Gluttony played for savage fun

The second in her ambitious theatrical septet inspired by the Seven Deadly Sins, Leslye Headland’s “Bachelorette,” presented by IAMA Theatre Company at the Working Stage, treats the deadly indulgence of gluttony. But in this case, the characters ingest not food but mass quantities of drugs and alcohol, combustible fuel for Headland’s sad, explosively funny comedy-drama.

The action takes place in a Manhattan hotel room, where a small contingent of women has gathered for an impromptu bachelorette party on the eve of their former high school classmate’s wedding. Acid-tongued Regan (Laila Ayad), the maid of honor, has summoned Gena (Melissa Stephens), a coke-ravaged cynic, and Katie (Louise Munson), a suicidal former prom queen, to mark the occasion.

The bride-to-be, Becky (Stefanie Black), a person of unfashionable amplitude, is conspicuously absent. However, the fact that this “pig face,” as she is so viciously referred to by her “friends,” has scored a husband -- and a rich one at that -- has reduced Becky’s svelte, single acquaintances to new depths of bitterness.

Bent on sabotaging Becky’s wedding, Regan picks up two guys to add to the escalating chaos: Jeff (Brandon Scott) is a cut-to-the-chase player out to score and his buddy Joe (Adam Shapiro), a wistful pothead who has been emotionally frozen since the overdose of his best friend in high school. By the time Becky shows up, she finds a scene of devastation and, possibly, tragedy.

Headland’s play has its drawbacks. Tired subplots about abortion and bulimia seem strikingly undeveloped in this context. But Headland has assembled a dynamic cast, and she puts her terrific performers through their paces faultlessly. And if her play has a few wrinkles, it remains an effectively scathing piece that redefines the notion of female bonding.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Bachelorette,” Working Stage Theatre, 1516 N. Gardner St., West Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 7 p.m. Sundays. Ends Feb. 24. $15. (323) 333-7451. www.iamatheatre.com. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.

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Classic ‘Witness’ delivers a punch

As vintage mysteries go, “Witness for the Prosecution” remains a model of cagey construction. Yes, Agatha Christie’s 1953 courtroom classic is dated, but its red herrings and hairpin turns can still grab audiences, as the well-heeled revival at West Valley Playhouse proves anew.

Since its hit London and Broadway productions and Billy Wilder’s celebrated 1958 film, “Witness” has become a little-theater perennial. The case before the court concerns the murder of a wealthy older woman. Its chief suspect is feckless Leonard Vole (Anthony Liveri), up to his unemployed coat sleeves in circumstantial evidence. Sir Wilfred Robarts (John Welsh), the defense attorney, is convinced of his client’s innocence. He instinctively distrusts icy Romaine (Sharon Cohen), Vole’s German-born wife and alibi. To divulge more would be a crime.

Alternating between Robarts’ chambers and the Old Bailey on Charles W. Hall’s cantilevered set, director Jon Berry relishes the reversals of Christie’s script, albeit a tad slavishly. The designs are proficient, with Danny Truxaw’s lighting subtle and Don Nelson’s costumes fine, despite bewigged barristers that faintly suggest a choir of Barbara Bushes. Liveri’s Vole is more earnest than ambiguous, Cohen’s Romaine more opaque than enigmatic, but they gain in authority with each revelation. Welsh’s fluid reactions carry him past the odd boggled line, David Burr’s prosecutor is properly terse, and Nancy Solomons wails away with the show as the victim’s housekeeper.

Such devotion to form should satisfy nostalgic genre fans, provided they can overlook some erratic supporting players, wavering accents and lumpy pacing en route to the surefire triple-whammy ending.

-- David C. Nichols

“Witness for the Prosecution,” West Valley Playhouse, 7242 Owensmouth Ave., Canoga Park. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays, 2:30 p.m. Sundays. Ends Feb. 24. $24. (818) 884-1907. Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes.

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Message misfires in ‘Monkey Jar’

Weapons on campus -- a parent’s nightmare, a nation’s quandary.

“The Monkey Jar,” at Theatre 40, earnestly grapples with this and other urgent topics, yet all too quickly, it crumples from overexertion.

Local playwright Richard Martin Hirsch strives to embody his ideas in recognizable individuals, and he’s fortunate to be assisted by a cast of seven who deliver mostly true-to-life characterizations.

On Los Angeles’ affluent Westside, frustration builds in an elementary school classroom when a 10-year-old with a mild learning disability is pushed hard by a teacher who, unaware of the boy’s condition, wants every student to perform well. The youngster adopts sarcasm as psychological armor but, when pressured, becomes panicky and tearful -- qualities well conveyed at the reviewed performance by Sekai Murashige, who alternates with Josh Ogner.

His teacher, as portrayed by Henry Hayashi, is energetic and inspiring, though he makes regrettable choices as he tries to break through to this student. In the tense situation that results, the school’s new principal, played by Mark Berry, finds his ambitions -- as well as his compassionate best efforts for the kids -- in danger of being erased.

