By Sarika Chawla

God of Hell

The Geffen Playhouse
10886 Le Conte Ave., Westwood
Through July 30
Tuesday-Thursday 7:30 p.m.,
Friday 8 p.m.
Saturday 4 p.m. and 8 p.m.,
Sunday 2 p.m. and 7 p.m.
Tickets: $35-69
(310) 208-5454
www.geffenplayhouse.com

It may be unnecessary to note that a play written in 2004 is still timely, but when talking about something as politically specific as Sam Shepard's God of Hell, it seems appropriate. The prolific playwright spun out this play for a New York run, just in time for the presidential elections, and spared no subtleties along the way. Just two years later, our political arena has grown even riper for artistic commentary, so there is no better time to bring God of Hell back to life. Under the direction of Jason Alexander, this new incarnation has taken a distinct comedic edge, which has the interesting effect of making this overtly political play even more squeamishly disturbing.

The story takes place in an isolated Wisconsin dairy farm, where Frank (Bill Fagerbakke) and Emma (Sarah Knowlton) bide their time during the long, dreary winters. At first glance, both characters are sketched out in broad strokes, with Fagerbakke as the gruff farmer of few words, and Knowlton the chirpy housewife with a thick Minnesotan accent (it's a cheap trick, but Alexander obviously knows that the accent will always elicit giggles). But under their flat exteriors lurks something more sinister: Frank thinks of nothing beyond tending to his beloved his cows (the moo-ing sound effect every time they're mentioned is another lowbrow attempt at humor, but Alexander's tongue is so firmly planted in his cheek that it works). Meanwhile, Emma obsessively over waters her drooping plants—“The winters cause behavior like this. You have no idea,” she explains in a matter-of-fact tone that is simultaneously hilarious and bone-chilling.

The couple's passionless yet contented lives are interrupted by the arrival of Haynes (Curtis Armstrong), an old friend of Frank's who is hiding from his past. Unfortunately, he's finding it hard to hide, as his past includes experiments gone terribly wrong, causing him to suffer from static electricity: He shoots off massive blue sparks anytime someone touches him (thanks to magical work by lighting designer Jason H. Thompson). Armstrong, a longtime comedic actor, makes a dynamic turn in this role as a terrified man on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

A real sense of anxiety emerges upon the entrance of Welch (Malcolm in the Middle's Bryan Cranston), a government official posing as a salesman hawking patriotic propa- er, paraphernalia. Cranston plays an excellent cartoonish villain, with his face frozen into a perma-grin that just barely conceals the darkness underneath, while expressing his sheer delight at his position of power. This disconcerting mix only grows stronger as he pushes modern day politics into this old-world couple's lives, ultimately co-opting Frank into a devoted disciple, torturing Haynes Abu Ghraib-style (although it's not technically “torture” since we're not in a Third World country) and terrorizing a thoroughly confused Emma. Between Shepard's heavy-handed commentary and Alexander's sledgehammer of humor, God of Hell grows increasingly less restrained as time goes on, but by the end, we forget why we ever thought political satire should even have to be masked.

Play it Cool

Celebration Theatre
7051B Santa Monica Blvd., Hlywd.
Through July 30
Tickets: $30
Thursday-Saturday 8 p.m., Sunday 3 p.m.
(323) 957-1884

The year is 1953 and anti-gay laws run rampant, even inside the walls of an underground gay bar. The premise behind Larry Dean Stanton's Play It Cool is a solid one, since many a play has easily hidden behind the “gay history” genre to make it appear culturally resonant. But this world premiere jazz musical has that credibility plus so much more, resulting in a smoky smooth production that successfully brings the Celebration Theatre's season to a close.

The entire story takes place in the confines of Mary's Hideaway, a jazz bar where gay and lesbian patrons hide in its shadows. The plot behind Play it Cool mostly offers a would-be slice of life, exploring events that could have happened during that interminable stretch of history when gays were asked to hide their true nature from public scrutiny. Director Sharon Rosen picks up on the shadowy nature of Mary's Hideaway, and lets it pervade the noir-ish atmosphere of this play. The events that take place in this bar are almost ethereal—patrons come and go, with no sense of permanence, but we are allowed just deep enough into their stories so that their presence lingers even after they've left. Puncturing the smoky haze is the outstanding music, with lyrics by Mark Winkler and music by David Benoit, Dan Siegel and Phil Swann, which runs the gamut from jazzy ditties to swinging ensemble numbers to heartbreaking ballads.

Mary (Jessica Sheridan) is the salty bar owner who supports her gay and lesbian brethren, but still must forcibly separate same-sex mingling in her bar as she contends with the threat of police raids and gay bashing. Even she must comply with the law by wearing at least three pieces of “feminine” articles, including a string of pearls that lay incongruently against her dapper suit. From her first appearance, Sheridan is an unmatchable force onstage, as she exquisitely weaves together a brassy character with tenderhearted vulnerability. Her powerful voice has seen many a day on Broadway, but adapts to the jazz genre nicely.

Mary's lover Lena (Katie Campbell) is the bar's main attraction, a sultry singer whose pipes were born for jazz. But without ever delving too far into her character or motivations, we quickly learn that her ambition far outweighs her loyalty. Just as difficult to grasp is the character of Will (Andrew Pandaleon), a small town boy who has made his way to Hollywood to find fame. Whatever his life was before coming here, whether he was even aware of his sexuality … none of it matters once he steps inside the bar. Here, he is alternately seduced by a sleazy predator (Steven Janji) and a closeted married man (Michael Craig Shapiro)—in the course of one night (an experience that probably would have Midwestern mothers frantically reinforcing the apron strings around their queer young sons). Again, how these patrons live their real lives is indistinct and unclear, but it seems to not matter once they're within the confines of the bar. In fact, that same theme seems to carry over into the essence of the play itself—audiences may not necessarily walk out of the theater humming the tunes, but during the course of the show, sharing the experiences of this motley crew of characters is riveting.