BABY DOLL

NOT RECOMMENDED

Joel Daavid’s production of Tennessee Williams’ Baby Doll starts off strikingly as elderly Aunt Rose Comfort enters her nephew’s ramshackle Mississippi cotton gin and frees the play’s ensemble/Greek chorus one by one from the clothesline where they have been hanging for the last twenty minutes as the audience has been entering the Lillian Theatre and taking their seats.

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VICTOR/VICTORIA

NOT RECOMMENDED

A show-stopping performance by Kristin Towers-Rowles, StageSceneLA’s Scenie-winning Breakthrough Musical Theater Performer Of The Year, is the best reason to see Malibu Stage Company’s small-stage production of the rarely staged Victor/Victoria.
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CarnEvil

NOT RECOMMENDED

Sacred Fools Theatre Company, the troupe that brought Los Angeles such delightful oddities as Hamlet Shut Up, Land Of The Tigers, and BeaverQuest! The Musical, now gives us CarnEvil: A Gothic Horror Rock Musical, a show which makes its predecessors seem positively tame by comparison and one that David Cronenberg fans may well drink up like Dracula at a victim’s neck. Still, despite considerable talent onstage and off, CarnEvil ended up being not this reviewer’s cup of tea, or goblet of blood as the case may be.
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PSYCHO BEACH PARTY

NOT RECOMMENDED

No one sends up popular film genres with a campier (i.e. gayer) sensibility than Charles Busch, whether it’s the “Oriental” melodramas of Hollywood’s Golden Era in Shanghai Moon, or those ’50s/’60s Ross Hunter soap operas in Die! Mommy! Die!, or WWII “Women In Peril” thrillers in The Lady In Question, or the red-baiting propaganda films of the late ’40s/early ’50s in Red Scare On Sunset.
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THE BIG WOOGIE

NOT RECOMMENDED

What an amazing theater town Los Angeles is, each month offering literally hundreds of shows to pick from—big budget/big bucks/big stage productions at the Pasadena Playhouse or the Geffen, midsized offerings like those at the Colony and ICT Long Beach, and 99-seat plan productions at Theatre @ Boston Court, Antaeus, and the Celebration—to name just three of the many small theaters which easily match the best of off-Broadway. Add to these the countless 30, 40, and 50-seat mini-theaters where it’s possible to “put on a show” for about .005% of Broadway’s Spider Man budget, and you’ve got oodles of temptations on any given weekend.
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LOCKED AND LOADED

NOT RECOMMENDED

Despite the many positive reviews it has garnered during its extended run at the Santa Monica Playhouse, I did not enjoy Locked And Loaded, Todd Sussman’s existentialist dramedy. I found myself turned off from the get-go by its terminally ill, suicide-bound sexagenarian heroes, two men I wouldn’t enjoy spending time with in real life, let alone as characters in a play. Things perked up a bit, or at least at first, when a pair of hookers appeared magically at their doorstep, one of them sporting an irresistible Spanish accent. Unfortunately, her foulmouthed chick-with-a-dick companion proved entirely resistible, and though I kept hoping to be won over, I found myself less and less involved in the onstage action as the play went on to bizarre extremes, its characters engaging in a mock trial à la Sartre (not one of my favorite writers).
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DOOLEY

NOT RECOMMENDED

Sometimes no matter how much a production has going in its favor, it simply doesn’t work for a reviewer, no matter the quality of the talent onstage. Diversionary Theatre’s World Premiere play Dooley is just such a production.
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THREE SISTERS OR PERESTROIKA

NOT RECOMMENDED

At the risk of alienating the many who consider Anton Chekhov one of the world’s greatest playwrights, I must preface this review with a confession. I am not now, nor am I likely to become, a Chekhov fan. Having seen one or two productions each of his four greatest works, I have come to the conclusion that the author of The Cherry Orchard, The Seagull, The Three Sisters, and Uncle Vanya is simply not my cup of tea—or should that be vodka? Therefore, any Chekhov lovers reading this review should take whatever I say about Three Sisters Or Perestroika with a grain of salt. By the same token, those with a similar lack of affinity for the very talky Russian may want to pass on Pavel Cerny’s 1980s adaptation of Chekhov’s ode to Moscow.
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