THEATER BEAT

Can you build a satisfying story on ‘80s jokes alone? USA’s “Psych” nearly does, but there’s a new contender in town: Stephen Belber’s “The Muscles in Our Toes,” a comic homosocial ballet now at the El Portal Forum Theatre.

The inaugural Los Angeles show for Green Beetle Productions, “Toes” makes the case that there is nothing funnier than frustrated white guys singing Lionel Richie.

High school, that eternal crucible of American identity formation, is the setting for a 20th reunion of old friends -- with one noticeable absence. As the play opens, we see Les (Daniel Milder), now a fight coordinator for theater and film, making a supportive video for the family of classmate Jim (Keith Ewell), a sneaker magnate being held by rebels in Chad in retaliation for the U.S.’ detainment of a gay Canadian terror suspect.

Les is joined by fellow class of ’88 alums Reg (Michael Benyaer), a government employee of Persian descent; Phil (Bill Tangradi), self-described as “atypically gay”; and finally Dante (Al Espinosa), still steamed all these years later from Reg’s illicit tryst with Dante’s then-girlfriend Carrie (Kristen Lee Kelly). Dante strides in full of piss and vinegar -- and suddenly there seems to be an actual play in our midst. “You can quote from last night’s ‘Charlie Rose,’ ” he challenges, or you can do something real -- “like bombing the FBI.” The four proceed to debate the best course of action to free Jim, which ultimately leads to the display of chest hair, violence choreographed and impromptu, and the mangling of Hebrew.

The cast has a ball with the material, with Espinosa particularly good as the over-amped Dante. Scenic designer Donna Marquet’s school music room, with its battered upright piano, cheap furniture and aura of institutional mediocrity, is so evocative you may experience traumatic flashbacks of your own. Still, even with Jennifer Chamber’s able direction, “Toes” -- much like its protagonists -- can’t quite find a way forward despite its outsized energy. A forgivable offense with material this funny. If you know the words to most of George Michael’s hit songs or were a member of your high school drama club, you are likely to laugh until your face hurts.

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Charlotte Stoudt --

“The Muscles in Our Toes,” El Portal Forum Theatre, 5269 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 28. $25. (866) 811-4111. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes.

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Disturbing, for the wrong reasons

Playwright Philip Ridley has spent his career delving into the graphic. Ridley’s futuristic drama, “Mercury Fur,” is certainly no exception. In fact, the amount of sheer gore that dominates the action gives new meaning to the phrase “cutting edge.”

Needtheater, producers of the Los Angeles premiere of “Fur” at the Imagined Life Theater, is a boldly experimental group that is certainly not averse to taking risks. Sadly, “Fur” blurs the line between legitimate theater and torture porn.

Illuminated by Brandon Baruch’s crepuscular lighting, Adam Rigg’s burned-out set emblemizes a ravaged Britain where anarchy holds sway and thrill killings are routine. The disorder has been accompanied, bizarrely, by a drift of hallucinogenic butterflies, avidly devoured by the benumbed and embattled populace.

Elliot (Edward Tournier) and his brother Darren (Andrew Perez) have teamed with the ruthless Spinx (Greg Beam) to survive. With the help of Spinx’s drag queen “sister,” Lola (Jeff Torres), the gang throws parties in which affluent clients live out their darkest fantasies. Now, to satiate a repugnant Party Guest (creepily effective Kelly Van Kirk), they offer up a child (Ryan Hodge, whose participation makes us wonder what his parents were thinking) for torture and death.

The guileless and doomed Naz (Jason Karasev) and a mysterious Duchess (Nina Sallinen) complete the desperate contingent. It’s an appealing cast, led astray by director Dado, whose initially taut staging degenerates into a prolonged screaming match that aggravates the general gratuitousness. As for Ridley, he is an undeniably clever craftsman bent on sheer sensationalism. In that, he certainly succeeds.

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F. Kathleen Foley --

“Mercury Fur,” Imagined Life Theater, 5615 San Vicente Blvd., L.A. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 5 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 28. $20. (800) 836-3006. Running time: 2 hours.

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‘Guignol Cabaret’ fails to entertain

The naughty cast of “A Grand Guignol Cabaret” is in dire need of a spanking, though not the kind that these louche, scantily clad actors so clearly desire. Straining hard to evoke Weimar-era decadence, the young and mostly firm-fleshed performers end up committing that most punishable of theatrical sins: boring the audience.

Consisting of six sketches that vary from sleazy to blood-soaked, the show is intended to mimic the smoky, absinthe- fueled cabaret acts of the 1920s in which lingerie-wearing ingenues bared their goods and syphilitic emcees ruled the stage with catty humor.

“A Grand Guignol Cabaret” has the costumes and cadaverous makeup down, but the skits themselves are merely faux-transgressive. No real taboos are broken over the course of the hour-long show unless you consider lesbian kissing, cross-dressing, chair gyrations and geysers of fake blood to be especially shocking.

Director Amanda Haney and her 11-member cast work well within the tiny confines of the stage. But the show itself manages to work up only one animal desire in the viewer -- the urge to yawn.

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David Ng --

“A Grand Guignol Cabaret,” Sunset Gardner Stage, 1501 N. Gardner St., West Hollywood. 8:30 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 28. (626) 993-4659. Running time: 1 hour.

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‘Sticking Place’ takes courage

“The Sticking Place” at Unknown Theater is director-designer Chris Covics’ answer to Shakespeare’s “Macbeth.” As such, this abstract riff on the Scottish tragedy from Lady Macbeth’s point of view is nothing if not ambitious.

Developed in the company’s Unknown Classics workshop series, “Sticking Place” depicts a recurring nightmare, to put it mildly. As we wait in the lobby, three deafening knocks on the outside doors signal that the show is starting. Blindfolded players Brittany Slattery, Angela Stern and Erica Stone make their whispering way down the steps to lead us back to the rear of the house.

Here, the audience sits in a single row surrounding a recessed tank. It contains a metal throne, a cot frame, an empty bathtub and Amy Tzagournis, who wears a breastplate and stares into the void. As the others join her, “Fair is foul, and foul is fair” launches the reconsidered text against sound designer Paul Bertin’s echoes and the sound of rushing water.

Thus, this fearless quartet trades off roles, verses and positions as the tank slowly fills above waist level. Covics’ lighting plot reveals eerie imagery -- Mary Zimmerman meets Giorgio Strehler -- and the cast goes beyond the call of deconstructed duty.

Still, though avant-garde fans may find this display piece striking, I found myself more often worried about its participants’ health and safety. “The Sticking Place” is certainly brave and worthy. Yet it’s finally an academic exercise, more technically showy than thematically meaningful.

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David C. Nichols --

“The Sticking Place,” Unknown Theater, 1110 Seward St., L.A. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 6 p.m. Sundays. Ends June 27. $18 to $24. www.unknowntheater.com or (323) 466-7781. Running time: 1 hour, 10 minutes.