Putting Judas on trial

Classical theology collides with ironic modernism in “The Last Days of Judas Iscariot,” but seriousness of purpose is never in doubt as Stephen Adly Guirgis’ metaphysical courtroom drama uses Judas to grapple with questions of faith, dogma and morality. An ambitious 68 Cent Crew Theatre Company staging honors Guirgis’ talent for contemporary -- albeit heady -- framing of philosophical issues.

Following the maxim that “every civilization rearranges the cosmic furniture differently,” Guirgis’ inquiry takes the form of a courtroom trial. Here, the guilt of Judas (Robert Mollohan) is debated by opposing counsel -- defense attorney Fabiana Aziza Cunningham (Katy Jacoby) and slick prosecutor Yusef El-Fayoumy (Danny Nucci). Each has a personal stake in the outcome as they examine the story of Judas’ betrayal from multiple angles (including theories of a covert partnership with Jesus, played by Joe Dallo).

Director Robert Rothbard has wittily set his “courtroom” in a seedy subway station (superbly realized by designer Danny Cistone) -- the bailiff sits in a newsstand alcove, the gruff judge (Max Middleton) presides from the ticket booth, and witnesses from various historical eras arrive through the turnstile and subway cars.

The 18-member cast handle the parade of nearly 30 characters with varying success. Some performances (such as Dallo’s Sigmund Freud) lapse into shallow caricature, but others effectively illuminate the play’s core issues: Jerard Jones, as aggressively self-defensive Pontius Pilate, Thomas Evans’ understated, guilt-racked Caiaphas and Ronnie Marmo’s pitch-perfect Satan-as-lounge lizard.

With the meticulous zeal of an admitted lapsed Catholic, Guirgis examines every aspect of Judas’ case. A fair amount of pinhead dancing notwithstanding, the play’s fundamental conundrum is simple: If God’s love is unconditional, how can it permit eternal damnation of Judas (and by extension, anyone else, since Judas represents the worst of us)?

-- Philip Brandes

“The Last Days of Judas Iscariot,” Theatre 68, 5419 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 6 p.m. Sundays. Ends Feb. 24. $20-25. (323) 960-7827. Running time: 3 hours.

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‘Big Baby’ has one tough mama

Parenting is a heavy responsibility. If parents lack self-restraint and self-analysis, the absolute power they wield over their offspring can be devastating. Joe Keyes’ “Big Baby,” now in its world premiere at the Lounge Theatre, is a scathing look at a skewed mother-son relationship that shows how easily love can be distorted into something resembling torture.

In this case, the torture is mutual, largely unwitting, and absolutely hilarious. The action revolves around Kile (Keyes), a bright but mentally disturbed man who still lives with his fanatically Catholic mother June (Danielle Kennedy), the survivor of an abusive marriage whose roofer husband died from a fall into a tar pot. Or perhaps, as Kile believes, he flung himself off the roof to escape his wife’s mindlessly negative chatter.

When Nancy (Chloe Taylor), a recovering heroin addict turned dominatrix, moves in next door, Kile avails himself of her services and finds them ironically therapeutic. But Kile’s blossoming friendship with Nancy rankles June, who soon pushes Kile to the outermost limits of endurance.

An upbeat ending gives the sense that Kile and his mother, although still trapped together, may arrive at a new accommodation not quite as mindlessly cruel. But there’s no happy ending for these poor souls -- and that’s the play’s chief virtue. An audaciously original playwright, Keyes whips up a caustic mixture of hate, love, endurance and need as morbidly funny as it is believable. Gary Guidinger’s squalid set is fittingly claustrophobic, and director Matt Roth keeps the vitriol on the boil.

The performances are all first-rate, although Keyes’ tics and twitches sometimes verge on the mannered while Taylor is less formidable than one would expect a dominatrix to be. Kennedy’s June, however, is pitch-perfect. Part martyr, part termagant, she is fussy, well-meaning and deliciously clueless, administering lethal psychic blows along with casseroles and sugar cookies.

-- F. Kathleen Foley

“Big Baby,” The Lounge Theatre, 6201 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays. $20. (323) 960-5563. Running time: 1 hour, 20 minutes.

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‘Romeo’s Ghost’ comes back home

It’s an odd homecoming for “Romeo’s Ghost,” and hardly what the principals of Stephen Antczak’s romantic pastiche anticipate. Years ago, two actors played “Romeo and Juliet” in a Hollywood theater, where they struck sparks onstage and off. Today, Kate West (Gia McGinley), the Juliet, is still a struggling stage actress. Her costar, Richard Brunner (Richard Scofield), rode his triumph onto the A-list. Now his Hollywood career has crashed into the bottle.

Neither tabloid publicity nor sentiment motivates producer Edwin Rutherford (Maxwell Brooks) to reunite them. Only entertainment rag hack Denise McGarry (Francy Cline) knows the real reason for this revival, with its tacked-on happy finale. As Richard’s dishabille rekindles missed opportunities, Kate rails over the affront to Shakespeare’s intent. Enter the title spirit (Ben Jones), who allegedly haunts the theater to settle a score.

Whenever Antczak’s text deconstructs the Bard, it’s on to something fresh. Michael Holmes directs with attention to details of subtext, although some technical elements went awry at the reviewed performance.

But the shaky premise and surplus of literary cliches are harder to overlook. A fictional character conjured from an actor’s unforgettable performance is a tricky wicket, even for fantasy. Scofield works hard but doesn’t quite convince as a once-ideal Romeo, let alone a dipso superstar. The sensitive McGinley fares better, considering the exposition she has to navigate.

