Saroyan, still out of style

In some cosmic synergy, William Saroyan’s Pulitzer-winning 1939 play, “The Time of Your Life,” was produced at about the same time Eugene O’Neill’s “The Iceman Cometh” was published. Superficially similar but thematically antithetical, the dramas, both set in seedy taverns, capture America on the defining cusp of World War II.

In the intervening decades, the toweringly despairing O’Neill has gained in stature, while Saroyan, with all his sentimentality, has become arguably marginalized. In the current production of “The Time of Your Life” at Pacific Resident Theatre, the reasons for Saroyan’s eclipse are all too evident.

An odd hybrid of the caustic and the corny, “Time” brims with sappy cliches -- the innocent whore, the wisely omniscient boozer. Yet any work of art must be judged in the context of its day. With its profusion of rich eccentrics, Saroyan’s character-driven play broke the mold of the standard linear drama and prefigured the American theater’s segue into alternative forms.

In an immensely ambitious staging, director Matt McKenzie scales down Saroyan’s sprawling yarn to a small stage yet maintains the propulsive quality of the often helter-skelter narrative. Norman Scott’s deceptively cozy barroom set neatly accommodates the requirements of the large cast. Sarah Zinsser’s painstaking costumes contribute to the period ambience, as do Alexander Enberg’s sound and Michael Redfield’s lighting -- both excellent.

Capable Robb Derringer holds center court as Joe, the mysterious and wealthy boozer who fuels the action with infusions of cash and sympathy. Shiva Rose is fittingly wistful as a hooker redeemed by the love of Tom (beautifully nuanced Matt McTighe), Joe’s dim but trusty functionary. Guided by choreographer Sarah Elgart, Nick Rogers nails the difficult role of Harry, the wannabe star who dances soulfully in the background throughout. Other standouts include Christopher Shaw as the tough but nurturing bar owner, and Lee De Broux as a battered old adventurer whose hilariously unlikely yarns don’t detract from his innate nobility.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“The Time of Your Life,” Pacific Resident Theatre, 703 Venice Blvd., Venice. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 1. $20-$25. (310) 822-8392. Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes.

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Hilarious but too sophomoric

Renegade lunatics should high-tail it to Sacred Fools, where “Beaverquest! The Musical” is chewing across boundaries of genre and logic. At its shaggily enjoyable best, Padraic Duffy and Bobby Stapf’s sweetly ribald Southern-rock ode to interspecies tolerance suggests what might result if the Dixie Chicks channeled William S. Burroughs while Ren and Stimpy stole Willie Nelson’s stash.

Although overstuffed, author Duffy’s scenario is drolly self-deprecating. Overseen by three archetypal narrators (Darrin Revitz, Lauren Nasman and Emily Pennington), a cracked passel of “Hee-Haw” types goes rabid in pursuit of an erudite pet bunny (imposing Bryan Krasner) and the last living beaver (riotous Corey Klemow). Their anthropomorphic romance brings “Beaverquest!” into audaciously original territory.

It’s easier to track the tangled upstage map on designer Janne Zinkle Larsen’s truck-and-outhouse set than to stay abreast of Duffy’s countless satirical twists. About a third of the double-entendre takes on the title can go, and the libretto still requires much musical realignment. Luckily, director Scott Leggett, an inventive design team -- Wes Crain’s wacky costumes are their own show -- and the unfettered cast inhales the craziness, selling Stapf’s chugging songs with panache. Thus, when Sheriff Jack (Joe Fria, hilarious as ever) forswears sex with girlfriend Petunia (big-voiced Laura Sperrazza), their gyrations are a hoot precisely because of their straight-faced attack.

Alyssa Preston drives the pile a bit as mayor/taxidermist Arleta, but she’s outlandishly funny; ditto Jacob Sidney as Clem, Petunia’s overzealous brother. Michael Holmes scores as lovelorn Cletis, whose subplot with Pennington’s wistful Pepper merits expansion. And when Philip Newby’s hybrid love child appears in Act 2, his sidesplitting antics typify the enterprise. If Duffy and Stapf keep gnawing away at the most sophomoric aspects, “Beaverquest!” could become a toothsome cult hit.

-- David C. Nichols

“Beaverquest! The Musical,” Sacred Fools Theater, 660 N. Heliotrope Drive, Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 3. (310) 281-8337. Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes

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‘Superstar’ in a small theater

If anyone could scale down Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 1971 rock opera, “Jesus Christ Superstar,” to a small theater, that person would be Derek Charles Livingston, the director whose past shows include the Ovation-winning “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” and the delightful “HMS Pinafore,” both at the Celebration.

Livingston is a proven theatrical practitioner known for his rigorously inventive work in small theater. And with the help of musical director Richard Berent and associate musical director Brian O’Halloran, he has done a Herculean task in transforming “Superstar” to the Attic Theatre’s sub-99 seat space.

Yet some works defy diminution, and although the Attic acoustic production is crisply executed, it is intermittently unwieldy, largely by virtue of its limited budget and cramped quarters. Also, certain efforts to “update” this already updated story of the Passion seem cursory.

Part of this putative revisionism includes casting women in roles traditionally played by men. Pamela Taylor is a prepossessing Pontius Pilate, but the dynamic yet miscast Blanche Ramirez proves problematic as Judas Iscariot. Those fond of the score may find Ramirez’s vaulting soprano tones jarring, not to mention at odds with Judas’ tortured, virile villainy.

Livingston is more successful in linking the narrative about the eponymous “Prince of Peace” to the current antiwar movement -- a timely innovation, complete with televised “news reports” direct from Jerusalem, that seems particularly apt. Backed by a terrific ensemble, Jennifer Blake is pure-voiced and purely touching as Mary Magdalene. However, the bulwark of the production is Scott Charles’ virtuosically wrenching Jesus. Whatever your religious orientation, or lack thereof, you may well feel the tears welling up during Charles’ sensitive portrayal of the humble Nazarene whose sublime sacrifice proved deathless.

-- F.K.F.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” Attic Theatre & Film Center, 5429 W. Washington Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends April 27. $30. (323) 525-0600, Ext. 2. Running time: 2 hours.

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Not the smartest musical around

Theoretically speaking, “The Smartest Man in the World” at the Pico Playhouse is respectable entertainment. If an old-school musical about Albert Einstein sounds odd, you have no idea.

For starters, the libretto, written by lyricist Russ Alben and John Sparks, attempts a humanistic look at Einstein (the heroic Alan Safier). Fusing historical data with Catskills quips, its structure resembles “Fiorello!” retooled by Tom Lehrer. As early as the opening title song, which composer Jerry Hart sets to a woozy Rialto waltz, tonal anomalies run rampant from retro to risible. The fissure of subject and substance hits meltdown as Act 1 ends, with Einstein and the lab-coated ensemble exploding into a Fosse-flavored strut -- “Manhattan Project / Let’s give a cheer / We’ll split the atom / Then have a beer.”

Certainly, director Herb Isaacs and choreographer Madeleine Dahm provide a sharp staging. The designs are plush, notably Cynthia Herteg’s elegant costumes and J. Kent Inasy’s florid lighting. Musical director Gerald Sternbach and pianist Jon Dinerstein make Hart’s pleasant, derivative tunes sound as fresh as possible.

Safier maintains stellar control as Einstein, wholly responsible for the emotional pull of his final “If I Had My Life to Live Over Again.” Gail Bianchi brings heft to first wife Mileva, Terri Homberg-Olsen sings beautifully as second wife Elsa and Dani Shear shines as loyal secretary Helen. Susan Brindley’s hairstyling mistress and John Combs’ Weekly Jewish Forward writer are other standouts in a valiant cast.

Yet, despite their efforts, the results vary from mildly diverting to jaw-dropping. For all its evident skill and sincerity, “Smartest Man” is a curious throwback in the musical theater space-time continuum.

-- D.C.N.

“The Smartest Man in the World,” Pico Playhouse, 10508 W. Pico Blvd., L.A. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 11. $35. (323) 860-6620. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes.

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Making the best of nonsense

The power-hungry Hollywood executive is a familiar stage villain who is a lot of fun to hate and probably even more fun to play. His trademark pathologies include delusions of grandeur, a short attention span and compulsive multi-tasking. In Craig Lucas’ “The Dying Gaul,” the loathsome Jeffrey (Ken Arquelio) is a reptilian studio honcho whose traits encompass all of the above plus one more -- he’s a closeted bisexual man who is cheating on his wife with a young male screenwriter.

A movie industry satire that also touches on AIDS, cyberspace and Buddhism, “The Dying Gaul” (which premiered in 1998) is a bizarre hodgepodge of a drama that takes on more subjects than any single play could possibly handle. The current revival by the Master Class Players strives hard to make sense of it all but understandably fails to bring coherence to Lucas’ script, which almost certainly ranks as one of the accomplished playwright’s weakest efforts.

The story begins when the shark-like Jeffrey expresses interest in a screenplay by Robert (Patrick Hancock), an idealistic and naive writer. The screenplay, titled “The Dying Gaul,” is a gay weepy about a man with AIDS who journeys to Italy with his lover. Jeffrey wants to make the couple heterosexual to appeal to Middle America. “You can do anything you want so long as you don’t call it what it is,” he rationalizes. Robert initially refuses to modify his screenplay, but he changes his mind after Jeffrey makes a surprising monetary offer that is quickly accompanied by a sexual one.

“The Dying Gaul” takes a discombobulating turn into cyber-New Age territory when Jeffrey’s suspecting wife (Mary-Ellen Loukas) initiates an online friendship with Robert. Using illegally obtained psychological files, she poses as his recently deceased boyfriend, freaking out the writer at first but then reaffirming his belief in Buddhism and reincarnation.

Jon Lawrence Rivera cleverly directs the play as a ‘90s period piece, emphasizing details like the characters’ clunky mobile phones and unwieldy laptop PCs. But he has trouble reconciling the story’s satirical wit and strange mystical themes. As one character says about life in Hollywood, “The higher you go in these hills, the weirder it gets.” So it follows: The higher this play strives for profound meaning, the weirder and more risibly nonsensical it becomes.

-- David Ng

“The Dying Gaul,” The Elephant Theatre, 6322 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m., Thursdays through Saturdays. Ends April 19. $20. (323) 960-7745 or www.plays411.com/dyinggaul. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.