The production, directed by Warren Davis, remained herky-jerky on opening weekend, but this road to learning is potholed with bigger jolts. Well-intended as it might be, the story is complicated by layer upon layer of social, economic and ethnic detail -- too much to be satisfyingly resolved. Oversimplification, on the other hand, is annoyingly evident in Hirsch’s many writerly fallbacks, especially his over-dependence on narration and on characters conveniently overhearing what they shouldn’t. As for the intended symbolism of the title: Good luck figuring out exactly how it applies.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“The Monkey Jar,” Theatre 40, 241 Moreno Drive, Beverly Hills High School campus. Performance schedule varies; check www.theatre40.org. Ends March 6. $20 and $22. (310) 364-0535. Running time: 2 hours.

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Ambitious staging can’t save ‘Time’

Solaris Productions’ “The Time Machine,” now at the Women’s Club of Hollywood, is being touted as a rare live staging of H.G. Well’s sci-fi classic. It’s easy to understand why the material, thus far, has so widely defied theatrical interpretation.

First published in 1895, Wells’ tale about a Victorian inventor who travels through time to a deceptively Utopian future has inspired several cinematic treatments, most notably George Pal’s 1960 film. Naturally, the story’s lightning-swift changes of locale, not to mention its high-tech effects, would daunt all but the most intrepid stage practitioners.

From a design standpoint, this production, while imperfect, is nonetheless heroic. Granted, the space between the audience and a distant proscenium stage is unnecessarily vast, causing a strange disconnect between the far-away proscenium scenes and the up-close action. Despite that, the technical elements, especially Julian Bane’s amazingly intricate set, serve the narrative surprisingly well.

A large problem lies with the original adaptation by Bane, who plays the nameless Time Traveler of the piece, and Phil Abatecola, who directs.

An amalgam of the original text and the Pal film, Bane and Abatecola’s version relies heavily on cinematic voice-overs and histrionic dialogue like “I will feast on your bones,” delivered by a buff Morloch chieftain who looks more like a punk neo-Nazi than one of the subterranean Morlochs who prey upon the surface-dwelling Eloi. Even so, the over-the-top approach could have succeeded as pure camp, were it not for Abatecola’s ham-fisted staging and Bane’s one-note performance, surprisingly under-rehearsed considering the rigorously realized physical milieu.

Bane paces aimlessly, seldom planting his feet for more than a few moments. Worse, his repetitive and seemingly unscripted verbal tics (“Oh, my goodness” is a favorite) seem the delaying tactics of an actor who isn’t quite comfortable with his lines.

The other actors throw themselves onto this attractively arranged altar with sacrificial zeal, but can’t prevent this ambitious, flawed show from going up in smoke.

-- F.K.F.

“The Time Machine,” Women’s Club of Hollywood, 1749 N. La Brea Ave., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Sundays. Ends March 14. $20. (310) 473-4422. Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes.

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‘Ladies’ explores familiar territory

Few modern wags have Ken Ludwig’s way with old-school boulevard comedy. “Leading Ladies” at the Sierra Madre Playhouse is no exception. This loopy look at two strapped British hams en travesti in ‘50s Pennsylvania is a certified crowd-pleaser.

The final part of a trilogy that includes “Lend Me a Tenor” and “Moon Over Buffalo,” “Leading Ladies” revels in show business shenanigans. It follows Leo Clark (R. Christofer Sands) and Jack Gable (Tim Coultas), now touring America in their appalling “Scenes from Shakespeare,” which gets them booed out of the Shrewsbury Moose Lodge.

On the train, Clark and Gable read a personal ad seeking the estranged British relatives (and heirs) of dying Florence Snider (Betsey Stevens). Clark’s cracked scheme is complicated upon learning that “Max” and “Steve” are family nicknames for Maxine and Stephanie. You don’t have to know “Some Like It Hot” to see where this is headed.

Though he could better delineate Clark’s masculinity for contrast, Sands has Maxine’s every mug, twitter and moue down cold. Coultas, a ringer for the young Eric Idle, is a find as Gable/Stephanie. Elaine O’B. Capogeannis as Florence’s stage-struck niece and Jen Gabbert as breakneck tootsie Audrey make winning romantic foils. The rest of the cast, which includes Stan Kelly as the family doctor and Matt Dolgin as his numskull son, is valiant, but Frank Dooley’s scheming minister doesn’t convince and Stevens is miscast as an invalid gorgon.

Director Ken Salzman keeps things rolling around David Calhoun’s impressive set and into the venue. What’s lacking is sufficient originality to transcend throwback status. Though slickly appointed and certainly critic-proof, “Leading Ladies” doesn’t quite flutter above high-end community theater.

-- D.C.N.

“Leading Ladies,” Sierra Madre Playhouse, 87 W. Sierra Madre Blvd., Sierra Madre. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2:30 p.m. Sundays. Ends Feb. 23. $20. (626) 256-3809. Running time: 2 hours, 25 minutes.