“Romeo’s Ghost” is a promising idea. As a play it’s more star-cross’d than haunting.

-- David C. Nichols

“Romeo’s Ghost,” Theatre 6470 at The Complex, 6470 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. $18. (818) 786-1045. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.

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Nice acting on familiar ground

Yet another snapshot of the disintegrating contemporary American family, “The End of the Tour” offers touching performances but few original insights in a well-crafted staging from the Road Theatre Company.

Chicago-based playwright Joel Drake Johnson’s small-scale drama explores the realistically messy conflicts and insecurities that prove stubbornly resistant to his characters’ best efforts to overcome them.

A phone call from his distraught sister draws Andrew (Scot Burkin) back into the all-too familiar tentacles of the family who rejected him because of his homosexuality. Returning home with his lover, David (Albie Selznick), Andrew’s “tour” of his past may hold the key to the emotional distance that cripples his present relationships.

Jan (Rhonda Aldrich), his sister, is trying to juggle her teaching job, the end of her marriage and the failing health of her mother, Mae (Gwen Van Dam). Even from her temporary perch in a nursing home, Mae proves a master of maternal manipulation.

It doesn’t help matters that much of this emotional terrain is covered (more effectively) in the recent Tamara Jenkins film, “The Savages,” though here the outcome is less conclusive.

Another subplot features a wry parody of male bonding as Jan’s estranged husband (Tom Knickerbocker) seeks the advice of his best friend (Michael Dempsey) on the best way to salvage his marriage -- or at least his dignity.

Johnson’s refusal to settle for tidy resolutions is admirable in its adherence to the hard slog of real life. Nevertheless, the end of this tour is frustrating in its inconclusiveness -- the characters’ explorations would be more compelling if, as T.S. Eliot put it, in arriving where they started they could at least know the place for the first time.

-- P.B.

“The End of the Tour,” Road Theatre Company, 5108 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends March 8. $25. (866) 811-4111. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.

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A likable, not yet lovable, devil

The first word of “Say You Love Satan” is “Evil.” Take that with a grain -- no, a circle -- of salt. Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa’s yarn about a graduate student and a hunk who could be Lucifer’s son yields laughs, some bright, others at sitcom level.

From the opening, with our hero Andrew (Doug Sutherland) bewailing his latest breakup, “Satan” follows its own warped course. After wickedly toothsome Jack (Elias Gallegos) makes his first move at the laundromat, Andrew virtually drops sweet-natured Jerrod (Eric Jorgenson), the intern who adores him, and everyone else. Yet it’s the little things, like the “666” tattoo at Jack’s hairline, that most disturb Bernadette (Amber Flamminio), Andrew’s pal. Her reactions pale alongside those of Chad (the priceless Drew Droege), Andrew’s outre ex, whose encounter with Jack at a crowded club produces “Satan’s” funniest scene.

The cast, which includes Billy Briggs as deadpan bouncer and randy seraph, is capable. So too is director-designer Brian Shnipper’s resourceful work, his collage set of beefcake clippings well served by Brian Baruch’s lighting and Kimberly Zambrows’ sound.

Where “Satan” falls short is in its warring tones, with results that are not exactly devil-may-care. The plot requires some hasty, obviated turns to reach a conclusion. Aguirre-Sacasa punctures same-sex stereotypes and “Omen” tropes almost as soon as he establishes them. This proves another liability. As gay occult comedies go, “Satan” earns points for intent. Without a rethink, it’s destined for cable.

-- D.C.N.

“Say You Love Satan,” Attic Theatre & Film Center, 5429 W. Washington Blvd., L.A. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Ends Feb. 24. Adult audiences. $20. (323) 525-0600, Ext. 2. Running time: 1 hour, 35 minutes.

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‘Prove It on Me’ will be heard

That there was a bomb scare across the street at the Kodak the night “Prove It on Me” opened at the Stella Adler may seem suspiciously synergistic to some.

Set in a Harlem nightclub on the cusp of the 1929 stock market crash, Dee Jae Cox’s interracial lesbian romance features original blues music by Michele Weiss and a fervid staging by Kelly Ann Ford that leaves no melodramatic excess to the imagination.

The production obviously took time, effort and cash, but the technical elements, from Lisa Lechuga’s uninviting set to Sharell Martin’s uneven costumes, never quite coalesce into a stylish whole.

The busy plot revolves around sultry Georgia (Sweet Baby J’ai), a Harlem crooner who has a star-crossed love affair with a wealthy white flapper, Lindsey (Aynsley Bubbico), a dalliance Lindsey’s father (Alan Brooks) -- apparently a Park Avenue Simon Legree -- takes sorely amiss.

If you had any doubt about where the predictable plot would eventually lead, there’s a voodoo woman (Deborah Kellar) who wanders through the action, casting spells and prognosticating the obvious.

To her credit, Cox zings off genuinely funny one-liners, but some of her lines sound like they were salvaged from the slush pile at Harlequin.

The saving grace of “Prove It” is Sweet Baby J’ai, whose sexy languor is a welcome counterpoint to this overwrought evening. The mainstay of the production, she does prove it on us -- but it’s just not enough.

-- F.K.F.

“Prove It on Me,” Stella Adler Theatre, 6773 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends March 2. $30. (323) 960-7721. Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes.