By Sarika Chawla

Boston Marriage

Geffen Playhouse
10866 Le Conte Ave., Westwood
Through March 19
Tuesday-Thursday 7:30 p.m.,
Friday 8 p.m.,
Saturday 4 p.m. and 8:30 p.m.,
Sunday 2 p.m. and 7 p.m.
Tickets: $35-69
(310) 208-5454
www.geffenplayhouse.com

David Mamet's Boston Marriage is considered a departure from his previous works, removing the testosterone lens and putting the focus on three independent, strong-willed women -- two of whom are engaged in a loving relationship. With a premise like that, there is really no need to expect depth or even much plot in this one, but fortunately that's not really the point. It is a showcase of superb language meant for strong performers who can pull off the machine gun-like firing of barbed witticisms and grand gestures, and slowing down at the right moments for more deliberate comedy.

Mary Steenburgen stars as Anna, the grande dame who enjoys the Henry James-coined "Boston marriage," with her long-term friend Claire (Rebecca Pidgeon). To support herself, Anna is also involved with a married benefactor, while Claire is on the prowl for a more innocent, much younger woman. The plot thickens only a little bit when it's discovered that Anna is sleeping with the father of Claire's young lover, but it's sort of a sitcom-style twist -- any number of conflicts could have been inserted and the relationships would still go through the same process. Alicia Silverstone appears as Catherine, a loopy Scottish maid who turns out to be just as wise as the more educated ladies.

The playwright directs, so that each actress nails her lines consistently. Steenburgen and Pidgeon deal with rapid back-and-forth dialogue of biting insults, and their resulting relationship feels like a tense game of tug-of-war: the rope is always taut, but one side always seems to be triumphing over the other. Steenburgen's character, however, is so chilly, while Pidgeon's is so desperately vibrant, that they rarely offer glimpses of real human emotion underneath, making it hard to care about either one of them. We might be rooting for their relationship to succeed because we're supposed to, but it's more fun when they're vicious to each other. Problems only arise when they rush through the quips so quickly that it's hard to catch all the lines.

Silverstone's character frequently shifts the women's dynamic, allowing them to take their focus off each other and onto a new victim. She also provides a welcome break in the fast pace, with her slow, heavily-accented speech and insistence on curtseying deeply at every opportunity. With almost clownish wide eyes and ditzy behavior (think of Bubble on Ab Fab), Silverstone manages to elicit laughter every time she is supposed to. Throughout, Mamet reveals some keen observations on relationships -- ("Why would he require a mistress if he had no wife?" Anna asks of her male lover) and slips in some obvious lewdness just for fun ("While I was admiring your muff, your parts came," says Catherine.)

The costumes, by Debra McGuire are noteworthy, as they do a good job in reflecting their characters. With the exception of one outfit, worn when she is pretending to be someone else, Steenburgen is always clad in stark black and white, while Pidgeon's dresses of poison green and vitriolic red speak volumes. No need to delve into Silverstone's French maid's outfit neatly tucked up in the backside. -- Sarika Chawla

The Cherry Orchard

Mark Taper Forum
135 N. Grand Ave., L.A.
Through March 19
Tuesday-Friday 8 p.m., Saturday 2:30 p.m. and 8 p.m.,
Sunday 2:30 p.m. and 7:30 p.m.
Tickets: $42-55
(213)628-2772
www.taperahmanson.com

Recent theater history has taught us to brace ourselves when producers round up a few stars to perform Chekhov, so it is a relief to report that Annette Bening and Alfred Molina lead -- in every way -- an able cast in the Center Theatre Group's skillfully executed if frustratingly safe production of The Cherry Orchard.

Bening is radiant as Madame Ranyevskaya, the profligate middle-aged owner of the titular orchard and estate. Her freedom and command onstage are a delight to watch, and she embraces Chekhov's notion that his final masterpiece is, indeed, a comedy. She would be even more affecting if her Madame R. wasn't quite so successful in hiding her desperation. Molina is even stronger as Lopakhin, the peasant boy made good, whose self-made wealth puts him in a position to help Bening and her family face financial reality. This production peaks with his passionate third act aria on the cherry orchard's fate, but you never catch Molina stepping on the gas pedal. His powerful work is effortless.

The production is directed by UK theater whiz Sean Mathias, whose CV includes a now legendary 1992 production of Uncle Vanya starring Anthony Sher and Ian McKellen (Mathias' former partner), but his work here is surprisingly conventional, almost old fashioned. Alexander Dodge's set -- a series of curved, bleached wood planks in grays, blues, and beige, with a matching floor -- is visually arresting, but leads to some awkward staging, particularly in the difficult third act party scene. Catherine Zuber's costumes are stunning, however, and give us everything we need to evoke period and place.

In the fine ensemble cast, Sarah Paulson's hard-working Varya is a standout for her beautiful combination of strength and vulnerability; her undeclared love for Lopakhin is heartrending. The only major misstep is the casting of the eccentric French-Canadian Lothaire Bluteau as the garrulous Gaev, Madame Ranyevskaya's useless brother. The actor's reedy voice and feathery physicality don't lend themselves to Gaev's faded grandeur and the effect is like asking a clarinet to play the trombone's part.

The production uses a spare, accessible new adaptation by Martin Sherman that lives comfortably in American mouths. And, particularly for audiences unfamiliar with Chekhov, this is a finely drawn production. With higher stakes all around, and a greater sense of impending danger, it could really raise the Taper's roof. -- Christopher Cappiello