Theater review: 'The Bungler' at A Noise Within

Just think of “The Bungler” as a bromance in brocade. A Noise Within’s fluid, effervescent staging of Molière’s 1655 comedy of mishaps feels like a hybrid of “Two and a Half Men” and Judd Apatow’s stoner comedies. Two guys. One’s clueless. And the hot girl is out of reach.

Lélie (Michael A. Newcomer), our Seth Rogen stand-in, falls head over ribboned heels for Célie (Emily Kosloski), the slim-shouldered chattel of grumpy old Trufaldin (William Dennis Hunt). Lélie enlists his ever-resourceful servant, Mascarille (the excellent JD Cullum) in the quest for Célie, then manages to hinder his wingman’s efforts at every (and I mean every) turn.

This sitcom-worthy premise spins into something buoyant and diverting in director Julia Rodriguez-Elliott’s stylish (and stylistically coherent) production. From the center of John Iacovelli’s set, colored lights stretch out over the audience, and a circus mood pervades.

Theater review: 'Deathtrap' at the Davidson-Valentini Theatre

Greed, strangulation, and male nudity — just another day in bucolic Connecticut in Ira Levin’s “Deathtrap,” now receiving a frisky revival at the Davidson-Valentini Theatre in the L.A. Gay and Lesbian Center.

It’s 1978, and Sidney Bruhl (Brian Foyster), a thriller writer whose last Broadway hit ran during the Kennedy administration, has just received the first draft of a play by one of his workshop students, Clifford (Burt Grinstead). His acolyte’s manuscript is so promising, Sidney notes, “a gifted director couldn’t even hurt it.” (It’s the throwaway show biz trash talk that gives this play its charm.)

As Sidney muses on how convenient it would be to murder strapping young Clifford and steal his work, his fragile wife, Myra (Cynthia Gravinese), reminds him that psychic Helga Ten Dorp (Elizabeth Herron) has rented the cottage next door and may sense negative vibrations. Thus is launched a fiendish plot and, by Act II, a medieval crossbow’s bolt. 

The challenge of “Deathtrap” is to make its mechanical turns seem organic; Sidney himself would respect the intricate stage business required to pull off this thriller’s big shocks. Director Ken Sawyer delivers the boos with relish, though he has less command over the tone of performances — each cast member seems to be in a different play. This dissonance erodes our suspension of disbelief, particularly with Heron’s hammy turn as Helga.

Theater review: 'Lincoln: An American Story' at Pasadena Playhouse

On April 14, 1865, Union Army medic Charles Leale went to Ford’s Theatre to see “Our American Cousin,” and became the de facto presiding physician in the aftermath of President Lincoln’s assassination. He was 23 years old. Leale’s extraordinary story is the heart of “Lincoln: An American Story for Actor and Symphony Orchestra,” Hershey Felder’s schmaltzy, stirring solo show with live music, now at the Pasadena Playhouse.

Basically, this is a one-man oratorio: Writer-performer-composer Felder, dressed in a Civil War uniform, is accompanied by a 45-piece orchestra playing his own score as well as such classics as “My Old Kentucky Home” and “Beautiful Dreamer.” It is quite grand, if not perhaps a little grandiose, especially under the epic direction of Joel Zwick (“My Big Fat Greek Wedding”).

Felder, whose canny stage portraits of Beethoven, Chopin and Leonard Bernstein seem to be keeping some of L.A.’s larger nonprofit theaters afloat these days, is a natural ham. He is not so much an actor as a performer, and his florid gestures and pantomime feel very 19th century indeed.

If he oversells his tale, there’s certainly no need -- “Lincoln” has an irresistible hook. The step-by-step account of the shooting, the immediate aftermath at Ford’s Theatre and Lincoln’s deathbed are all the more absorbing for their minute details. Other sections, such as Walt Whitman’s vigils at the bedsides of wounded soldiers, or a brief description of minstrelsy, play like ideas that haven’t been fully integrated.

Theater review: The 'Many Mistresses of Martin Luther King'

Can a white guy say anything interesting about race? That’s a question raised this spring by the recent run of Bruce Norris’ tart “Clybourne Park” and now “The Many Mistresses of Martin Luther King,” Andrew Dolan’s polished but talky drama at Ensemble Studio Theatre LA’s Atwater playing space.

Dolan chooses George and Martha’s neighborhood to plant his rhetorical land mines, an Albee-esque world where the epithet “adjunct professor” is used as a put-down and a turn-on simultaneously.

Maverick social worker-turned-professor Simon (Philip Casnoff) marries his African American grad student, Lashawna (Tracey A. Leigh), much to the raised eyebrows of fellow faculty members Augustus (Carlos Carrasco) and Janine (Judith Moreland).  When Lashawna’s troubled younger brother, Anquan (Theo Perkins), is expelled from the college for theft, he moves in with the couple and the battles begin.

On Tom Buderwitz’s shabby chic living room set, “Mistresses” plays like drawing room comedy, punctuated by (too many) lectures on history, race and theater given by its professorial posse. Rod Menzies directs an impressive ensemble, with a deft Perkins and saturnine Casnoff generating the most chemistry as unlikely friends.

Theater review: 'The Color Purple' at Celebration Theatre

Everybody say "amen": The joint is jumping over at Celebration Theatre with its raucous, exultant staging of “The Color Purple.” Featuring a cast of 17 and a vibrant five-piece orchestra tucked behind an upstage planked wall, this L.A. intimate-theater premiere sweeps you along like an old-fashioned tent revival.

Set against the backdrop of the Depression-era Deep South, Alice Walker’s Pulitzer Prize-winning tale of an ugly duckling’s journey to joyful self-acceptance has biblical sweep. Impoverished African American teen Celie (Cesili Williams) struggles to escape a cycle of abuse from her father (Corey Jones) and husband, Mister (Michael A. Sheppard); meanwhile, her sister, Nettie (the luminous Kelly M. Jenrette), travels across continents in search of her life’s mission.  

It’s tough to dramatize Celie’s internal liberation, so “Purple” charts her progress through encounters with female role models. Defiant Sofia (vocal powerhouse Constance Jewell Lopez) won’t kowtow to husband Harpo (Terrance Spencer) or the town’s white mayor; chanteuse Shug Avery (“American Idol” finalist La Toya London) encourages Celie to embrace her sensuality and true sexual orientation.

Marsha Norman’s respectful book inevitably simplifies Celie’s struggle, and some of director Michael Matthews’ scene work feels overstated. The strength of the production is its unabashed theatricality, and Matthews and company work wonders with the songs by Brenda Russell Allee Willis and Stephen Bray, including the gospel-inflected “Mysterious Ways,” the irresistible “Brown Betty” and the moody “African Homeland.”  (The choreography is courtesy of Janet Roston).

The up-tempo cast is terrific, led by the lovely, soulful Williams as Celie, whose wary smile breaks your heart. (And church ladies and local gossips Sixx Carter, Lorie V. Moore and Brittney S. Wheeler steal every scene they’re in.)

Above all, this exuberant “Color Purple” creates an opportunity to count blessings -- including 99-seat theaters that take on challenging shows with minimal budgets. Celebration Theatre’s raise-the-roof production shows up the bigger, better-funded venues in town. In L.A., less is so often more. Pantages, Center Theatre Group, La Mirada, are you watching?  

--Charlotte Stoudt

More theater reviews from the Los Angeles Times

“The Color Purple,” Celebration Theatre, 7051B Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends May 26. $34. Contact: (323) 957-1884 or www.celebrationtheatre.com. Running time: 2 hours, 45 minutes. 

Photo: Cesili Williams, left, and La Toya London. Credit: Barry Weiss

Theater review: Culture Clash's 'American Night' at Kirk Douglas

Speak softly and carry a big schtick: That’s the guiding principle of “American Night: The Ballad of Juan José,” Richard Montoya’s fast-paced fantasia on U.S. history, now running rampant at the Kirk Douglas Theatre. Developed in collaboration with Culture Clash, the gleeful “Night” uses sketch comedy, song and a dizzying number of wigs to survey the glories and pratfalls of the American Dream. 

Dream, as in emphasis on slumber. The night before taking his citizenship exam, an exhausted Juan José (René Millán, nicely understated) tries to wrap his head around constitutional amendments and the logic of the Spanish-American War. Dozing off, he takes a picaresque spin through two centuries of “democracy,” bumbling into the famous (Jackie Robinson), the infamous (the Ku Klux Klan) and the obscure (see below). Consider “Night” as revisionist vaudevillian history of the United States from a (Howard) Zinn-master. Bemused, sly and sometimes moving, the evening affirms that we the people are indeed free to pursue happiness, despite metered parking in Culver City until 11 p.m. 

Fluidly directed by Jo Bonney, who shares a development credit with Culture Clash, “Night” is nimblest when it exposes the strange bedfellows of the American project. Shawn Sagady’s projections slide along upstage corrugated panels, leaving the stage a free-for-all where, for instance, Sacagawea (Stephanie Beatriz) is imagined as a brainy Ugly Betty, wearing a retainer and in need of a quick trip to REI to procure appropriate footwear.  (Her response to her face on the dollar coin? “I look fat.”) 

Theater review: 'The Indians Are Coming to Dinner' at Pacific Theatre

Awful parents are the maligned muses of great theater: Consider “Medea,” “The Glass Menagerie” or “A Long Day’s Journey into Night.” But in “The Indians Are Coming to Dinner,” now at the Pacific Resident Theatre, playwright Jennifer W. Rowland hasn’t quite found the right balance between dysfunction and good drama.

That isn’t to say this period piece, set just after Reagan’s landslide election in 1984, doesn’t have its pleasures. Director Julia Fletcher finds satirical bounce in this portrait of a privileged Bay Area family going to pieces on Tom Buderwitz’s bougie two-story set.

Blustering patriarch Harold (Michael Rothhaar) thinks he can wrangle an ambassadorship out of influential Anil (Kevin Vavasseur) over chickpea curry and poached pears. This act of strategic dining happens to fall on the same evening Harold’s daughter, Alexandra (Thea Rubley), is singing in an opera competition.

Theater review: 'Candida' at Flight Theater at the Complex

Think of it as “Downton Abbey” with a higher IQ. George Bernard Shaw’s tart 1895 comedy “Candida” plays as a cautionary tale and a guilty pleasure — scandalous behavior by the properly dressed. And though Chrysalis Stage’s overeager revival at the Flight Theater doesn’t do this charmer many favors, Shaw’s wit still outpaces the average Hollywood romcom by an English country mile.

When he isn’t preaching socialist reform, the Reverend Morell (Casey E. Lewis) dotes on his fetching wife, Candida (Molly Leland), the daughter of an unrepentant capitalist (Robert Harlan Greene). But after an awkward young aristocrat (Michael Uribes) professes his love for the lady of the house, the Reverend’s well-argued certainties melt away. Is this happily married man the last one to know the true feelings of his spouse?

Theater review: 'The Fall to Earth' at Odyssey Theatre Ensemble

The cozy hotel suite in “The Fall to Earth” makes you want to take off your shoes and order room service. But don’t get too comfortable: Playwright Joel Drake Johnson and the Odyssey Theatre Ensemble aren’t heeding that “Do Not Disturb” sign in this taut, claustrophobic psychodrama.  

Fay (JoBeth Williams) and her successful daughter, Rachel (Deborah Puette), arrive in a small town for an unnamed errand. As they bicker, the impetus for their visit emerges: Fay’s troubled gay son, Kenny (Ian Littleworth), who has cut off contact with his parents. As Kenny’s dark history emerges, the family’s secrets begin to crack open.

The show’s collaborators achieve real chemistry here. Robin Larsen’s sharp direction, Tom Buderwitz’s set, John Zalewski’s sound design, and Jeremy Pivnick’s lighting all combine to cast an eerie spell. Inexorably, this anonymous hotel room becomes a haunted house: You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

As a kind of Medea dressed in JCPenney, Williams brings warmth and immediacy -- along with her demons -- while Puette signals years of pain with a mere tightening of the lip. And the ever-reliable Ann Noble finds the unruly edges of her “Fargo”-esque small-town cop.

Theater review: 'Yours, Isabel' by Actors Co-op

Boy meets girl. Boy fights Hitler. Girl goes all Rosie the Riveter and wonders whether her new independence beats marriage to Boy — especially when he’s an ocean away. The course of true love is measured by stamps in “Yours, Isabel,” Christy Hall’s slight but appealing epistolary romance, now at Actors Co-op in Hollywood.

When Irish Catholic Jersey girl Isabel (Heather Chesley) falls for lanky Italian Protestant Nick (Rick Marcus), family hackles raise on both sides. But the real trouble starts when Nick leaves for war, forcing the two to build their relationship through letters.

Yet as the years pass, what do they have in common? He’s witnessing battlefield horrors and she’s giddy with unprecedented freedoms for women stepping up to run things stateside. “Yours, Isabel” deftly uses the lens of World War II to ask what relationships mean as people change — although the play’s episodic structure prevents that question from landing as urgently as you’d like. Hall seems to want to push against stereotypes, but her story rarely cuts deep enough to do so.