ANGEL CITY

at the Rudely Elegant Theater

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Angel City is more a play of dreams and ideas than of action. There are through lines–the most cohesive is Wheeler’s physical deterioration and eventual metamorphosis into a lizard–but if you hang on to the story too tightly, you miss the point. Shepard paints pictures with stage images, language, and music (the script calls for tympani and saxophone performances), and he requires the audience to put it all together as best they can. It’s easier to feel what this play is about than to know it.

The basic themes of Angel City, however, are quite clear. It is essentially a condemnation of Hollywood and of America’s preoccupation with the movies. There is a brilliant scene (well staged by Poison Nut Productions) in which one of the characters repeats over and over, with slight variations, “Hey, what do you say we go to the movies?” Although it’s said benevolently–in this production the character is almost like a suburban dad–the sheer repetition seems to twist the words into a threat. The movies, Shepard seems to be saying, are sapping America’s life force. And Los Angeles, in turn, is sucking the life out of its artists.

Saxophonist Mackevich (who alternates with Scott Rosen) must be applauded. Though he never speaks, Mackevich’s playing is magic; his character provides the mythic qualities that the rest of the cast lack. This saxophonist adds a chilling depth to an already macabre piece.

The other distressing piece is Safford’s grand finale, in which a clever idea goes wrong. “Where the Wild Things Are (Metal Max Is 18)” uses the words from Maurice Sendak’s children’s story but elaborates on it with pantomime and props. Max is now 18 and a metalhead, and to him “wild things” are babes. Safford introduces the piece well, with a clear tongue-in-cheek intention. But the piece ends up not mocking but reinforcing every awful sexist stereotype around. I have nothing against dildos onstage, but they’re not inherently funny. And I’m sorry, but blow-up dolls and a dick being bitten off don’t send me into gales of laughter either.