Second Row Center

Four-and-a-half years ago, Richard Bean’s comedy play ‘One Man, Two Guvnors’ appeared out of nowhere, making a mad, merry pratfall onto the stage of public awareness—first in London on the West End, then in New York City on Broadway, and most recently in Berkeley, where last year ‘One Man, Two Guvnors’ played to ecstatic sold out houses for months.

“You’re a strange planet,” one character tells another early on in the show, and it’s a phrase that could also describe the play itself: a strange planet populated by wildly funny characters.

‘One Man, Two Guvnor’ is a preposterously British, 1960s-set update of Carlo Goldoni’s 18th-century Italian farce ‘A Servant of Two Masters.’ This Pythonesque adaptation has already become a modern comedy classic, scooping up awards on both sides of the Atlantic, making an international star of its original leading man James Cordon, and landing on the performance-rights Wish Lists of college and community theaters across the Western world.

Now, under the supremely playful direction of Carl Jordan—who last year directed 6th Street Playhouse’s award-winning ‘Clybourne Park’—this aggressively silly enterprise finally gets its North Bay premiere, also at 6th Street, where it is quite possibly the funniest play the company has presented since its staging of the similarly over-the-top ‘The 39 Steps,’ in 2012.

Crowned by a truly masterful performance by 6th Street’s Artistic Director Craig Miller, this production—though still a bit wobbly and uneven on opening night—transcends its somewhat shaky opening, and deserves to be seen by anyone who relishes the savory tang of laughter, lewdness and blatant, unashamed spectacle.

The story—which alternates with pleasantly scruffy songs delivered by a combo of laid-back musicians—follows a day in the life of professional servant Francis Henshaw—that would be Miller—who’s just arrived in the seaside town of Brighton to deliver a message from his boss, the petty criminal Roscoe Crabbe, who was reportedly recently killed by the wealthy and slightly-psychotic gangster Stanley Stubbers—a magnificent Ben Stowe. Much to everyone’s surprise, Roscoe isn’t dead after all. Well, he is, but he’s just shown up in town anyway, impersonated, just barely, by his own sister Rachel (Rose Roberts), who’s arrived with Francis in search of a big score before eloping to Australia with her psychotic boyfriend, who happens to be Stanley Stubbers.

Are you following this? Doesn’t matter.

Either is Francis.

Easily confused—and ravenously hungry—Francis ultimately accepts a second job working for Stubbers, who’s also arrived in town, looking for his missing fiancé.
A large cast of crazy characters constantly swirls about, as Francis gamely attempts to solve all of the problems he accidentally causes. The constant action is carried along on a wave of physical comedy and some outrageously over-the-top dialogue.

There are even moments of “audience participation,” so don’t be surprised if you end up on stage holding a pot of plastic fish.

There are, it should be pointed out, a few problems here and there with the production, as presented on opening night.

Certain actors’ accents border on the indecipherable, a closing song by the cast is woefully tone-challenged, and some of the gags—and a great deal of the second act—lag a tad in energy and invention. Still, furiously driven as it is by the joyous mayhem of Craig Miller’s masterly skills and jaw-dropping comic presence, this ridiculous exercise in comedic fervor is as satisfying as a good sandwich at the end of a long day.

‘One Man, Two Guvnors’ runs Thursday–Sunday, through February 7 at 6th Street Playhouse.

www.6thstreetplayhouse.com

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“Sometimes,” exhorts actress Sharon E. Scott, stirringly embodying the rich voice and sassy-sweet attitude of the great Gospel singer Mahalia Jackson. “Sometimes, God turns your life upside down—so you can help turn things right side up.”

In the sensational, heartbreaking and soul-lifting biographical theater piece ‘Mahalia Jackson: Just As I Am’—running through January 24 at Cinnabar Theater in Petaluma—Scott takes what might have been a straightforward story of an American church singer who became an international star, and creates something much richer than mere biography or impersonation.

In a show that runs just over two-and-a-half hours, Scott—who wrote and directed the show—turns Mahalia Jackson’s tumultuous life upside down and sideways, singing nearly thirty of Jackson’s most memorable songs and hymns, all while giving us a sense of Jackson’s vibrant, indomitable style and personality. Simultaneously, she leads her audience through one of America’s most dramatic and moving social evolutions—the civil rights movement of the 1960s.

With first-rate musical direction by Tammy Hall, who accompanies on piano, and assisted on stage by John Shillington in a variety of roles, Scott’s tribute to Jackson is sometimes feels a tad overstuffed, as if she was reluctant to leave any part of the story out. But just when the show seems to reach the full-to-the-brim point, Scott launches a series of emotional climaxes that are nothing short of stunning, transforming the show into tribute to the power of faith. Not just faith in the religious sense, but faith in the power of the human soul to transcend impossible obstacles.

Known in her time as the Queen of Gospel, Mahalia Jackson had the power to turn even non-believers into full-fledged Gospel music fans, and with a voice as rich and full of emotion as a full-on Sunday service with lunch served afterwards, Scott makes her audiences believe by showing us how Mahalia did it. In addition to the Florida-based performer’s committed musical performances of songs like ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ and ‘He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands,’ she turns out to be a first-rate actor, attacking the many storytelling portions of the play with a luscious, laid-back warmth and depth of feeling that might make you believe you are being addressed by the real Mahalia Jackson.

In the second act, when Jackson’s friendship with Martin Luther King is described, the play reaches a new plateau of dramatic tension and lyrical creativity. In one achingly gorgeous sequence, Scott intersperses verses of the song The Lord’s Player, with snippets of her own conversations with Dr. King. The power of the sequence is electrifying and deeply moving.

Shillington proves an equally energetic force, playing recognizable and obscure figures from Mahalia’s life—various promoters, a frighteningly racist policeman, and even the great performer Danny Kaye. Most notably, as Mahalia’s lifelong friend and supporter Studs Terkel, the legendary radio personality and interviewer, Shillington serves as a kind of narrator, setting up the story, and finishing with a breathtaking eulogy to a true American original. “Mahalia Jackson: Just as I Am,” is a must see, as moving as it is ambitious, as inspirational as it is eye-opening.

Mahalia Jackson: Just As I Am, runs through January 24 at Cinnabar Theater, cinnabartheater.org.

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Magic isn’t easy.

And sometimes, it takes a village to make something truly magical—and that even goes for fairy tale villages perched on the edge of a mysterious forest. With leads us to Stephen Sondheim’s ‘Into the Woods,’ now playing at Spreckels Performing Arts Center for one more weekend. Featuring a strong ensemble of North Bay performers, the show is bolstered by uniformly fine singing voices.

Those voices are the primary magic ingredient in the show, presented by Theater-at-Large, in an encore production of Stephen Sondheim’s crafty musical homage to—and reinvention of—the classic Brothers Grimm-style fairy tale. The show played to full houses and rave reviews last autumn in Novato, and now it gets a reprise run at Spreckels. It’s not a perfect transformation—but there is much to recommend this second look at Sondheim’s delightfully dark masterpiece.

First of all, there’s the jaw-dropping beauty of the music — spun as if from a magic loom by a chamber orchestra directed by Debra Chambliss—and the fine singing and playful presence of the cast. It’s plenty enough to make audiences glad they came, even if the woefully straightforward staging and a few clumsy moments of transition do come off as less than inspired.

What might have seemed cozy and warm at the much smaller Novato Theater Company space, struggles to fill out the massive Spreckels stage, often swallowing the best efforts of the first-rate cast.

About that cast… I do not have space or time to list them all, which is a shame, because like a village working together, each performer plays an important part.

As the sweet but conflicted Cinderella, Julianne Thompson Bretan gives one of many standout performances, and Krista Joy Serpa, as a fierce and funny Little Red Riding Hood, is a song-belting hoot. Also exceptional are Sean O’Brien and Allison Peltz as the show’s childless protagonists, the Baker and his wife, who launch the action with a scavenger hunt for magical items to reverse a witch’s curse and give them a baby.

Playing Cinderella’s ‘Prince Charming’ with a swashbuckling grin and a smarmy swagger, Anthony Martinez is wonderful, as is Johnny DeBernard, bringing a comforting presence—and supremely clear diction—as the mysterious narrator. And, as The Witch—the unexpected moral authority of this fractured fairy tale—Daniela Innocenti Beem is a force of nature, taking chances with the first part of the story, playing the witch for laughs rather than the usual menace, then morphing into a powerhouse of emotional strength and sheer vocal dynamite.

I only wish they’d used some of that brilliance in figuring out to stage to the show, especially the scenes where a giant invades the land and causes murderous mayhem. Use a projection for the giant, a big puppet, a shadow, whatever. Anything would have been better than simply having people point up at the imaginary giant coming at them from the audience, then run off stage and scream, only to have other people point off stage and say, “Oh no! They’re dead.”

Wow!

And then there’s the moment when one character is magically transformed. A flash of lighting or something to add some magic to the moment would have been nice. But to watch that actor run off stage, change their look, then run back on . . . um, really?

Sorry. It’s just not magical.

And it’s not fair, when the performers are doing such a good job, to not to support them with matching effort in the staging of their scenes.

That criticism aside, I do recommend this show.

Yes, some of the effects may leave you underwhelmed, but there’s no escaping the forceful enchantment of this fine ensemble of actors, making merry magic with their mighty voices.

‘Into the Woods’ runs Thursday–Sunday through January 17 at Spreckels Performing Arts Center.

www.Spereckelsonline.com

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Let’s talk a little about New Year’s Eve.

I know, I know. It’s not even Christmas yet.

But given that some of the New Years Eve events I’m about to mention will be sold out by Christmas, I thought I’d better talk about them now, while you still have a chance to snap up a ticket. But first, let me offer a little perspective on the whole theme of New Year’s Eve traditions.

Different people celebrate the turning of the year in different ways.

In Canada, on New Year’s Eve, cities offer free public transportation.
Not sexy, perhaps, as traditions go, but it’s certainly practical.

In certain parts of Mexico, as the midnight bells strike twelve times, partiers eat twelve grapes—hopefully without choking—because they make a wish with each swallowed grape.

In Albania, at precisely midnight on New Year’s, they make perfectly timed phone calls to wish each other a prosperous new year. Also not sexy, or particularly festive, but definitely warm and fuzzy and nice.

It’s midnight. Let’s call Dad.

I like it.

Meanwhile in the San Francisco North Bay area . . . well, we do all kinds of things. Amongst them, it has become a certified tradition for theater companies to wrap a big happy New Years Eve party around a brand new theatrical production, often kicking off the next full run of their new show by debuting it on the 31st of December, followed by a champagne toast, confetti, cheers and a kiss or two.

I like that too.

Case in point: this New Year’s Eve, Petaluma’s Cinnabar Theater (www.cinnabartheatre.org)—one of the first theater companies in the area to adopt the New Year’s Eve debut tradition—will be staging the first performance of their new show, Mahalia Jackson: Just as I Am. Written and performed by Sharon E. Scott, the show tells the story of America’s iconic blues and gospel singer, punctuating the tale with scorching renditions of Jackson’s best known songs. Cinnabar’s New Year’s Gala, running from $55-$66, begins at 9:00 p.m., and includes fancy pre-show desserts and champagne at midnight.

Mahalia Jackson: Just as I Am, continues it’s run at Cinnabar through January 24.
Over at Main Stage West in Sebastopol (www.mainstagewest.com), a bit of macabre mayhem will be added to the merriment on New Year’s Eve, as the esteemed theater launches Serial Murderess: A Love Story in Three Ax, Amanda Moody’s one-woman-show about a trio of famous female killers.
Talk about drinking a cup of kindness … just make sure it’s not poisoned.
Main Stage West’s first annual New Year’s Bash—cost $50, with the show beginning at 8:00 p.m.—includes food, drinks, a bit of murderous revelry, and the show itself.

I suggest you dress to kill for this one.

And finally, over at 6th Street Playhouse (www.6thstreetplayhouse.com), the New Year will kick in with a cabaret-style party and musical show—cost: $25-$40—featuring the return of Sandy and Richard Riccardi, the daft and daring duo whose charmingly satirical, tastefully raunchy songs have taken them to New York and back, and won them international acclaim on YouTube. There will be two shows, at 7:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m.
Food and drink will be available for purchase.

These shows are actually much more than just a great way to kick off the New Year.
Such special events are vital fundraisers; so even if you can’t make it out to your favorite theater, consider dropping off a tax-deductible donation as your way of saying Auld Lange Syne to support live theater in Sonoma County.

Happy New Year, a little early, and here’s to a theatrically satisfying 2016.

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Many of our Christmas entertainment traditions are tales of tribulation from Jimmy Stewart contemplating suicide in It’s a Wonderful Life to Charlie Brown’s seasonal affective disorder which becomes a kind of wistful melancholia with enough piano jazz.

