By Sarika Chawla

Johnson Over Jordan

Unknown Theater
1110 N. Seward St., Hlwyd.
Through Nov. 27
Thursday-Saturday 8 p.m., Sunday 7 p.m.
Tickets: $18-$25
(323) 466-7781

J.B. Priestley's 1939 play Johnson Over Jordan was considered to be his biggest flop. A hyper-surreal, cerebral journey into the afterlife, it is an exploration of how our experiences make us true individuals -- in other words, it is a theme that has been done repeatedly and must work to say it in a fresh way. In their inaugural performance, the Unknown Theater company ambitiously takes on this difficult piece and weaves something very special out of it. It is a maze that twists space, time, and reality that is simultaneously bewildering and exhilarating.

IN's own Christopher Cappiello stars as the recently deceased, middle class Englishman Robert Johnson. He is the everyman, leaving behind a family, a few friends, and a supremely average career. Caught in a sort of purgatory with nothing but his pajamas, he must navigate through perplexing channels to reach his final destination of the Inn at the End of the World. All nepotism aside, his grasp of the role is astounding -- while Johnson is really a passive observer of all that's happening around him, Cappiello infuses him with a sense of vulnerability that makes his journey all the more emotional, so that ultimately we realize that there is no such thing as a common man.

Director Chris Covics handles the large cast with a deft hand. He injects a certain amount of sophistication into this production by using seemingly simple tricks, like sending perfectly synchronized roller skaters across the stage while madly tossing papers around. Moments like this are not just attention grabbing, but also manage to capture the frenzy and paranoia that Johnson's spirit is undergoing. Absurdity also abounds, as when Johnson's childhood hero of Don Quixote leaps onstage while spouting out Spanish phrases, played with silly glee by John Payne. Later, Johnson rediscovers his long-repressed id inside a hedonistic nightclub, where any amount of booze, women and friends can be had for a price.

Through all of his experiences, family and friends from his physical life emerge and disappear from this dreamlike state, shedding light on the world that he has left behind. Many of them, like his grieving daughter Freda (Tara Jean O'Brien), appear in several different incarnations -- both within his reality and ours -- each one making him learn a bit more about himself. The play's old-fashioned text tends to feel a bit heavy, but it is the spaces in between the words that say the most: As Johnson heads toward some sort of salvation, there are deeply poignant moments that bring forward the devastation and inevitability of death. The bar has been set high for this brand-new company, and as long as their enthusiasm remains at this level, we will be seeing good things from them in the future.

The Passion of the Crawford

Renberg Theatre
L.A. Gay and Lesbian Center
1125 N. McCadden Pl., L.A.
Through Oct. 23
Thursday-Saturday 8 p.m., Sunday, 7 p.m.
Tickets: $35
(323) 860-7300

The passion of the Lypsinka is still kicking. Fashion muse, celebrity whore, and lip-synching authority, the alter ego of John Epperson is part of the drag queen elite that has made one hell of a career for herself. She swoops into Los Angeles with her off-Broadway show, The Passion of the Crawford, a theatrical homage to Joan Crawford. The concept is an interesting one that distances itself from being a simple camp act, but its momentum rises and falls so frequently that it's never quite clear where the show wants to go.

Directed by Kevin Malony, Epperson pours all of his talents into one character, sans musical numbers, as he mouths along to old recordings of Crawford. Things rev right up with an opening video montage of the gay icon, which sets up a thumping, high-energy atmosphere. What follows is a re-enactment of a 1973 interview with publicist John Springer (Steve Cuiffo). Their conversation explores all the not-so-intimate details of Crawford's life, including her introduction to early Hollywood "talkies" and her label as "box office poison." Video clips and the occasional flashback scene, like the Christmastime radio program inside her home, animate some of the more well-known moments of her life. Epperson is dead on with the lip-synching and hams it up nicely with thickly-painted, quavering lips, exasperated eyes, and the grandiose gestures of a true diva. Each movement is crafted with detail and nuance, and it is impressive to watch it all unfold. While all eyes remain fixed on Lyp, Cuiffo serves as a strong straight man whose own lip-synching skills are solid.

Once the novelty wears off, however, the show morphs into something darker. Of course this is more than just an impersonation, but somehow Epperson seems to be channeling a spirit -- not of Crawford per se, but of the caricature of Crawford; the entity that drag queens have created over the years. The lengthy interview scene is wisely cut off, and the show both elevates and deteriorates as it changes into a rabid fever dream. An overly long reading at a podium is rather inexplicable, while a choppy, fast-paced splicing of her famous movie lines (under epilepsy-inducing lights) shows off Epperson's well-honed talents. The references come fast and hard, which will delight Crawford fans, and of course, Lypsinka's loyal followers will welcome her with enthusiasm, but may end up leaving the theater feeling a bit heavier than when they came in.