Heroism and ingenuity in ‘Tigers’

“When Tigers Smoked Long Pipes” at the Victory Theatre Center takes its intriguing name from the Korean equivalent of “Once upon a time” -- an introductory figure of speech situating a story in the realm of the fantastic. The five Korean folk tales that make up this colorful, family-friendly anthology offer a refreshing combination of unfamiliar narratives and universal themes -- an exotic departure from more-familiar Western mythology that helps bridge cultures while it entertains.

In these stories of heroism, ingenuity and perseverance against cunning tigers and unpredictable deities, playwright Angela Kang’s shrewd adaptations preserve the imaginative elements of her sources, slyly overlaid with a hip, feminist perspective (after a bear is transformed into a woman, receiving advice that she get a husband fast provokes a quick rant against patriarchal society). Kang’s eclectic sensibilities inspire the formidable multidisciplinary talents of Lodestone Theatre Ensemble and Orphans Theater Company, which collaborated with the Victory on this presentation.

Very much an ensemble effort, the play’s diverse roles (more archetypes than characters) are capably handled by Jennifer Aquino, Aimie Billion, Laurel Devaney, Jason Grimley, Rachel Morihiro, Kipp Shiotani and Phil Young.

Keeping pace with fairy tales of the Grimm variety, the violence remains symbolic in Robert Shinso’s highly stylized staging, which blends narrative with music and dance, accented with fanciful set pieces constructed out of copper tubing and colorful fabrics.

Adversity, death and sacrifice are ever-present themes in these tales: A mother allows herself to be eaten by a tiger to save her children; a woodcutter who marries a magical maiden disobeys a dire warning and loses his family; a daughter puts her father’s well-being so far above her own that she marries a sea dragon out of duty. In the most poignant story, a fearsome tiger, tricked into believing she was originally human, wastes away from grief at the death of her supposed “mother.” What distinguishes these particular myths is their emphasis on internal emotional states rather than events, lending a surprising depth to the experience.

-- Philip Brandes

“When Tigers Smoked Long Pipes,” Victory Theatre Center, 3326 Victory Blvd., Burbank. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m. Ends July 20. $15. (818) 841-5421. Running time: 1 hour, 55 minutes.

*

Alchemy eludes female ‘Tempest’

In Shakespeare’s “The Tempest,” a conjurer’s tricks give way to the magic of forgiveness. Any production of the play hinges on how effectively this transformation takes place, and the current presentation by the Los Angeles Women’s Shakespeare Company isn’t quite up to the task.

This all-female rendition, directed by Lisa Wolpe, succeeds in smaller ways, however. It is, for instance, especially effective at evoking enchantment. The conjurer Prospero (Natsuko Ohama) and his daughter, Miranda (Ka-Ling Cheung), have lived in exile since a plot drove Prospero from his dukedom. Their refuge, as designed by Mia Torres, is a tropical paradise of palms and colorful flowers that grow among numerous cave mouths and rocky passageways, from which fanciful island spirits materialize. Maura McGuinness’ pastel lights enhance the lushness.

When chance puts Prospero’s enemies on a ship passing near the island, he uses his magic to maroon them there so that he can set about reclaiming his former life.

Among those shipwrecked are a jester (Shawna Casey) and a drunken butler (Barbara Bragg) who establish a mini-monarchy when they find that Caliban (Judith Scott), a beastly inhabitant of the island, is willing to serve them. Their misadventures satirize the supposedly civilized world back at court, with its dirty machinations and arrogant leadership. Wolpe pushes Bragg’s portly, besotted butler into the realm of W.C. Fields and the physical comedy into the land of the Three Stooges -- a concept that familiarizes and energizes the comedy even as it introduces problems of tone, history and geography.

Scott is an unusually vulnerable and empathetic Caliban. Nancy Linehan Charles infuses the counselor Gonzalo with kindness and wisdom, and Wolpe, wearing a second hat as an actor, proves gallant as the prince who falls in love with Miranda.

But Ohama’s sour, one-note portrayal of Prospero, delivered in a too-soft monotone, rarely conveys the character’s complex emotional journey -- one of several interpretive shortcomings that put a damper on the company’s 10th anniversary production.

-- Daryl H. Miller

“The Tempest,” 24th Street Theatre, 1117 W. 24th St. (northwest corner with Hoover Street), L.A. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 p.m. Ends July 6. $15-$20. (800) 523-7097. Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes.

*

Exploration of Dada overreaches

The honorable intent of “The Dadaists” registers immediately, as one ascends the MET Theatre stairs to a lobby gone mad. Absurdist banners, tinkling live piano and interactive eccentrics conspire to resurrect Cabaret Voltaire.

This legendary Zurich locale, where in 1916 a convergence of antiwar iconoclasts revolutionized the world aesthetic, dominates Christian Jon Meoli’s new environmental exploration of Hugo Ball, Emmy Hennings, et al.

Director Harris Mann and his deft designers are unwavering, with Andrea Housh’s lighting inseparable from Shane Guffogg’s setting of transparent drops framed by banks of toilets giving off eerie illumination.

