hinkelberry (fervently funny Gwen Hollander), who yearns to escape from Walnut, Iowa.

Enter earnest would-be scribe Elmo Green (sweet-toned Matt Lutz), nephew to mogul Norman G. Neinstein (Gus Corrado). Changing her last name to Ash, Ellie hops aboard Elmo’s bicycle, and it’s westward ho.

Under director Jeff Maynard’s inventive eye, “Tinseltown” suggests “Dames at Sea” crossed with Carol Burnett’s entire oeuvre. Its narrative subverts the period, from not-so-innocent ingenues to inbred family secrets, primarily through parody numbers. Colby’s lyrics, though lame-brained even by ‘30s standards, contain some delicious notions, and composer Katz’s tuneful send-ups are winning.

The screen test that introduces singing janitor (Stephen Van Dorn, never better), Merman-esque belter (the hilarious Gina D’Acciaro) and enervated dancer (nimble Robert Marra) is a triple-play showstopper. And when Ellie’s ability to mimic every animal in creation unseats studio star Lulu Beauveen (Suzanne Friedline) in “The Jungle Song,” pandemonium ensues.

Choreographer Allison Bibicoff and musical director Carson Schutze cleverly offset piano bar aspects, and the designs are witty, particularly Paul De Does’ screening-room set and Paula Higgins’ zany costumes. But what puts “Tinseltown” over is the cast, with choristers Erika Whalen, Lisa Marinacci and Robert Bastron completing a solid troupe of warblers and hoofers. Hardly whammo art, “Tales of Tinseltown” is often wacky fun.

-- David C. Nichols

“Tales of Tinseltown,” Crossley Terrace Theatre, 1760 N. Gower St., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2:30 p.m. Sundays, 2:30 p.m. June 9 and 16. Ends June 17. $34. (323) 462-8460. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes.

A double life in the military

Talk about high-stakes poker: During a backroom card game in a local bar, a pair of closeted ace Marines are forced to put honor, duty and their careers on the table in a well-performed revival of Michael Norman Mann’s passionate though at times over-earnest “Box 27” at Actors Forum Theatre.

Penned in angry challenge to the adoption of “don’t ask, don’t tell,” Mann’s issue-oriented 1993 drama explores the consequences of the policy and the issue of gays in the military that spawned it.

Military service, with its rigid hierarchy and insistence on conformity and obedience, is inherently at odds with individual freedom and autonomy. With nonregulation sexual orientation, the conflicted allegiances to self versus the service are strained to the breaking point.

For Capt. Stephen Mills, played with urgency and conviction by Joe Jeffrey, “don’t ask, don’t tell” is worse than an ineffectual Band-Aid -- it’s an insult. His more seasoned lover, Maj. Howard Kurtis (Michael Harrity, exuding military bearing and precision), is more resigned to the reality of a double life.

In a series of soul-searching confessions, Mann presents his characters with two options: continue living a lie at the cost of personal integrity, or take on the system with an open (and likely career-ending) declaration of homosexuality.

On one level, the legitimacy of the play’s indignation is unassailable -- how can we refuse the offer of someone willing to put his or her life on the line to keep us safe?

To his credit, Mann takes the argument beyond the gay-bashing prejudice embodied in Stephen’s father, an old-school retired colonel (Bert Hinchman). The mature, sympathetic presence of George C. Simms as a black veteran makes a pointed comparison to the barriers crossed in racially integrating the Corps.

Nevertheless, despite the best efforts of director Larry Lederman and his committed cast, the play remains more polemic than flesh-and-blood drama. At times its strident and labored arguments betray the playwright’s naivete about the capacity of a monolithic military organization to rapidly abandon its built-in blindness.

-- Philip Brandes

“Box 27,” Actors Forum Theatre, 10655 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 10. $25. (818) 506-0600. Running time: 1 hour, 55 minutes

Armenian roots and identity

“Eth-nic.” Nora Armani pronounces the word like she’s trying to swallow something that doesn’t agree with her. No wonder: This Armenian-Egyptian-American actress-poet-storyteller knows all those hyphens can really stick in one’s throat. Does difference set you -- or keep you -- apart?

Armani’s one-woman show, “On the Couch,” which kicks off the Fountain Theatre’s Summer Armenian Festival, meanders unevenly through a life spent crossing borders geographic and emotional. With her striking looks and British-inflected vowels, Armani has an elegant, feline presence. Yet “On the Couch” lacks a satisfying cohesion, even for a monologue about the experience of diaspora.

The show is loosely framed around an unresolved affair -- Armani keeps addressing her lover, imagining him sitting in the audience -- a strategy that feels indulgently dear-diary-ish. (Although she does offer a sly riff on how cultures around the world deal with the eternal question of men, women and the toilet seat: up or down?)

Far more interesting are her stories about family rituals, tales of courtship, and surviving the Armenian genocide, all of which bring out Armani’s engaging vitality. She ends, however, on a bittersweet note: “Where is my home?” she wonders. “Where is my spirit?” But it’s as if she hasn’t heard her own story: Home is the sound of her Armenian accent and her French one; old world memories and Hollywood horror stories; the sway of her hips when she dances, the ironic elan of her parting shots. As that other Egyptian diva Cleopatra knew, infinite variety conquers all.

-- Charlotte Stoudt

“On the Couch With Nora Armani,” Fountain Theatre, 5060 Fountain Ave., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 3. $28-$25. (323) 663-1525. Running time: 1 hour, 20 minutes.

Illness and understanding

“Throwing Rubies” is the sort of play that elicits such adjectives as “earnest” and “well-intentioned.” Unfortunately, those usually are code words for “didactic” and “stuffy.” Certainly, the latter terms apply to Shoba Productions’ premiere of Terri Sissman’s script at the Stella Adler Theatre.

The story unfolds mostly in 1986, as Margaret (Leslie Upson), fiftysomething and seeking new purpose, volunteers to work with an AIDS home-help program. She’s chipper if somewhat repressed. Jeffrey (Terry Ray), the client she is assigned, dresses in kimonos, collects Barbies and can’t seem to get through a conversation without doing an impersonation of some gay-icon movie queen. In other words, he’s about as old-school flamboyant as can be. Sensing the starch in Margaret’s bearing, he immediately sets about testing her.

The tale picks up another thread when Jeffrey’s rattling cough summons ghosts of the past: 1940s adolescents with tuberculosis (Iris Gilad and Mylika Davis), who face the same ostracism that would be experienced, 40 years later, by people with AIDS. (“Throwing a ruby,” by the way, means coughing up blood.) These characters seem to hover, since they never entirely enter the wrapped-in-white, sanitarium-like ‘80s settings (designed by Lisa D. Lechuga) -- one particularly artful aspect of this staging by Sue Hamilton, of “The Breakup Notebook” fame. Another nice touch: live mood music by keyboardist Ryan Tanaka.

As Margaret and Jeffrey adjust to each other, the story develops genuine warmth. There’s only so much this committed cast can do, however, with the schematic plot. Or with the been-there, done-that story. We’ve seen most of this before -- in the Hannah Pitt-Prior Walter relationship in Tony Kushner’s “Angels in America.”

It’s good to be reminded to treat one another with empathy, but can’t the lesson at least be interesting?

-- Daryl H. Miller

“Throwing Rubies,” Stella Adler Theatre, 6773 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 10. $25. (323) 960-4484 or www.plays411.com/rubies. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.

‘Death’ at a deafening roar

Apocalypse arrives with a death metal crash in “Big Death & Little Death” at the Road Theatre. Mickey Birnbaum’s dark absurdist comedy is fascinating, frustrating and deafening, often at once.

Meet disaffected Valley teen Gary (the committed Sean Wing) and his family, circa 1993. Anorexic sister Kristi (Jeanne Syquia) fills a scrapbook with photos of car-crash victims. Gulf War vet Dad (Jeff LeBeau) succumbs to post-traumatic stress disorder. Mom (Rhonda Aldrich) chirpily rationalizes her infidelity. Even Gary’s dog tries to eat her dead puppies, resulting in mysterious noises around the crawlspace (courtesy of sound designer David B. Marling).

As Gary and stoner friend Harley (Ammar Mahmood) turn to sex, drugs and groups like My Autopsy, author Birnbaum plays tricks with time and space, continually rebooting the pivotal family accident that unfolds on the staircase of designer Claire Bennett’s bumper-strewn set. This leads to Gary’s dilemma: Should he go to college out of state, or destroy the universe?

In the rangy glow of John Eckert’s surreal lighting, director Larry Biederman’s staging is razor-sharp, graced by some nervy acting. Wing, unrecognizable from “Bunbury,” continues to impress, particularly in his outrageous scenes with the redoubtable Ann Noble’s twisted counselor. Their colleagues, including Mark St. Amant’s dead uncle and Zach Dulli’s puppy, are similarly fearless, almost carrying the narrative.

However, though Birnbaum remains a singular voice, with jolts of brilliance, his metaphor-heavy script doesn’t coalesce. Characters and content have uneven weight, the stark humor and metaphysical wonderment are at cross-purposes, and the live music by band Condemption, however apt thematically, imperils the eardrums. Undeniably original, “Big Death” bites off more nihilism than it can chew and we can digest.

-- David C. Nichols

“Big Death & Little Death,” Road Theatre Company, 5108 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends July 21. $25. (866) 811-4111 or www.roadtheatre.org. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.