The Bacchae

Celebration Theatre
7051B Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood
Thursday-Saturday 8 p.m., Sunday 3 p.m.
Through Feb. 11
Tickets: $20
(323) 957-1884
www.celebrationtheatre.com

One needn't be wary of Greeks bearing myths. The ancient Greek culture provided plenty that have endured throughout history, leaving a legacy of universally relevant moral lessons and compelling stories. But it's sometimes advisable to proceed cautiously when theater artists bear freewheeling modernized adaptations of Greek myths. The result can be heavy-handed or pretentious—or worse yet, inaccessible. All of these pitfalls are evident in Allain Rochel's ambitious but problematic gay-themed reworking of Euripedes' The Bacchae, which attempts to parlay the play's most indelible imagery—women driven to frenzies of hedonistic revelry due to evil political machinations—into contemporary commentary on society's marginalization of homosexual males as sexual creatures, considered unworthy of regard as multi-dimensional human beings. The crazed women are replaced here by leather-attired WeHo sex gods.

Rochel's goals are admirable and the premiere of his new work, under the direction of Michael Matthews, sometimes engages on a visceral level. The environmental design elements are striking and an extended dance number that occurs midway through is a campy hoot, though its ultimate dramaturgic payoff is questionable. Yet the production gets bogged down in muddled, mostly incomprehensible text. The use of modern speech idioms would have made the complex plot more understandable, particularly in assimilating the contemporary twists. The potential for an intellectual response is caught in limbo between the antiquated speech patterns and the conflicting modern-day sensibility. The production raises more questions than it answers: such as how does a screaming-queen stereotypical character (played by Bobby Reed) ultimately support Rochel's stated aspirations of delivering a pro-gay message?

Neither the cast (primary players Reed, Daryl Keith Roach, Michael Shepperd, Bob Simpson, Michael Tauzin and five chorus members) nor the design team can be faulted for their valiant efforts. But despite Rochel's program notes explaining his aims, the words and actions generally remain as foggy as the mist effect that permeates the auditorium. The Celebration deserves credit for taking on new challenges, but this misfired endeavor doesn't advance beyond an honorable failure. —Les Spindle

Confessions of a Mormon Boy

Coast Playhouse
8322 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood
Thursday-Saturday 8 p.m., Sunday 3 & 7 p.m.
Through Feb. 18
Tickets: $35-40
(800) 595-4849
www.tix.com

Writer-performer Steven Fales has a fascinating true story to tell. His charismatic recreation of his remarkable life journey is as entertaining as it is enlightening. Those who have become turned off to solo vehicles after seeing a few too many showcases that are nothing more then mediocre standup comedy routines or self-indulgent monologues filled with boring anecdotes would be well-advised to check out Fales' award-winning off-Broadway hit. This prodigious theater craftsman keeps us spellbound for 90 lighting-paced minutes, seamlessly integrating hilarity and poignancy in an inspirational tale of moving beyond the Peter Pan syndrome to discover a sense of self-worth and purpose in life.

Fales' adventures as an “Oxy-Mormon” begin when we hear a recording of the sweet, innocent voice of a young boy singing. It belongs to Fales, who grew up in Provo, Utah, where he was a model Mormon youth in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His dutiful progression from Eagle Scout to international missionary to BYU graduate to serious-minded husband and father of two was a secretly tortured trajectory, as he suppressed his burning desire for sexual and emotional fulfillment with other men. When he finally fled his torture chamber for the sin and sizzle of New York, his long-suppressed impulses erupted with maximum force, drawing him into a world of prostitution, drug abuse and hedonistic revelry. His ambitions as an actor took a back seat to his nonstop partying, as he squandered the riches he amassed as one of Manhattan's highest-priced call boys. He thankfully found himself before spiraling down into self-destruction.

There are surprises aplenty in Fales' script. His tale unfolds with the energy of a juicy potboiler, but is continually brought back to reality with his utmost sincerity and candor. A consummate actor, he segues among various character voices masterfully, and artfully weaves his experiences into a credible and compelling tapestry. He also exudes great sex appeal, and his wit and charm suggest this breakthrough vehicle is a mere harbinger of great things to come. Though this is a must-see production for gay audiences, crossover appeal is evident. The box office lines will soon be extending several blocks along Santa Monica Boulevard.—L.S.

Tammy Faye Starlite’s Born Again again

The Renberg Theatre
The L.A. Gay and Lesbian Center's Village at Ed Gould Plaza
1125 N. McCadden Pl., L.A.
Through Jan. 27
Friday-Saturday 8 p.m., Sunday, Jan. 21 7 p.m.
Tickets: $20
(323) 860-7300
www.lagaycenter.org/boxoffice

You know that dirty feeling you sometimes have inside? That means it may be time for a good soul cleansing, and Tammy Faye Starlite wants to help. The alter-ego of Tammy Lang, a nice Jewish girl from New York, Tammy Faye Starlite has been titillating audiences for years with her irreverent country tunes satirizing the religious right. In this full-length production, the righteous babe returns to share her message of redemption in the hopes of saving us all.

Tammy Faye comes to us via the studios of KKOK radio, where she reveals her story of how she was saved from a life of depravity, fell back into the dark side and finally made the switch “from JD to JC” after a stint in rehab. The beauty of Lang's music is that she produces pretty good country tunes (she has two CDs available), which even die-hard country aficionados can appreciate if they ignore the lyrics. But it's the lyrics that her fans are there for, and she doesn't disappoint with classic tunes like “If You're Comin' Down Sweet Jesus (Won't You Come All Over Me?),” “Did I Shave My Vagina for This?” and “The Moonshiner's Child,” a tale of love and incest. Keith Hartel makes a soulful appearance as her backup singer/guitarist, while Jeff Ward plays the appreciative DJ who coaxes her story along.

Having carved out such a defined niche for herself, it could be easy for Lang's concept to become overly schticky. All she needs to do to achieve instant laughter is belt out one blasphemous tune after another, but she rightfully avoids that temptation. Under the direction of Michael Shiralli, Lang's tight script eases into sacrilegious bawdiness, rather than hitting us over the head with it from the start, so that the shock value is worth even more. Lang also weaves in current events to keep things fresh, commenting on everyone from Britney Spears (“an anagram for Presbyterians”) to Condoleeza Rice. The 90-minute running time is just right, allowing the show to end on a high note before the comedy wears thin. —Sarika Chawla