The fervent ensemble is equally unnerving. As Ball, Joe Fria has a focused intensity that belies his ingenuous exterior, and Allison Gammon’s supple aptness as Hennings overrides a lightweight vocal instrument.

Other notables in a staunch group effort include Jason Waters’ Richard Huelesenbeck, Kai Lennox’s Tristan Tzara, Eric Riviera’s Hans-Jean Arp, Tucker Smallwood’s Dr. Walter Serner, Kara Keeley’s Mary Wigman and Philip Sokoloff’s Jan Ephraim.

Yet simultaneously representing the group’s history and its nihilistic ethic proves tougher meat than this show can chew, as Meoli’s determined but overextended text demonstrates.

Act 1 meanders through surreal exposition, climaxing at Waters’ jaw-dropping blackface entrance, followed by a movement- christening curtain. Act 2, more outrageously refracting Cabaret Voltaire’s fame and dissolution, implodes on philosophical overload, with the elliptical ending unearned.

Devotees may find such aspects perversely rewarding; neophytes might erroneously conclude that Dada is dead as the dodo. This ambivalent observer advises ruthless compression and, though surely impossible, putting those light-streaming toilets on wheels.

-- David C. Nichols

“The Dadaists,” MET Theatre, 1089 N. Oxford Ave., Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sunday, June 29, July 6 and 13 only, 7 p.m. Ends July 27. Mature audiences. $15. (323) 957-1152. Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes.

*

Confessional tale sweet, poignant

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned,” says a voice in the darkness. So begins “My Crown of Glory,” Shannon Branham’s autobiographical solo show about her youth as a “serial confessor.” Her journey toward greater understanding of the Catholic religion, as well as better comprehension of a dysfunctional family, has reappeared at the Celtic Arts Center in Valley Village after a run last year at the Raven Playhouse.

Written and performed by Branham, the piece is earnest and sweet-natured, with a swelling sense of poignancy.

Branham returns to the 1970s (references to “The Brady Bunch” and Crissy dolls) to talk about growing up in a pocket of west Michigan “untouched by time.” Chubby, with self-esteem issues, she makes frequent trips to the confessional booth to seek absolution for what she perceives as her many sins. Of particular concern is her progress on a nun’s assignment to color a “crown of glory” for herself, with black jewels for sins and yellow ones for devotion and good works. She worries that hers “looks like a Dalmatian.”

Between visits, Branham re-creates a chaotic home life as the eldest of five children of an overwhelmed mother and a strict father -- shifting among an amusing array of characterizations.

Performing on an unadorned stage with a kneeler as the only major piece of furniture, Branham proceeds to casually drop little bombshells that suggest her guilt-ridden younger self wasn’t crediting herself with nearly enough yellow jewels.

As of Saturday’s reopening, the pacing and dramatic buildup felt slack and uncertain (Keith Irace directed, expanding upon Beverly Sanders’ original direction), even before a noisily unhappy audience member began to spoil the mood inside the small theater. But today’s Branham, like her younger self, persevered beautifully.

-- D.H.M.

“My Crown of Glory,” Celtic Arts Center, 4843 Laurel Canyon Blvd., Valley Village. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. (No performance July 4.) Ends July 12. $15. (310) 585-9193. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.

*

Outrageous Latino ‘Romeo’ falters

Fair Verona is razed in “Romeo and (y) Juliet(a),” now at the NoHo Actors’ Studio. This Quantum Theatre Company performance piece puts Shakespeare’s star-crossed lovers and their feuding familias through an irreverent Spanglish wringer.

You enter to a warped pre-show, with the 11-member cast encapsulating the plot in alternating languages at accelerating tempos, which is very funny, in the manner of collegiate theater games.

After a blackout, the ensemble -- shirtless men in white dinner jackets over aprons, women in thrift-store finery -- clusters upstage, making vaguely Gregorian noises. The first of multiple vocal and physical motifs emerges. “Two families” bounces off “Dos familias,” as the cast starts rolling across the floor, then over one another, evolving into cross-legged coital simulation. This is just the prologue.

Director Tanya Kane-Parry abstracts the Bard’s scenario through diverse performance art tactics: gender-bending, outsized sound effects (designed by Paul Outlaw), anachronistic asides, ad infinitum.

The execution is resourceful, especially given the minuscule venue, and its performers are uniformly energetic and able. This, however, only fitfully substitutes for ephemeral coherence and point, with some unintentionally risible results.

For example, while the garbage cans littering the black-box space are often effectively used, it is difficult to take very seriously a tomb sequence that features the title pair enshrouded in trash receptacles, upon which their colleagues sporadically hammer away.

Such self-conscious incongruity designates “Romeo and (y) Juliet(a)” as, at best, a respectable academic curiosity.

-- D.C.N.

“Romeo and (y) Juliet(a),” NoHo Actors’ Studio, 5215 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood. Fridays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7 p.m. Ends June 29. $10-$15. (323) 465-5415. Running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes.