Lack of direction is a ‘Drag’

At first, Gina Gionfriddo’s “U.S. Drag,” seems like a female buddy caper starring two enterprising college grads who want to make a rigged, crackpot system work for them. The tone of these smarty-pants club-hoppers, desperate for free drinks and TMZ notoriety, swings between a delicious irreverence and an amoral deadpan.

But this Furious Theatre Company production, now at the Carrie Hamilton Theatre, can’t get ahold of the drama’s elusive rhythm. Scenes keep skipping off into a nonsensical nowhere as Allison (Katie Davies) and Angela (Megan Goodchild) pursue a Godot-like serial killer in lieu of entry level jobs in publishing.

Does this sociopath really exist or is he merely a manifestation of contemporary urban hysteria? The question grows increasingly abstract, in a lit-theory manner that only a graduate student could fully appreciate. And the cast of kooks this clothes-conscious dynamic duo comes upon, while initially adding some zing, winds up exacerbating the headachy confusion.

Directed by Darin Anthony, the production spins about like an absinthe-fueled “Alice in Wonderland.” The set, designed by Dan Jenkins, is a New York blur of bar, subway station, storefront and bedroom. There’s something pulsating about the play’s look, but dramatic sense isn’t able to keep pace.

Gionfriddo is grappling once again with media exploitation and crime, a subject she handled more straightforwardly in “After Ashley.” But that’s only one of several themes juggled here. If the work seems shapeless, it’s because the playwright is dancing in too many directions at once.

What’s most intriguing about “U.S. Drag” is the discrepancy between Allison and Angela’s superficial slacker attitudes and their bright, rebellious practicality. They’re fashion-obsessed party girls with honors degrees and a foxy determination to find an outlet for their considerable gifts. But not even these resourceful go-getters can conquer their rackety incoherent plot.

-- Charles McNulty

“U.S. Drag,” Carrie Hamilton Theatre at the Pasadena Playhouse, 39 S. El Molino Ave., Pasadena. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 7:30 p.m. Sundays. Ends Nov. 22. $30. (800) 595-4849. Running time: 1 hour, 35 minutes.

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Night falls, and the news plays on

Will Eno’s “Tragedy: a tragedy” takes place in a world where a natural catastrophe has enshrouded civilization in permanent night. Part apocalyptic drama, part media satire, the play is a lumpy fusion of half-realized ideas presented in an oblique, postmodern package.

A local news anchorman (Frederick Ponzlov) presides over a never-ending telecast in which his vapid field correspondents (Matthew McCray, Sarah Boughton and Daniel Getzoff) compete with one another for airtime.

As the all-encompassing night grinds on, the journalists experience personal crises of faith that cause them to physically deteriorate before our eyes.

Eno, whose play “Thom Pain (based on nothing)” was a Pulitzer Prize finalist for 2005, is a hot youngish writer much in demand these days, but audiences for “Tragedy” may wonder what all of the fuss is about. The playwright has little new to say about our dumbed-down, media-saturated culture, and he says it over and over again.

The play’s dialogue is indirect and often convoluted, filled with three-point turns and several dead ends. Eno’s anti-narrative strategy is no doubt deliberate, though the approach drowns his satirical ambitions in a sea of abstractions.

Directed by Donald Boughton, the production by Son of Semele is visually spare but vocally over-the-top, as if the actors were instructed to make their yammering as shrill as possible. They succeed hands down, and the results are both exhausting and alienating.

-- David Ng

“Tragedy: a tragedy,” Son of Semele, 3301 Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays; 2 p.m., Sundays. Ends Nov. 16. $20. (213) 351-3507. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.

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‘Torn’ in the ‘90s grunge scene

Cult potential slouches across “Torn Between Two Bitches” at the Unknown Theater. Writer-performer Michael Sergant’s shameless, idiosyncratic riff on the ‘90s Portland, Ore. ‘zine scene, which director-designer Chris Covics evokes with typical creativity, certainly knows its grimy subject.

The tone is set before the play begins, with a pre-show from band Elemenopy (Nick Liberatore and Joel Rutkowski) that is either aptly raucous or deafeningly raunchy, depending on your viewpoint. The scenario follows epic narcissist Jim Goat (Sergant, in a deliberately grandiose turn), a ‘zine legend first seen en dishabille in Covics’ seedy central apartment set piece.

Between snorting crank and forays into self-abuse, Jim resembles an early John Waters protagonist on overdrive. He awaits nymphet Sunshine (adroit Brittany Slattery), a fan whose calculations run deeper than her behavior suggests. Their cat-and-mouse indicates a sex romp is afoot, until Debby (valiant Liz Davies), Jim’s volatile wife, returns from the doctor. Her bad news sends Jim off to shack up with Sunshine.

From here, “Torn” enters increasingly heady terrain, peppered with roadies who reverse the stage perspective and inventive underscoring that includes gonzo Top 40 covers and percussion on coffee shop utensils. The actors dive into the brazen requirements, which include nudity, simulated coupling and an outsized attack, with Tina Preston’s surly diner server a deadpan hoot.

Yet there’s a vacuum at the post-punk core. Jim is hardly an antihero to root for, and a schism divides the existential satire that the text and players attempt and the dystopian garage ethos that the staging and band achieve. Those who fondly recall the days of grunge and Riotgrrrls will enjoy the mayhem. As a play, though, this scabrous effort seems torn between few britches.

-- David C. Nichols

“Torn Between Two Bitches,” Unknown Theater, 1110 Seward St., L.A. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 6 p.m. Sundays. Ends Saturday. Adult audiences. $18 to $24. (323) 466-7781. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes.