‘Peaches’ a wicked farce

In a drought-stricken dystopia where humans are divided into cannibals and vegetarians, life tastes pretty much like a mouthful of dirt no matter what diet you follow. Alex Jones’ new play, “Canned Peaches in Syrup,” is a nasty, cynical farce about human desperation in bleak times, but as the title indicates, there’s more than a hint of sweetness to balance out the bitter world view.

The Furious Theatre Company’s production is smart, wicked and acted with animal intensity by a stellar cast. The story follows two itinerant groups -- a nuclear family of vegetarians (“Meat is murder!” serves as their mantra) and a mercenary gang of cannibals. Everyone is hungry, tired and covered in a permanent layer of dust.

In an attempt to procure human flesh, one of the cannibals (Shawn Lee) secretly infiltrates the vegetarian camp, only to fall in love with the family’s young daughter (Katie Davies). “I like your hair,” the boy says. “Thanks. I washed it last year,” she shyly replies.

The plot line suggests “Romeo and Juliet” crossed with “Mad Max,” but the overall tone is more like a raunchy satire in the Alfred Jarry vein. The dialogue features wall-to-wall profanity, and the scatological conversations possess a deadpan comic quality. In the end, the vegetarians’ prized can of peaches goes missing and bloody mayhem breaks loose.

This play’s biggest achievement is making the audience roar with laughter as mankind literally devours itself limb by limb.

-- David Ng

“Canned Peaches in Syrup,” Carrie Hamilton Theatre, 39 S. El Molino Ave., Pasadena. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 7:30 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 10. $25. (800) 595-4849 or www.furious theatre.org. Running time: 2 hours.

‘Falcon’ premieres in Long Beach

Fans of Dashiell Hammett, put this in your pipe and smoke it: “The Maltese Falcon” is hitting the boards. Helen Borgers, artistic director of the Long Beach Shakespeare Company, has received unprecedented permission from Hammett’s estate to adapt the 1930 detective novel for the stage, and the resulting play is a talky but curiously absorbing excursion into the shadows of classic noir.

John Huston’s 1941 film gave the story of Sam Spade’s tangle with femme and avian fatales iconic status. One might ask, why bother reinventing the first-rate? Well, for starters, Huston’s script omitted one of Hammett’s most evocative stretches of prose: the tale of Charles Flitcraft, a middle-class family man whose certainties are shattered when he is almost killed by a falling beam. In Borgers’ version, Flitcraft’s response to this shockingly close shave becomes an allegory of Spade’s worldview, a wary recognition that people are driven by mysterious narratives they often barely understand. And there’s something inherently theatrical about “Maltese”: Borgers, also directing, uses the tiny Richard Goad Theatre with oblique wit, deploying the space’s tight corners to stage Hammett’s breathless assignations and surprise shakedowns.

Admittedly, this production is Minimalist, and the adaptation has its longueurs -- particularly in the third act, which is clogged with so many red herrings the script feels more like filibustering than dialogue. But at the center of the show is a driving, confident performance by Dan Flapper as Spade. He and Borgers approach the essence of the Hammett universe: a godless world in which a hard-boiled man maintains his personal code with irony, a Sunday punch and a minimum of multisyllabic words.

-- Charlotte Stoudt

“The Maltese Falcon,” The Richard Goad Theatre, 4250 Atlantic Ave., Long Beach. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 3. $15-$10. Contact: (562) 997-1494 or www.lbshakespeare .org. Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes.

‘Twelfth Night’ an over-the-top romp

The Globe in Topanga is a rustic new theater with a steeply raked driveway guaranteed to grind gears. If you’re not up to the climb, a nifty electric golf cart will sweep you from the parking lot to the theater in fine style.

Once there, you will be treated to a “Twelfth Night” of epic goofiness. Shakespeare’s gender-bending tale revolves around the antics of cross-dressing Viola (Roberta Brown), who acts as a romantic emissary from the noble Orsino (Christopher Codol) to the wealthy Olivia (Melissa McFarlane). When Olivia falls for Orsino’s youthful go-between, things get predictably messy.

“Twelfth Night” is already notable for its surfeit of clowns, a bumper crop of dupes and gadabouts that includes Olivia’s wise fool Feste (Peter Barent Lewis), boozy Sir Toby Belch (Matthew Henerson) and the ever gullible Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Spike Steingasser).

Director T Michael unfailingly emphasizes the ludicrous in this no-holds-barred romp, which features amusing fight sequences choreographed by Brown. Everyone in the play, with the possible exception of the sober-sided, famously sexist Orsino, goes flagrantly over-the-top in their broad portrayals. Matt Crabtree is effectively dashing as Sebastian, Viola’s twin brother, while Joseph A. Cincotti is a hoot as Malvolio, Olivia’s prim steward, who is subjected to a cruel comeuppance that would do the Marquis de Sade proud.

Michael’s unstintingly clownish staging is loads of fun, and the entire cast is obviously having a high old time. Occasionally, a running gag runs right into the ground, while a few cheerful hambones need to be taken to task for blatant upstaging. But, by and large, this unabashedly silly Shakespeare rates four rubber chickens -- a high ranking on the slapstick scale.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Twelfth Night,” Globe in Topanga, 1909 N. Topanga Canyon Blvd., Topanga. 5 p.m. Saturdays and Sundays. Ends Nov. 18. $25. (310) 455-9400. Running time: 2 hours, 40 minutes.

Greed gets behind wheel in ‘Root’

In “The Root” at the Ark Theatre, it’s less the love of money than the need of it that leads to treachery. Gary Richards’ dark comic dissection of American avarice in a Queens gas station turned chop shop breaks no new ground, but there’s intelligence amid the wisecracks and frissons.

Set in the 1980s, “The Root” concerns downwardly spiraling Vinny (Jon Manfrellotti), whose filling station, once a family business, has become a reassembly line for stolen cars.

The motors of this operation are drug-dealing fence Willie (Baron Kelly), the closest thing Vinny has to a friend; Chick (Jim Hanna), Vinny’s coke-addicted landlord; and, especially, corrupt NYPD Det. Jerry (Allan Wasserman), now ready to take things up a notch.

Except that now Vinny wants to retrench from this criminal enterprise.

Two obstacles block his search for integrity. One is the big-money offer that a corporation has made porn producer Chick for the property. The other is sociopath Jerry, who is hardly willing to give up his profit margin.

Barring the lack of noir effects from lighting designer Kyle Kensrue, director Ken Meseroll’s smooth staging gives the twists their due. Designer Robert Tintoc’s well-considered set even manages sudden bullet holes, and Christopher Moscatiello’s multi-focused sound is resourceful, as is the stalwart cast. Although Manfrellotti’s understated Sam Waterston quality needs more layers, he’s aptly hangdog, and his accomplices wolf down their archetypes with gusto.

That drives the vehicle. Richards’ script aims for somewhere between David Mamet and “Weeds.” It lands somewhere between Sidney Kingsley and “The Shield.” Though some shopworn aspects -- excessive jargon, a faintly preordained resolution -- need retooling, “The Root’s” well-greased narrative machinery should keep tele-friendly playgoers engrossed.

-- David C. Nichols

“The Root,” Ark Theatre, 1647 S. La Cienega Blvd., L.A. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 17. Adult audiences. $20-$22. (323) 969-1707 or www.arktheatre.org. Running time: 1 hour, 55 minutes.

‘Ugly Coco’ is transformative

Miss Coco Peru wants to be a bringer of peace, a “drag queen/monologuist/world savior” who instills serenity in one and all. Life thwarts her at every turn, however, because people tend to behave stupidly, and this makes Coco cross. And when Coco is cross, she turns into “Ugly Coco.”

Hence the title of the new theatrical stand-up act that writer-performer Clinton Leupp has created to showcase his alter ego. He’s performing it at the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center’s Renberg Theatre.

To picture Coco, think of an auburn Marlo Thomas, complete with “That Girl”-era flip to her hair. She’s a vision of sweetness, but when the world triggers her temper, her baritone voice turns acerbic and her immaculately painted lips stretch and twist into angry punctuation marks.

Fortunately, Coco doesn’t spend all of “Ugly Coco” being ugly. The show, directed by Michael Schiralli, transcends the complaints to become Coco’s personal tale of perseverance and transformation, related with biting humor and occasional interludes of song.

The recollections stretch back to boyhood and the loudmouths who tried to humiliate anyone they sensed wasn’t toeing the line. At school, the boy who would become Coco did his best to butch it up for the bullies’ benefit. At home, he tried on his mom’s caftans and pretended to be Endora from “Bewitched,” and in dressing up, he found his calling, which led to friendships with various icons -- real or imagined, but often invoked -- and a storybook marriage.

Coco isn’t as innovative a drag creation as John Epperson’s Lypsinka or Jeffery Roberson’s Varla Jean Merman, and her discussion topics sometimes step across the boundaries of good taste.

She’s widely adored, however, and her fans are out in multitudes.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“Ugly Coco,” Renberg Theatre at L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center’s Village, 1125 N. McCadden Place, Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Oct. 21. $25. (323) 860-7300 or www.lagaycenter.org/boxoffice. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.