Theatre in Review: Lives of the Saints (Primary Stages/Duke on 42nd Street)

	Arnie Burton, Rick Holmes, Kelly Hutchinson, Liv Rooth. Photo: James Leynse

In "Life Signs," the funniest entry in David Ives' latest collection of theatrical curiosities, Helen, a stately Park Avenue widow, has died -- but she won't shut up. First, little "hellos" pop out of her mouth at random intervals, scaring the bejesus out her milquetoast son, Toby, and his wife, Meredith. Next, a stream of scandalous comments issues forth, detailing the sexual inadequacies of her husband, her lover's protean physical endowments, and some bombshell revelations about the state of Toby and Meredith's marriage. (She also cracks a spectacularly dirty joke.) The humor in "Life Signs" is more than a little coarse, but the piece is well-paced and it works as a vehicle for the virtuoso comic actor Carson Elrod, who finds a dozen amusing ways of physicalizing Toby's growing horror at this mortifying supernatural phenomenon.

"Life Signs" is hardly the most felicitous thing Ives has ever written, but it knows what it wants to do and it does it, which is more than you can say for much of the rest of Lives of the Saints. In comparison to All in the Timing, Ives' classic collection of comic inventions, the new offering at Primary Stages finds the author in a more experimental mode. He still glories in taking odd, not to say bizarre, premises to their logical endpoints, but, this time out, he seems to be testing the limits of this sketch-comedy format, with results that are often inconclusive.

The evening opens with "The Goodness of Your Heart," in which Marsh, a male suburban dweller, manages to pressure his best friend, Del, into giving him a wide-screen television set valued at $1,000. As Del, Arnie Burton has a fine moment when, having delivered the object in question, he practically has a conniption fit trying to extract a simple thank-you from Marsh, but the piece is pitched uncertainly between a kind of deadpan vaudeville and a serious examination of the shifting power balance between the two. The situation isn't convincing enough, however, the laughs are scattered, and the sketch ends abruptly, without any resolution.

Theatre patrons who are pained by puns had better slip out during "Soap Opera," in which Elrod enters a French restaurant with his date -- a washing machine. Yes, in classic Freudian fashion, Elrod's character has eroticized the humiliations he endured at his mother's hand, all of which had to do with dirty clothes. Substituting "Maypole" for "Maytag," he tells us, "The sphinx in our Oedipal basement was my mother's Maypole." (Consider that remark, doctor.) Liv Rooth is the personification of Elrod's beloved cleansing contraption, popping out of the top loader to offer advice: "In my opinion, everything is a cycle." Trying to break up with Rooth, Elrod says, "I gave you my All, but the Tide has turned, so goodbye and be of good Cheer." Well, I warned you; it's a classic Ives strategy, but the strain shows, and even with its brief running time one feels this sketch has been run through the rinse cycle once too often. Elrod carries the piece, however, investing this silly material with enough tormented emotions for a real soap opera.

Another typical Ives conceit is featured in "Enigma Variations," in which a doctor consults with a new patient, named Bebe W.W. Doppelgängler. And yes, there are two of her, and two of the doctor as well. This is not a case of double your cast, double your fun, however; instead it's a labored concept being stretched well beyond the breaking point. (Among other things, the two Bebes keep producing packages of Doublemint gum.) Still, it is easy to give thanks to the breakneck skill with which the cast -- Burton and Rick Holmes as the doctors and Rooth and Kelly Hutchinson as the Bebes, deliver the fast-paced dialogue in double time.

The least amusing piece -- intentionally so -- is "It's All Good," in which Holmes, as a famous novelist living in New York, returns to his hometown of Chicago to give a speech. On the el, he runs into himself (Elrod) -- or, more precisely, the person he would have become had he stayed home and married his high school girlfriend. There are a few good lines -- especially when Elrod asks Holmes if his wife is a good Catholic girl, and the former brings the conversation to a halt with the comment, "My wife is an Orthodox Jewish atheist." But the overall tone is uncertain and it is neither funny enough nor sufficiently dramatic to have an impact.

The title piece, which closes the evening, is both innovative and a real gem. Rooth and Hutchinson, unrecognizably made up as a pair of elderly Polish ladies preparing a funeral breakfast at their parish kitchen, is a small wonder of character comedy mixed with theatrical invention. Working their perfect Chicago accents, the two of them go about their business, earning plenty of laughs with their deadpan chatter:

Edna: Now that was a very nice funeral.

Flo: Wasn't that a beautiful funeral.

Edna: I wouldn't mind having that.

Flo: I wouldn't mind having that for my funeral.

Edna: But I will tell you a song I do not want sung at my funeral. The theme from The Phantom of the Opera is not appropriate.

Flo: And not "Is That All There Is," neither.

Edna: I'm traditional, Flo.

Flo: Edna, I'm traditional, too.

The ladies prepare their meal -- a feast of staggering proportions -- on an empty stage aided only by sound effects. At a certain point, the upstage wall opens and we see the three men in the cast working as Foley artists, creating the sounds of water, mixers, crinkling paper, etc. The finale adds a cosmic dimension: This is the first play I've ever seen that ends with an appearance of the Holy Spirit.

Everyone in the cast is an Ives veteran and they are, to a person, remarkably flexible at throwing themselves into whatever oddball reality the author has conjured up; John Rando, the director, knows the territory well, and in addition to his work with the actors, has gotten a fine production design, beginning with Beowulf Boritt's set, which features a kind of checkerboard deck and upstage wall framed by a semicircular proscenium. Jason Lyons' lighting provides the bright atmosphere this kind of comedy needs. Anita Yavich's costumes, ranging from an exact parody of the Maytag repairman's uniform to the day dresses that help age Rooth and Hutchinson so perfectly in "Lives of the Saints," are exactly what is required. (Tom Watson's wigs are very helpful, too, especially in "Life Signs," and "Lives of the Saints.") And the sound designer, John Gromada, has provided a battery of effects -- see above -- along with original and sourced music selections.

It's a pleasure to spend some time with such a company of pros, but it's too bad that they don't have stronger material to work with. Only "Life Signs" and "Lives of the Saints" really deliver the kind of wit and humor that Ives at his best can provide. In baseball, a .333 batting average is great; in the theatre, it's cause for concern. -- David Barbour