By Sarika Chawla

Nine Parts of Desire

The Geffen Playhouse
at the Brentwood Theatre
11301 Wilshire Blvd. Bldg. 211
Veterans Administration Grounds, Brentwood
Through Oct. 16
Tuesday-Thursday 7:30 p.m., Friday 8 p.m.
Saturday 4 p.m. and 8 p.m., Sunday 2 p.m.
Tickets: $35-$70.
(213) 365-3500

In times of strife, artistic interpretations have the opportunity to flourish and offer a perspective on what is usually a multi-faceted story. Playwright/performer Heather Raffo has taken advantage of this phenomenon to create an astounding glimpse into the tenacity of Iraqi women in the face of conflict. Without ever relying on clichés or cultural condescension, Nine Parts of Desire gives strength to the voices that don't often have the chance to be heard.

Raffo is an Iraqi-American who spent years conducting a series of interviews to piece together her one-woman show. Under the direction of Joanna Settle, she uses nothing more than a long black cloth and a series of convincing and distinct accents to transform herself into a myriad of different women who face living in fear -- fear of life under Hussein's regime, fear of American invasion in two separate wars, and fear of a society that can simultaneously oppress and cherish its women. It is a stunning performance that covers much ground, both socially and politically, through her characters, without ever locking in on any specific moral position.

The transitions between women are not smooth -- they are purposefully shattering, making it seem like the previous character still lingers on, ghostlike, while the new one takes over. Raffo takes full advantage of the expansive set, cleverly designed by Antje Ellermann so whether she is in a bunker with charred bodies or in an artist's loft, the same space shifts right along with her characters. Raffo's greatest inspiration for Nine Parts of Desire were exhibits of Hussein portraits and nude females that she saw at the Saddam Art Center -- her attachment to these works is clear when she inhabits the artist, Layal Attar, a rough-voiced, glamorous bohemian who has the opportunity to leave her country but chooses not to. Some characters are less subtle than others, relying on bone-chilling accounts to get their point across: a teeny-bopping child, kept inside her house for months, recalls how she unintentionally caused her father's disappearance; a pro-war intellectual laments the fate of assaulted women; a doctor watches in horror after watching multiple births of mutated babies after the first Gulf War. The list continues, some women reemerging and others fading away, forgotten. What is most impressive is that Raffo never passes judgment on her characters; she simply allows them to speak through her.

all wear bowlers

Kirk Douglas Theatre
9820 Washington Blvd., Culver City
Through Oct. 28
Tuesday-Friday 8 p.m., Saturday 2 p.m. and 8 p.m.
Sunday 2 p.m. and 7 p.m.
Tickets: $20-$40
(213) 628-2772
www.CenterTheatreGroup.com

If you think that "existential clowns" sound nightmarishly scary (or just plain obnoxious), let all wear bowlers be your guide to enlightenment. Blending Beckett-esque themes with old-school Laurel and Hardy vaudeville, Trey Lyford and Geoff Sobelle offer a brilliantly modern take on a performer's role and what it takes to reach an audience. Much of the show's conceit rides on the "where do we come from and where are we going?" sensibility, but even in its most heightened artistic mode, it never fails to be just plain funny.

Director Aleksandra Wolska pulls together a nearly flawless act from the performers on their intricately designed routine. First appearing in a silent movie screen, the two gents, Wyatt R Levin (Lyford) and Earnest Matters (Sobelle), wearing bowler hats and suits, wander down a lonely road. Accidentally, they break down the fourth wall by stepping out of the screen, leading to an impeccably choreographed performance that links the film with live action. What starts off as a goofy interaction leads to sheer terror as the two realize that they are facing a real audience; it is a powerful moment when the film melts away, leaving the clowns trapped onstage without a script and facing the guffawing people in their seats.

Over the course of 75 minutes, the two pull from a collection of vaudeville tricks, slight of hand, and pratfalls. Using what the creators call "physical ventriloquism," the silent movie clowns communicate mostly through expressions and gestures rather than words. In their sweet confusion, they make us laugh as they earnestly do what they know best, and that is to entertain, despite obstacles that may face them. On a different (though maybe not higher) level they are commenting on the form of artsy, high falutin' theater that they are guilty of participating in. At one point, they sit onstage and observe the audience for several minutes. "What are we doing?" whispers Lyford. "Avant garde," explains Sobelle. "Ooohh. So many layers!" Lyford says with wonder.

There is a hodgepodge of activities that goes on, including the frequent appearance of eggs in the strangest places, climbing over the audience, and a stunning live rendition of Rene Magritte's man in a bowler hat image. Though it is a precisely choreographed show, there is some dependence on the audience's enthusiasm, ensuring that each performance will be somewhat unique.