THEATER BEAT

“El Ogrito (The Ogreling)” is a deliciously unexpurgated fairy tale with a decidedly grisly bent.

Part of 24th Street Theatre’s Teatro Nuevo Internacional program, “Ogrito” was originally written in French by Quebec-based playwright Suzanne Lebeau and translated into Spanish by Cecelia Iris Fasola. This U.S. premiere is performed in Spanish with English supertitles translated by Shelley Tepperman.

That may seem a case of too many cooks, but nothing was lost in this translation, which functions as both charming entertainment and pointed political allegory.

The action transpires in a creepy woodland setting, superbly evoked by scenic designer Keith Mitchell, lighting designer Christopher Kuhl and sound designer John Zalewski. It is here that Mama (Julieta Ortiz) lives with her son, Simon, nicknamed Ogrito (Gabriel Romero), a towering 6-year-old half-human/half-ogre with gory appetites that Mama’s strictly all-vegetarian diet have not blunted.

In fine fairy-tale style, Ogrito must undertake three trials before he can become a “real boy.” But although Ogrito’s heroic struggle against heredity and instinct forms the crux of the conflict, the play is also a poignant parable of mother love.

Ortiz captures the agony of a woman who cannot alter her son’s fate but must only hope. The excellent Romero personifies childlike innocence without parody yet is also completely convincing in his more menacing mode. In his satisfyingly dark staging, director Jesus Castanos-Chima balances any hint of the lurid with an emotional subtlety that will resonate with adults as well as children. However, parents should be cautioned that the material might prove a bit harrowing for the very young.

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F. Kathleen Foley --

“El Ogrito,” 24th Street Theatre, 1117 W. 24th St., Los Angeles. 3 p.m. this Saturday only, 3 p.m. Sundays through July 26. $15 adults, $7 children. (213) 745-6516. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes

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Musical intrigue with a bit of Bach

F. Scott Fitzgerald once remarked that using exclamation points was like laughing at your own jokes. “Bach at Leipzig,” Itamar Moses’ antic Enlightenment farce now at the Odyssey Theatre, is the work of an exuberant young writer discovering the power of his craft. Sometimes, though, he’s having more fun than we are.

Leipzig, 1722: The city’s famed music director expires over the Thomaskirche organ keyboard, and his former pupils can barely dry their eyes before fighting to replace him. Candidates for the plum gig include Fasch (Rob Nagle), an innovator who dares to question whether music should celebrate God alone; Schott (Joel Polis), a hard-liner constipated with resentment; and Lenck (Dominic Conti), a down-and-out hustler. Cue the back-stabbing and secret alliances, all the sillier when the players wear giant wigs and frock coats (the excellent costumes are by A. Jeffrey Schoenberg).

Moses presents 18th century Europe as a hotbed of sects, political slander and hair-trigger armed conflict. “Why must everything have a name?” asks Fasch, bewildered by talk of religious schisms. Schott: “So we know which houses to burn.”

Director Darin Anthony adeptly choreographs the action but doesn’t find much variety or surprise in the story itself, despite his talented ensemble. “Bach” announced a ferocious new talent in the field: When his heart catches up to his vocabulary, this playwright could be something to see.

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Charlotte Stoudt --

“Bach at Leipzig,” Odyssey Theatre Ensemble, 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Wednesdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays, 7 p.m. on July 19 and Aug. 9. $25-$30. (310) 477-2055. Running time: 2 hours, 35 minutes.

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Ibsen angst near New York City

Just what are the demons that drive Hedda Gabler to wreak destruction on everyone around her? The question has spawned countless interpretations of Henrik Ibsen’s 1890 drama and its richly complex anti-heroine. In the Ark Theatre Company’s ambitious but uneven revival, frustration, boredom and malice are all apparent motives, but the last dominates to an extent that blunts the broader social resonance.

Director Les Miller and adapter Paul Wagar have reset the play in 1955, just outside New York City, putting updated emphasis on the domestic complacency to which Hedda (Julie Granata) has resigned herself through marriage to milquetoast scholar George (Darrel Guilbeau).

Granata’s Hedda immediately impresses with self-absorbed petulance and open contempt for George. She’s at her deliciously sarcastic best playing cruel cat-and-mouse games with former lover Eilert Lovborg (Zack Hamra), a recovering alcoholic genius whose scandalous past represents the forbidden fruit denied Hedda by her aristocratic upbringing. For all his supposed intellect, though, this Lovborg isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.

The only dramatic match for Hedda is her nemesis, the charmingly corrupt judge Brack (Peter Colburn), who stands out amid mostly one-note caricatures. The production is virtually devoid of subtext, broadcasting at high amplitude every neurotic twitch and turn of Hedda’s campaign to undermine Lovborg’s potential happiness.

Adhering closely to Ibsen’s plot points, the adaptation lets metaphorical connections to 1950s suburbia remain implicit -- other than the period costumes, nothing in the performances specifically evokes the era’s limited fulfillment options for women with Hedda’s brains and talent. If anything, more textual liberties would help smooth over distracting artifacts like sending critical communications by messenger instead of just picking up a phone.

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Philip Brandes --

“Hedda Gabler,” Ark Theatre Company at the Hayworth, 2511 Wilshire Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends July 11. $20-22. (323) 969-1707. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

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A musical rapture high on kitsch

A dizzying amount of skill boogies around “Ecstasy, The Musical” at Art/Works Theatre. The degree that S. Claus’ oddball tuner about virginal 1970s coeds succeeds is directly proportional to director-choreographer Kay Cole, some resourceful designers and a full-throttle cast.

College student Angel (Lisa Marinacci) yearns for boyfriend Tom (Meyer DeLeeuw) to consummate their relationship. When that doesn’t happen, Tom takes a walk on the wild side, which deposits him in the Land of Ecstasy. Here, hedonists in electric-hued Spandex worship the Olivia Newton-John-flavored Queen (Marinacci), who targets Tom as her ultimate conquest.

The “Dance Fever”-meets-”Xanadu” ethos is a natural for Cole, aided by costumer Suzanne Klein’s woozy-making outfits, Diane Martinous’ eye-popping wigs and Matt Richter’s disco-inflected lighting. Her ensemble, zipping in and out of set designer Kurtis Bedford’s cyclorama, is wholly accomplished. DeLeeuw has the comic charm and rapid vibrato of a born juvenile lead. Marinacci deftly shifts from bespectacled nerd to lithe siren. Dina Buglione’s show-stopping hooker, Patrick Hancock’s affable androgyne, Gina D’Acciaro’s big-voiced Black Widow and Sean Smith’s pro-celibacy cult leader are other standouts.

Yet their efforts battle an anorexic narrative that is barely a premise, let alone a plot. Claus is talented, if not above rhyming “fetish” with “coquettish,” his tunes pleasant pastiches under Brent Crayon’s musical direction. However, they’re not really theater songs, and the net effect is about as erotic as a “Brady Bunch” special. Fans of era kitsch may dig “Ecstasy,” but its lasting impression is akin to half a Benzedrine in Sprite.

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David C. Nichols --

“Ecstasy, the Musical,” Art/Works Theatre, 6569 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends July 12. $25. (323) 960-7789. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes.