Family ties bind and chafe

The price of admission to the American melting pot is the erosion of cultural identity; paraphrasing Tolstoy, each assimilated family must endure the surrender of its heritage in its own way. For the dysfunctional New York Jews in Deborah Zoe Laufer’s “The Last Schwartz,” their coping strategy entails petty bickering, caustic wit and uneasy compromises on the road to reconciliation and closure.

An engaging mix of well-crafted satire and thoughtful examination, Laufer’s dramedy at the Zephyr Theatre is authentically grounded in keenly observed details and pitch-perfect performances. As the Schwartz family members gather in the Catskills home of their late patriarch to observe the Yarzheit on the one-year anniversary of his death, the loss of a stabilizing paternalistic hand is readily apparent in the disintegrating relations among his four adult offspring.

Under Lee Sankowich’s assured direction, the squabbling siblings are vividly drawn and cleanly differentiated as they fight over furniture and poke at each other’s sore spots. Striking contrasts abound between uptight, inflexible Norma (razor-sharp Valerie Perri) and her brothers as she struggles to keep their Jewish traditions from becoming increasingly irrelevant.

It’s a losing battle -- passive-aggressive Herb (Alan Safier) has no interest in their heritage, and younger Gene (Roy Abramsohn) shows up with his clueless shiksa girlfriend (Steffany Huckaby), exuding Marilyn Monroe innocence and sexuality. Herb’s wife, Bonnie (Pamela Gaye Walker), who converted to Judaism, is funny and touching in her desperate need for acceptance, while Tim Cummings adds off-kilter interior commentary as Simon, the high-functioning autistic brother who’s losing his sight.

Laufer is too skillful a playwright to settle for easy judgments -- she frames issues with insight, complexity and humor. But there are unsolved structural problems, particularly in the three successive final scenes that could each provide perfectly satisfying closure but are radically different in tone. When an audience bursts into premature spontaneous applause, it’s a sure sign the emotional ending is out of sync with the script.

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“The Last Schwartz,” Zephyr Theatre, 7456 Melrose Ave., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Thursdays and Fridays, 2 and 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Dec. 16. $25-30. (323) 960-7789 or www.plays411.com/schwartz. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.

Tough women caught in holy war

“The Troubles” may be on the wane, but tell that to the paramilitary organizations still embedded in the lives of the working-class Irish. In Gary Mitchell’s disturbing “Loyal Women,” now receiving its U.S. premiere at Theatre Banshee, fidelity to the cause -- in this case the Protestants of Northern Ireland -- comes at a very grim price.

In a tough Belfast neighborhood, Brenda (Rebecca Marcotte) tries to juggle a set of impossible demands: a bedridden mother-in-law (Rebecca Wackler); a mouthy teenage daughter (Amanda Deibert) with a baby she can’t be bothered with; and an estranged husband (Dan Conroy) just freed after 16 years in prison. Then there’s the Women’s Ulster Defence Assn., who draft Brenda into taking a larger role in their (dis)organization -- which can mean anything from collecting dues to torturing neighborhood girls who dare to date Catholics.

Mitchell, a Loyalist playwright living in Belfast, has been pilloried for his critical views of militia groups and remains in hiding after mobs attacked his home and firebombed his car. That sense of being under siege charges this messy, belligerent play, and it leads with its chin in a way that few contemporary American works even approach. Director Sean Branney impressively pushes his largely female cast toward an aggression that Hollywood allows only male antiheroes like Jack Bauer and Vic Mackey.

Yet the play’s language, like the setting, is resolutely prosaic, so the onus falls on the actors to build theatricality out of sheer kinetic and emotional intensity. But “Loyal Women’s” confrontations are so technically demanding that the cast has yet to get a hold on Mitchell’s material. This show will get better as the run goes on, and deserves an audience to watch it come into its own. Despite its flaws, “Loyal Women” is the kind of bold programming that makes Theatre Banshee one of L.A.’s more intriguing intimate theaters.

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“Loyal Women” The Banshee, 3435 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends Dec. 2. $12-$18. Contact: (818) 846-5323 or www.theatrebanshee.org. Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes.

Mining the layers of a masterpiece

Early on in “Glengarry Glen Ross,” David Mamet’s play about unscrupulous salesmen in the real estate game, now at the Egyptian Arena, you become aware that the piece’s rapid-fire dialogue has slowed. That disruption baffles at first, until one becomes aware of the design behind director Misty Carlisle’s initially puzzling pacing. It seems these actors -- all excellent performers -- are working their subtexts like toy terriers unearthing a mammoth. The end result is impressive, but the process is exhausting to watch.

In the program, Mamet’s observations about his play being a “gang comedy” are quoted. That’s ironic, considering that Carlisle’s overly emphatic approach seems antithetical to the piece’s comic rhythms. Whatever Carlisle’s intent, what is gradually revealed are the bones of a tragedy, as savage an indictment of the American dream as “Death of a Salesman.”

It’s no coincidence that “Glengarry” contains a daunting aggregate of Willy Lomans, some rapacious hunters of chumps still riding high, others toothless losers about to be relegated to the nearest ice floe. Giddily manipulative Ricky Roma (Nick Salamone) may be master of his sordid universe, but a mighty fall seems imminent. Once a titan in his field, poor Shelly Levene (Travis Michael Holder) battles fate and meets disgrace. Others among these chest-pounding cavemen are smaller in scale but equally doomed, men like Dave Moss (Robert Hugh Starr) and George Aaronow (Jan Munroe) -- survivors who subsist on the leavings of their betters. Tellingly, the man we sense will survive the mass extinction is John Williamson (effectively bloodless Eric Giancoli), a drab functionary buffered from disaster by sheer mediocrity.

Despite a patchy progression, the actors scale the heights to a shattering conclusion. If Carlisle meant to go for the laughs, she misses the mark. But when it comes to exciting our pity and our empathy at last, this production is right on target.

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“Glengarry Glen Ross,” Egyptian Arena, 1625 N. Las Palmas Ave., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 3 and 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 18. $30. (323) 969-4935. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

Bad decisions, great set design

Steeped in squalor and gratuitous violence, Chad Beckim’s “‘Nami” exploits a loaded topic -- trafficking in child sex slaves -- to lend edginess to what ultimately plays like a B-thriller, and an incoherent one at that.

Set in a seedy New York tenement, the drama revolves around two impoverished misfit couples in adjacent apartments -- former hooker Keesha (Aissatou Diallo) and drug addict Roachie (Hector Hank); and schizophrenic shut-in Lil (Marie Wong) and her doting cabby husband, Harry. Making all their lives miserable is Donovan (Stephen Eshenbaugh), the local psychopathic landlord-pusher-pimp (talk about a triple threat).

After a botched drug deal, Donovan forces Roachie to repay his debt by safeguarding a 4-year-old refugee from the 2004 South Asian tsunami (hence the play’s abbreviated title). Donovan has targeted the girl for sale to the sex market, but the plan is overheard by Lil, who tries to intervene, with horrific results.

In its fascination with lowlifes and bad behavior, Beckim’s play follows the lead of Tracy Letts (whose “Killer Joe” and “Bug” explore similar underbellies of society) -- but without the latter’s ingenuity or psychological depth. Scott Werve’s staging relies on intensity and relentless menace to propel the piece, affording little opportunity for variation in tone.

The show’s real star is Danny Cistone’s stunningly seedy set conjoining the two apartments in an overlapping living room -- all that’s needed is something worthwhile to fill it.

Alas, atmosphere and blood can’t mitigate the holes in the plot or the characters’ nonsensical choices.

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“‘Nami,” Hayworth Studio Theatre, 2511 Wilshire Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 4 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 17. $25. (323) 960-7788 or www.plays411.com/nami. Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes.

‘Guilt’ should be explored further

In “Guilt Anthology,” the singular emotion that nobody admits to in public gets a bipolar workout. This contrasting double bill of one-act plays about guilt displays considerable promise and some noteworthy performances.

The inaugural production of Breath of Fire Latina Theater Ensemble, “Guilt Anthology” couples two scripts by Juan Ramirez that could hardly be more different. The opener, “Guilty,” is a satire of 12-step meetings. Self-help guru Matt (the deft Anthony Lucero) urges four addicts -- Yesnia Soto, Adria Saldivar, Tony Viramonte and Jacqueline Bustamente -- to unburden themselves of their shame. Ramirez builds each trauma from benign to extreme, with Saldivar’s fat fetishist a standout. The final twist is darkly amusing.

Darkness permeates “Revelations,” a stark allegory that pits a tormented border coyote (author Ramirez) in search of forgiveness against the priest (Viramonte), who cannot guarantee it. The emotional impact of Ramirez’s self-loathing Sal is acute -- and why not? The script gives his argument more freight than it does that of Viramonte’s subdued Father Ben. This cries out to be a full-length play.

Throughout, director Anthony Couturie has better luck with internal rhythms and big moments than pace and execution. Bill Hilton’s set design is resourceful -- bare bones for “Guilty,” artful for “Revelations” -- but the erratic light cues are another matter. Heartfelt intent can only take us so far, though “Guilt Anthology” has enough worth to spur interest in what Breath of Fire does next.

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“Guilt Anthology,” El Centro Cultural de Mexico, 310 W. 5th St. (2nd Floor), Santa Ana. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 17. $15. (714) 450-1147. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.