ON STAGE

Compleat Female Stage Beauty

Theatre Theater, through June 1
***1/2

What ingénue hasn't been forced to dwell on repositioning herself in the market once time has worked its magic; moving (one hopes with grace) into playing maids, mothers, and what are generously referred to as "character roles?" In the case of 17th century actor Edward Kynaston (Michael Traynor)—then the leading “lady” of the all-male stage—grapples with the return of women to performing that precipitates a redefinition for which Kynaston was unprepared; this is the essence of Jeffrey Hatcher's lovely, if wordy, play (the basis, by the way, of the film Stage Beauty, told in 106 minutes what here takes considerably longer). The large cast is accomplished, with notable performances by Steve Cell as Kynaston's occasional lover (don't miss the towel scene), and Katie Hollinshead as the delightfully fresh and common Nell Gwynn, mistress and protégé of the king. The direction (John Perrin Flynn) incorporates the modern and the period into a richly layered look at flux, identity, and theater itself. —WENZEL JONES

Cell Phone Funeral

Actors Playpen
*

There have been gay shows that made me want to quietly hide my rainbow-colored membership card in the sock drawer, but never have I witnessed one that made me want to burn it. The assemblage of stereotypes John Patrick Trapper has crammed into this is notable more for its quantity than its quality. One feels he was going for satire, but the script and direction (Julie Nunis) are too ragged to even approach it, so the collection of vain, dizzy, sex-mad queens just grates. The funeral arrangements that give the piece its title are secondary to the killing that sets things in motion. Negligent driving at least implies a human at the wheel, but Trapper not only puts a moral vacuum in the driver's seat but then has him deliver the Important Message at the end. Impressively, Aaron Barrera is able to not only survive, but excel in his turn as what might have been the trite over-the-top drag queen character. Of the angel with the face of Banderas and the voice of Capote, we shall not speak. —W.J.

LIMITED RUN

Of Mice and Men

Director Paul Lazarus sets Steinbeck's classic migrant tale during America’s 1942 open-borders program, exploring the traditional themes of loneliness and longing inherent in the original work while simultaneously amplifying current socio-political issues. Pasadena Playhouse. Through June 8. $25-55. 626/356-7529. www.pasadenaplayhouse.org.

Tosca

L.A. Opera breathes new life into Puccini's passionate tale of tragic love set against the backdrop of political abuses. Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Through June 21. $20-185. 213/972-7219. www.laopera.com.

Blue Night in the Heart of the West

Hollywood plays host to the L.A. premiere of James Stock's darkly comical commentary on the American dream that has been described as “David Lynch meets the Bible.” Open Fist Theatre Company. Fri.-Sun. (Closes Sat., June 21.) $20. 323/882-6912. www.openfist.org.

Fever

This zany new musical takes place in the Disco Age, revolving around the elopement of a Hollywood diva and a Spanish gigolo in a forest of love. Ricardo Montalbán Theatre. May 23-25. Fri.-Sat. 7:30 p.m., Sun. 1 p.m. 323/461-0663. www.ricardomontalbantheatre.org.

HOMO MUST

Compleat Female Stage Beauty

Jeffrey Hatcher's play examines the effects of what King Charles II’s decree to allow women on stage has on actor Edward Kynaston, the leading “lady” of his day. Theatre/Theater. Thurs.-Sun., 8 p.m. (Closes Sun., June 1) $25. 323/960-7726. www.theatretheater.net.

AISLE SAY

Brother, Can You Spare a Laugh?

Just when you thought it was safe to go into the theater, the horror plays of yesteryear have resurfaced. Well, not really the same plays, but more of the sort we thought had mercifully gone the way of the dinosaur. I'm speaking of asinine would-be comedies with gay themes and self-loathing stereotypical humor that the creators want us to believe is black comedy or trenchant satire. There's no point rubbing salt in the wounds by citing the names of some calamities that I have seen recently. But as with horrific nightmares that we all occasionally endure, the haunting memories linger.

The opening performance is invariably dominated by shills and well meaning but overzealous friends howling at tepid (or worse) material as if the show was the second coming of Charlie Chaplin. It's always obvious which audience members are the detached parties. Their facial expressions subtly disclose the quiet agony they endure, then they dash out for dear life as soon as the lights come up. Once the review comes out, the hate e-mails from the company arrive like clockwork. “The audience loved it! What's wrong with your critic? We had a standing ovation!” It doesn't take long going to theater in L.A. to realize that not having a standing ovation is the true rarity.

While on the topic of theatrical debacles, I recently had a terrible experience with a nongay play. I went to review a new musical that sounded like a lot of fun. Unfortunately, though the production proved fair-to-middling, the contrived book was a disaster, and the score was mediocre at best. After the matinee, I went to my office, wrote the review, and e-mailed it to my editor. The next day I discovered the publicist had notified our office that the run of the show was abruptly cancelled. So we didn't run the review. Though I of course grumbled to myself at wasting half a day on this venture, I was relieved in a way, thinking of the theater's unexplained mercy killing.

If there's a moral to any of this, perhaps it's that everybody's job has its occasional low points. Thankfully, the majority of theater in the L.A. 99-seat arena ranges from fairly good, to excellent, to exceptional. As Annie Warbucks taught us, the sun will come out tomorrow. But if your son comes out, make sure it isn't in one of those retrograde homophobic farces.

—LES SPINDLE