So, it stands for reason that writer and performer David Templeton would yoke is yuletide monologue, Polar Bears, to a similar strategy. “Tragedy plus time equals comedy.” But Templeton isn’t pursuing comedy so as much as a stage-borne catharsis.

And he succeeds.

Polar Bears is inspired by the true events that followed Templeton’s divorce from and the untimely death of the mother of his two young children and how he endeavored, against incredible odds, to keep the spirit of Christmas alive. Through funeral arrangements and an array of misunderstandings (including the inspiration for the title which will put a lump in your throat,) Polar Bears reminds that our children’s belief in Santa may not be the best measure for our belief in ourselves as parents.

Well-directed by local theater veteran Sheri Lee Miller, the collaboration must have been akin to a protracted psychotherapy session. Though overcompensation is the modus operandi of many a divorced dad, Templeton’s story approaches the neurotic.

By the second act it’s clear that Templeton’s son manifested a belief in Santa that endured long beyond what many might think healthy, or at least exceeded the initial benefit of Templeton’s efforts. The repercussions, of course, are grist for a dramatic confrontation that is by turns heartbreaking –and hilarious. And it’s testament to the raw honesty with which Templeton confronts himself as a father.

Templeton is a writer first and an actor second – not a distant second, but enough that the latter sometimes has to play catch up with the former. At worst, Templeton has a tendency toward recitation, which, at nearly two hours of live performance, is a feat in itself. At his best, Templeton seems to eschew total fidelity to his text and speaks truly to the emotion of the moment. It’s like he’s speaking to a friend about one of the most challenging periods of his life. (Full disclosure: I consider myself among the playwright’s many friends who packed recent performance).

Templeton’s hindsight, however, is not through rose-tinted glasses it’s more like a microscope whose slide is smudged around the edges with Vaseline. This affords it a kind of Golden Age of Hollywood-style nostalgia despite the rigorous self-examination. Polar Bears may not restore your belief in Santa Claus but might restore your belief in parenthood.

Polar Bears plays Thursdays through Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 5 p.m., through December 20 at Main Stage West, 104 N. Main Street, Sebastopol. Tickets are $15 to $27 and can be had by calling (707) 823-0177, or by visiting mainstagewest.com.

Not recommended for those who still believe in Santa Claus.

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“I wear the chains I forged in life!”

This ghostly report from the doomed spirit of Jacob Marley is amongst the most famous supernatural utterances in English literature. It’s also a fair metaphor for the heavy weight of responsibility carried by any theater company brave enough to stage Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. This unstoppably popular story has been around for better than 170 years, and along the way it’s forged a long, weighty chain of expectations, adorations, misinterpretations, criticisms, dismissals and the weird, unkind backlashes that spring from any legendary story’s overfamiliarity in the public eye.

Amongst the many reasons that 6th Street’s current production of A Christmas Carol can claim to be called one of the best surprises of 2015, is that it both embraces what’s made the tale so enduring, while also blazing new trails, finding fresh, entertaining possibilities in what has, in some adaptor’s hands, become stale and predictable.

With a strong, adaptable cast, an inventively clever script by Michael Wilson, sprightly, emotion-focused direction from Craig Miller, and a delightfully steam-punk production-design, this incarnation of the Dickens classic also makes maximum use of actor Charles Siebert as Ebeneezer Scrooge. Performing rarely on local stages, Siebert’s North Bay appearances are always occasions to celebrate (6th Street’s Red, Cinnabar’s The Price). As Scrooge—the miserly skinflint whose Christmas Eve haunting takes him backwards and forwards through his own history—Siebert is fancifully mesmerizing and terrifically, touchingly real, maintaining a remarkable level of creative generosity toward all others with whom he shares the stage.

As Marley—materializing to deliver a dire warning to his former business partner Scrooge—Alan Kaplan is a wickedly, wackily menacing and also heartbreakingly earnest. As the various spirits of Christmas—past, present, and future—Miller has assembled a trio of comic actors (Jessica Headington, Nick Christenson, and Ryan Severt) who deliver delightfully spectral comedy while consistently landing sharp emotional punches when necessary—in one case, while towering over the stage on stilts.

The large, multi-age cast—with notably strong and/or hilarious performances by Jeff Coté as Bob Cratchit, Harry Duke as Fezziwig, and Crystal Carpenter as Belle—work incredibly well as a shape-shifting, character-changing, scenery-moving ensemble.
And particular praise must be given to Miller’s technical team, whose clock-work set (Jesse Dreikosen), mood-making lights (Steven Piechocki), and otherworldly sound-design (Miller, with John Gromada) are some of the best seen at 6th Street in many a Christmas.

Meanwhile, over at Spreckels Arts Center, another beloved novel leaps to life on stage in ‘Little Women: The Musical.’ With a spectacular performance by Rebekah Pearson in the lead role of Jo March, with crisp, lively direction by Thomas Chapman, and a beautifully spare musical direction Jim Coleman, Louisa May Alcott’s enduring story of love, family and individual determination is gorgeously and cleverly transformed. The story has been rearranged a bit, with the bulk of the familiar tale of the March sisters a flashback in Jo’s grown-up memory, as she strives to make a go of it as a writer in New York City, far from the home she loves.

IT works, taking elements of the book that happened earlier, and easing them later into the story, where they become the emotional peak of the play.

The entire cast is excellent, the sing is stellar, and the remarkably accessible storytelling aims straight for the heart, without forgetting that ‘Little Women’ the novel, is also delightfully, humanly hilarious.

Taken together these two season favorites are must-sees for this holiday season.

A Christmas Carol’ runs Thursday–Sunday through December 20 at 6th Street Playhouse. 6thstreetplayhouse.com.

Little Women: The Musical runs Friday – Sunday until December 20. Speckelsonline.com

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It has been said that there is nothing less dramatic or more lacking in entertainment value than watching a writer write. In the clever comedy-drama ‘Seminar,’ presented at Wells Fargo Center by Left Edge Theatre, playwright Theresa Rebeck—the mastermind behind such stage hits at The Scene and television’s Smash—deftly transports her patented hard-edge comedy style from the worlds of stage-and-screen to the land of the literarily engaged. By never showing us a writer in the act of writing, but rather showing us a quartet of authors in the act of defending and describing their work, Rebeck shows them at the vulnerable core of who they are.

And it’s a blast. Mostly.

If anyone could really determine a great novel or a lousy novel by just reading the first who pages, then maybe I should only be watching the first ten minutes of a play before rendering my own opinion as to its overall worth. That’s not possible, of course, and for a playwright as adept as Rebeck to take such lazy shortcuts, actually showing us people in the act of recognizing a literary work’s excellence by it’s first several paragraphs, is disappointing.

Thankfully, the value of ‘Seminar’ lies in its entirety, not in one or two false moments, and on the whole, ‘Seminar’ is outstanding.

“Don’t defend yourself,” intones Leonard, early in the play. Played by actor Ron Severdia with a mix of weary resignation, playful, grinning antagonism, and vicious, sociopathic bloodlust, Leonard is an esteemed author-turned-teacher-for-hire, and he doesn’t like it when a writer defends herself after he’s criticized her.

“If you’re defending yourself,” he tells a whole group of young writers he is in the middle of eviscerating, “then you’re not listening.”

Directed by Argo Thompson with a strong ear for the rapidly shifting rhythms of intellectual debate and literary double-speak—though with a conspicuous tendency to have his entire cast perform facing and rarely to each other—Seminar follows a bunch of would-be writers who pay a Leonard $5000 apiece to give them a private class, “critiquing” their writing—and everything else about them. Rose Roberts, as the Jane Austen-loving Kate—who rents the New York apartment where the classes take place—is at the top of her game, and as her variously talented classmates, Jacob de Heer, Devon McConnell, and Veronica Valencia give strong, appealing performances in a play in which every character has something great to do, alternately required to be torn apart, or to learn the fine art of tearing apart others. As Leonard gleefully pronounces, “Writers, in their natural state, are as civilized as feral cats.” This entertaining exploration of artistic egos under pressure is a bit over-cooked at times, but on the whole is as deliciously fierce, ferocious and funny as a pack of wild animals.

And like a wild animal, it doesn’t always behave itself.

“Seminar” runs Friday through Sunday through November 28, at Wells Fargo Center for the Performing Arts, presented by Left Edge Theatre. www.leftedgetheatre.com

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Invisibility.

It’s not just something that happens in fantasy books and science fiction movies. In the real world, there are invisible people, folks who, because of their social status or lifestyle, or just because they keep their secret pains and problems to themselves, remain essentially unseen, unnoticed, unappreciated, unprotected—invisible.

In two highly recommended North Bay plays, we are invited inside the lives of people who—in theater, as in real life—are rarely ever given a voice.

