Varla Jean Merman is Anatomically Incorrect

Ultra Suede
651 N. Robertson Blvd., West Hollywood
Through Mar. 29
Thursday 8 p.m. (dark March 1)
Tickets: $25
www.groovetickets.com

Among the most popular female-impersonator performers with followings across the country, each has his/her own unique style. Coco Peru, aka Clinton Leupp, is the pseudo-glamour queen who's not above adding a touch of poignancy or sentimentality to her campy shenanigans. Lypsinka is the dazzling showman/woman reveling in slick multimedia technology and a passion for movie divas of yesteryear. Then there's Miss Varla Jean Merman (aka Jeffrey Roberson), who knows how to enchant an audience with that incredible ersatz-operatic voice and sharply funny writing (collaborating with Jacques Lamarre), but thankfully also loves to indulge in pure, unadulterated, tried-and-true trash. What else would one expect from the self-proclaimed love child of Ethel Merman and Ernest Borgnine?

With an intoxicating mix of class and trash as her stock-in-trade, Varla's in fine form in her latest cabaret vehicle. There's a lot of body talk in this one, befitting the theme evidenced in the title. Opening with a bit of sardonic Iraq War satire, the diva quickly gets down to business with a bountiful mix of her outrageous video segments, clever patter and spoofy songs—adorned by an array of inspired costumes by Michael Velasquez and Cecile Casely and wigs by Gerard Kelly, eye-popping visuals and vibrant aural effects. There's anything but good taste in Varla's uproarious video segments, including a sleazy romp set against a recording of Cher's “Dark Lady!” and a choice double-skewering of Liza Minnelli and food-poisoning public service announcements. The latter features the voice of Christine Pedi, a dead-on Minnelli impersonator from Forbidden Broadway, telling the story of the rampage caused by a nasty bacteria-infested lump of poultry called Salmonelli (with an S, not a Z). Varla's tabloid-like scandals in the video clips, with sex and booze playing prominent parts, will undoubtedly sell a lot of her DVDs after each performance, which she shamelessly hawks during the show.

There are some great new songs, such as: ”I'm More Than a Double D!,” a paean to the star's fully developed bosom. If there's one serious lapse in the show, it's the unfunny “Talk to the Genitals” sung to the tune of the Oscar-winning song “Talk to the Animals” from that ancient, wretched Rex Harrison family film Dr. Dolittle. It's a one-joke gag, and the joke isn't that funny. This is an old bit from prior shows, and it seems time to give it a rest. What I didn't miss was Varla's Cheez Whiz-swallowing stunt that up to now seemed to be a permanent fixture of the show. One could make a crack about declining gag reflex dexterity, or maybe our hard-working star just decided the calories in a full can of junk food were taking their toll on her hips. But Varla's fans will eat up all she has to dish out in this delicious romp, and new audiences are in danger of getting hooked on the habit.—Les Spindle

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Ahmanson Theatre
135 N. Grand Ave., L.A.
Through March 18
Tuesday-Thursday 7:30 p.m., Friday 8 p.m.
Saturday 2 p.m. & 8 p.m., Sunday 2 p.m.
Tickets: $30-80
213-628-2772
www.CenterTheatreGroup.com

In an age when almost anything can be seen or said on cable television series, and our collective fascination with the most prurient news stories seems to have no bounds, it turns out that the most shocking display of our human capacity for cruelty currently on view in Hollywood comes in the form of a 45-year-old play. In one long night's journey into day, the two couples in Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? tear away illusions, strip down defenses and cut to the bone in a ferociously fine-tuned revival currently at the Ahmanson Theatre.

The production hits Los Angeles after successful runs on Broadway and London's West End. Kathleen Turner and Bill Irwin star as Martha and George, the bullying, boozing daughter of a university president and her deceptively meek history professor husband, who invite a young couple to their campus home for a nightcap after a faculty party. Nick (David Furr), an ambitious new professor in the biology department, and his mousy wife Honey (Kathleen Early) are unwittingly dragged into a quicksand of bitter games and vicious wordplay that are a staple of their hosts' twisted marriage.

In front of their guests, Turner's Martha brutally emasculates Irwin's scarecrow-like George as an underachieving simp while blatantly attempting to seduce the handsome new boy. But George has his own games to play, having stealthily laid the groundwork for a vicious skinning of the young couple's forced happiness before finally turning the verbal knife on his braying wife. This is Long Day's Journey meets Strindberg's Dance of Death, with a heavy dose of black humor thrown in.

Little did we know when she burst on the scene as a bombshell in the early '80s that the hefty, husky Turner was born to play Albee's Martha. The camp of some of her recent film work is nowhere in sight in her brutally unsentimental portrayal of a little girl lost who covers up with a lot of bluster. The play's final haunting image finds Turner's Martha sitting on the floor, an injured grizzly bear lost in the moonlight.

For all of Turner's skill, however, it is Irwin who provides the revelation in this riveting revival. His George is full of surprises, taking lines familiar from the celebrated Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton film and delivering them with fresh nuance and more than a little savory sarcasm. In the end it is the seemingly submissive George who rules this rotting roost with a carefully calibrated cruelty that earns Martha's admiration. Perhaps these two really love each other after all.

Furr is excellent as the cocksure and calculating Nick, always aware of his physical appeal to the president's daughter. Only Early's Honey disappoints, as she spirals into caricature and reaches for easy laughs when breathtaking uppercuts to the solar plexis are called for. British stage vet Anthony Page directs with a sure hand, keeping the pace brisk while building to the big moments with care. John Lee Beatty's magnificent set makes no compromises for the production's touring schedule, with a full and cluttered academic's living room delivered in an appropriately cadaverous palette.

Albee was denied a Pulitzer for Virginia Woolf back in 1963 because the play's content shocked committee members. In 2007 its brilliant ugliness still shocks. Don't miss it. —Christopher Cappiello