1 to 10?

Theatre District
304 N. El Centro, Hollywood
Through Feb. 4
Friday-Saturday 8 p.m.
Sunday 2 p.m.
Tickets: $15
(323) 957-2343

Considering the prolificacy of L.A.’s constantly struggling yet ever-resilient 99-seat theater community, it’s surprising that there aren’t more plays written that take a self-reflective look at the arena. Max Riley’s new three-character drama takes us behind the scenes of an unnamed L.A. small-theater company. How much of this intermittently fascinating yet verbose piece was inspired by real people and events at Theatre District is anyone’s guess, but roman à clef doesn’t appear to be Riley’s aim. The question of authenticity matters less than how successfully the piece fulfills its ambitions as a poignant and probing look at the challenges, triumphs, disappointments and personal stakes for the artists who invest their blood, sweat and tears into a daunting jungle of never-ending fiscal and artistic hurdles. The potential is for the Chorus Line of the Equity-waiver arena.

The good news is that Riley’s script intelligently raises vital issues about the need for the 99-seat scene to change with the times in order to survive, and that director Macario Gaxiola has assembled a superb cast to tell the story. Less fortunate is the pompously overwritten and sometimes circuitous dialogue, as well as some confusion as to the central theme. Is this an old-guard vs. new-guard story, examining the struggle between stubborn artistic ideals and economic survival, and where the twain shall meet? Or is it a tale of basket-case neurotics who turn to an artistic outlet as a panacea for their inner demons, much like a hopeless drunk desperately craves the comforts of Scotch on the rocks? The characters—particularly the central figure, artistic director Sydney (Alice Ensor)—talk so much about their psychological issues that the theater-office setting sometimes feels more like a psychiatrist’s quarters, with each character serving as shrink to the other two. This rings false, as does the characters’ tiresome bickering, which Sydney at one point categorizes as a veiled expression of insecure love. In moments like this, Riley’s repetitious and overlong script—which runs at least 30 minutes longer than necessary—cries out for ruthless pruning and sharper focus.

The story of venerable though eccentric theater leader Sydney and the bright-faced young assistant Ericka (Amy Rilling) who boldly challenges her is part Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, part Collected Stories, part All About Eve. Ensor, an ever-consummate actress, struggles to rise above the script’s excesses, giving as finely-shaded a portrayal as her overwrought dialogue will allow. Rilling is likewise impressive, illuminating the young artist’s treacherous tightrope-walk between respecting great accomplishments and chomping at the bit to have her progressive ideas take flight. Jim O’Heir is amusing as the referee, Ross—Sydney’s longtime colleague and production manager.

Wonderful production values—highlighted by a highly credible and brilliantly detailed set credited to Two Blue Chairs—put a slick professional sheen on the production. We’re grateful to have a play that ventures into this largely uncharted dramatic terrain, which is long overdue, and we hope Riley works to clarify and streamline a work that displays great potential, but needs more time on the burner. — Les Spindle

Edward Scissorhands

Ahmanson Theatre
135 N. Grand Ave., L.A.
Through Dec. 31
Tuesday-Friday 8 p.m., Saturday 2 p.m. & 8 p.m.,
Sunday 2 p.m. & 7:30 p.m.
Tickets: $30-90
213-628-2772
www.taperahmanson.com

In many respects Edward Scissorhands is a perfect match for the wordless movement adaptations that British director/choreographer Matthew Bourne has become famous for staging since his all-male Swan Lake became an international phenomenon in the mid-1990s: The Scissorhands story is essentially a fairy tale—common fodder for dance pieces—and the protagonist hardly speaks in the original film anyway. The gorgeous, energetic production currently running at the Ahmanson confirms that the match was a good one, even if the acclaimed director’s adaptation lingers too long on the story’s comic surface, keeping us from fully relating to the marginalized protagonist.

The show’s basic outsider story is similar to that of the famed Tim Burton film: A mad inventor creates Edward, but dies before finishing his work, specifically the hands. When the perfectly suburban Boggs family adopts the scissor-handed boy, their initially wary community embraces Edward for his hair-cutting and gardening skills, but turns on him at the slightest provocation.

Danny Elfman’s evocative film score is expanded with new music written by longtime Bourne collaborator Terry Davies, incorporating everything from lush classical melodies to early rock ‘n’ roll (Bourne has reset the story in the 1950s). There are times, however, when the movement doesn’t rise to the inventiveness of the music. An extended “Suburban Ballet” introduces us to the Easter-egg-colored homes of the cheerful suburban neighborhood (one of many stunning scenic designs by Bourne favorite Lez Brotherston). While flashes of the director’s brilliance are evident—particularly in a sequence in which each family “drives” together, dancing as a group to indicate their vehicle type and community status—the movement relies too heavily on obvious sight gags, preventing us from feeling Edward’s isolation.

Sometimes Bourne’s humor serves the story beautifully: Act One’s “Gossip” has the whole town wordlessly talking about their strange new neighbor, and an extended haircutting scene opens Act Two with flair. But, too often, the director reaches for comedy instead of pathos. With the exception of a lovely dream ballet just before intermission, Bourne’s choreography doesn’t allow Edward to soar until the second act, particularly in the romantic “Ice Dance.”

The show’s physical demands require multiple casting. On opening night Richard Winsor played Edward, his balletic grace and wide-eyed awe proving a perfect contrast to his Burtonesque hair and sculpted, brown leather body suit. The large ensemble is excellent, each creating and maintaining a distinctive, fascinating character, even while executing Bourne’s most demanding moves. In a Christmas party dance, the cast raises the roof with celebratory glee just before Edward’s alcohol-induced downfall.

Brotherston’s sumptuous sets range from Gothic castles to pastel suburbia, and his endlessly inventive costumes include a team of dancing topiary. Even if we are somehow kept at a distance from the heart of Edward’s perilous story, Edward Scissorhands is a delightfully diverting and highly imaginative visual feast. — Christopher Cappiello