In a near-balletic new production at Marin Theater Company, in Mill Valley, ‘My Mañana Comes’ follows four hard-working “busboys” at an upscale restaurant in New York City. The play is set entirely on the prep side of the bustling kitchen. We never see a single wait-person, and only the occasional hand and arm sliding dishes into view from the chef’s side. It’s a brilliantly detailed, realistic and lived-in set, by Sean Fanning, is like a character unto itself.

Irwin’s brilliant script pulls us in immediately, and director Kirsten Brandt keeps things hopping as a quartet of actors bus dishes, prep plates of food, slice fruit and vegetables—using real knives—and rush in and out of swinging doors, with a grace and energy that would be impressive even if the actors weren’t also giving deep, fleshed out, fully engaging performances.

Peter—played by Shaun Patrick Tubbs—and Jorge—Eric Avilés—have worked in the restaurant the longest, and each one tries in their own way to school the two newer bussers: Whalid—Caleb Carera— and Pepe—Carlos Jose Gonzales Morales. A bit of competition is natural, but when the restaurant’s management cuts the busser’s pay, everything changes. It’s here that the play kicks into high gear, showing us the way that privilege bring power, even amongst those who are living paycheck to paycheck, and in a hidden world where undocumented workers make up a huge part of the work force, it’s possible to lose everything—job, money, and the American dream—in an instant.

In Sharr White’s The Other Place, now playing at Main Stage West, following an earlier run with much of the same cast at 6th Street Playhouse, Jacquelyn Wells steps into the lead, and gives a heartbreaking, emotionally scorching performance as Julianna, a brilliant scientist and expert on a rare form of dementia, who refuses to accept she’s showing signs of the same devastating illness. Deftly directed by David Lear—who keeps clear the playwright’s various flashbacks and narrative asides—the play unfolds as a bit of mystery, as Julianna recounts an event involving a girl in a yellow string bikini who appears in the audience during a lecture on brain function.

There are other mysteries to be revealed in the lives of Julianna and her baffled husband Ian as well, all adding up to a show that is part family drama and part mediation on the meaning of memory. There is nice work by actor Clark Miller as Ian, with skillful performances from Angella Martin and John Browning in multiple roles. Sam Coughlin takes over for Browning in the show’s final week, and the show deserves an audience as it wraps up its run. Ultimately, Though heartbreaking and challenging, The Other Place finds a surprisingly sweet and lovely resolution, a reminder that the ones we have loved and lost are more than mere memories—they are what we have when nothing else is left.

‘The Other Place’ runs Thursday–Sunday through November 15 at Main Stage West. www.mainstagewest.com
‘My Mañana Comes’ runs Tuesday–Sunday through November 22 at Marin Theatre Company. www.marintheatre.org

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Halloween is upon us, and to get us in the mood, two infamous supernatural sex-comedies are currently haunting 6th Street Playhouse. Both plays are crammed with witty retorts and sexual innuendo, both feature ghostly visitations and eye-popping fashions—but only one has the Time Warp and a guy dressed in fishnet stockings.

Let’s start there.

Richard K. O’Brien’s infamous musical The Rocky Horror Show—playing at 6th Street for its third consecutive year—manages the impressive magic trick of transcending its own quirky script deficiencies. Under the direction of Craig Miller, the production employs a kind of theatrical misdirection, distracting audiences from the fact that the story of Rocky Horror is a bit of a mess, by turning the whole show into one joyously raucous, sex-positive “event,” complete with cross-dressing costume contests at the intermission, and a rowdy post-show dance break in which the audience is invited to Time Warp with the cast.

Assisted by musical director Justin Pyne, whose magnificent rock band is spot-on perfect, this is a Rocky Horror that brings enough high-spirited fun to outweigh the loony flaws of the story, and additional credit for that should definitely go to the fearless commitment of its cheerfully extroverted cast.

As Dr. Frankenfurter—the not-so-sweet transvestite from outer space—Rob Broadhurst unleashes a torrent of high-heeled, pelvis-thrusting glee, and Zach Howard rocks hard as the duplicitous butler Riff Raff.

Mark Bradbury and Abbey Lee, as the virginal visitors Brad and Janet, do fearless, first-rate work in the show’s trickiest roles. And nice supporting performances are given by Rose Roberts as the conflicted groupie Columbia, a delightful Zac Schuman in the dual roles of delivery boy Eddie and his government agent uncle Dr. Scott, and Amanda Morando as Riff Raff’s dry-witted sister Magenta.

Though haphazardly paced, and plagued with some opening night technical issues, this Rocky Horror succeeds, big time, by brazenly showing it’s true colors—From beginning to end, this is one big dark-humored dance party disguised as a play.

After three years, all I can say is, Let’s do the time warp again.
On to Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit, a drawing comedy that was the Rocky Horror of its time, the story of a milquetoast writer haunted by the ghost of his manipulative first wife while struggling with the passive-aggressive machinations of his second.

Directed by Meghan C. Hakes, the 6th Street version delivers visually—with a great set and some very entertaining ghost effects—but it totally misses the mark in terms of its tone and rhythm. Hurt by its tentative pace and some wildly uneven . . . often unintelligible . . . English accents, the show takes what might have been a bracingly tasty martini and turns it into a rather diluted cocktail of clashing, but still slightly fizzy, soft drinks.

Despite fine, engaging performances by David Yen as optimistic author Charles, Gina Alvarado as the ghostly femme fatale Elvira, and Lennie Dean as the well-meaning medium Madam Arcati, the production woefully miscalculates the underlying point of the play—which can’t be described without spoiling key second-act surprises—resulting in an ending is a strangely disappointing clash of contrasting ending, on that’s visually magical and the other that is suddenly, unexpectedly un-fun.

‘Blithe Spirit’ and ‘The Rocky Horror Show’ run Thursday–Sunday through November 8 at 6th Street Playhouse. www.6thstreetplayhouse.com

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1999 years ago, an unmarried teenage mother had a bad dream. The next morning, she decided to turn that dream into a short story. Over the next few months, that story evolved into a novel—and that novel changed the future of literature. The teenager was Mary Shelley, and her book was Frankenstein. As everyone knows, it’s the tale of a creature assembled from dead body parts and granted the spark of life. In playwright Trevor Allen’s stage adaptation The Creature, Shelley’s original story is taken apart at the seams and reassembled into something entirely new. The Creature, now running at Cinnabar Theater, is daring, inventive, and artful—but problematic.

Director Jon Tracy mixes up a meta-theatrical cocktail of misty atmosphere and sheer chance-taking guts, staging Allen’s minimalist take on the novel using only a trio of chairs, a snowy slab of white for a set, a leather journal—and three actors.
Eschewing special effects, action scenes and monster makeup, the three barefooted narrators are: Victor Frankenstein (played by popular local actor Tim Kniffin) Captain Walton (played by Richard Pallaziol), and the Creature himself (Robert Parsons). Each character takes turns telling their side of the story in a long string of beautiful words.
Unlike the novel—a tale within a tale within a tale—Allen places the narratives side by side, simultaneously, with the narrative bouncing back and forth like a ping pong ball every sentence or two. Confusion and exhaustion are just some of the by-products of this fiendish experiment. By breaking each man’s tale into such tiny fragments, the power of Shelley’s original story is almost entirely diminished, literally smashed to pieces.

As Walton, the ships captain who discovers Victor Frankenstein near the North Pole and takes his deathbed confession, Pallaziol is quite good, and Kniffin, as the dying mad scientist, nicely captures the last-gasp desperation of the character. But in delivering his entire story in a steady, near-lifeless monotone, the emotional arc of Frankenstein’s horrific personal journey becomes one-note, sadly hammered flat and cold.

As the Creature, Parsons is served the best, and he brings an impressive sense of wounded dignity to the role of an abandoned child, but in the script, Allen goes too far in trying to make the character sympathetic, even altering the details of the Creature’s various murders. In a deliberate deviation from Shelley’s text, Allen turns each murder—including the calculated framing of an innocent woman—into simple, unintentional accidents.

While such story and plot changes may go unnoticed by those unfamiliar with the novel, they do matter, throwing off the balance of the drama, robbing the story of much of its complexity.

On the plus side, Tracy’s set is beautifully done—a sloping swath of snow that runs across the stage and curves up the wall and out of sight. And the lovely light design (also Tracy) and sound design (Jared Emerson Johnson) all set the mood beautifully.
Still, though fascinating and visually haunting, this Creature—despite the best intentions of its talented creator—turns out to be less than the sum of its parts.

‘The Creature’ runs through Nov. 1 at Cinnabar Theater www.cinnabartheater.org

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