Actors Ensemble of Berkeley/Courtesy

Paris, 1904. We are welcomed to the Lapin Agile by its bartender, Freddy (Doug Boyd), who greets a 25-year-old and clean-cut Albert Einstein shortly afterward. From the show’s program, we know Pablo Picasso, passionate artist by day and even more passionate womanizer by night, will eventually join him. The two will discuss beauty, creativity and, above all, genius. The audience will be inspired as it would be by one of Picasso’s vivid paintings or Einstein’s beautifully balanced equations.

At least that’s what I expected. But the latest production of Steve Martin’s “Picasso at the Lapin Agile” by the Actors Ensemble of Berkeley failed to live up to my expectations.

Martin’s script has all the makings of a great comedy. The jokes are intelligent enough to make people feel smart but crude enough to entertain. The characters have diverse brands of humor, ranging from the cunning and sassy Germaine (Hilary Hesse), the bartender’s wife, to the fast-talking and enthusiastic art dealer Sagot (Stefin Collins). “Picasso at the Lapin” ponders the creative values of science and art through a near-constant repartee of opposing witticisms, reminiscent of Stoppard’s style. But to keep people engaged through this wordplay, quick-paced and cohesive line delivery is vital. This is where the Berkeley cast fell short.

This “Picasso at the Lapin” channeled the fragments of a cubist painting but failed to bring them together for a cohesive portrayal, resulting in a disjointed, awkward experience. The actors’ speeches seemed to drag on so that it felt like we were watching excerpts rather than the play itself.

For instance, Suzanne, a ditzy young woman, describes Picasso’s ambition and prowess — in more than one aspect. Actor Rachel Ferensowicz clearly understood the humor of what she was saying, but during what was at least a five-minute monologue, she remained stationary, as did the other characters, rendering her performance dull and lifeless. At the end of what ought to have been a tantalizing glimpse of an artist who has not yet appeared onstage, the rest of the ensemble expressed little enthusiasm and simply moved on to the next topic of conversation.

Suzanne’s long-winded account was the second-worst kind of anticlimax to end a sexual encounter, and the rest of the play was no better. The quips came a second too slow, and awkward silences that were meant for effect merely blended in with the pace of the play. This made the brief moments of action — spontaneous dancing or two characters passionately kissing — not engaging but merely confusing. How, I kept wondering, did we go from a conversation so sleepy (I swear some of the audience was drooling) to random characters swallowing each other’s tongues against a wall? It was yet another piece of the play that didn’t quite fit with the rest.

There were, however, a few standout performances. Collins as Sagot brought energy to the lull at the Lapin Agile with his deftly affected bustling motions. Frances Serpa, although he only appeared toward the end of the show, was an excellent Elvis from the future, come to foretell the impact Einstein’s and Picasso’s genius would have on the 20th century. His persistent lip curl and swagger left us with no doubt he was the king of rock and roll.

Some of the ensemble might have taken a cue from these supporting actors’ commitment to their roles. Einstein, in particular, seemed to belong more in an accounting firm crunching numbers, with a personality about as dynamic as the color beige. One wonders why actor Nick Dickson chose to portray one of the most famously eccentric and dedicated physicists of all time as having about the same amount of interest in science as a substitute teacher. And this might not give due credit to substitute teachers.

Whereas Picasso’s paintings showed viewers how multidimensional unity can come from starkly contrasting fragments, the cast of “Picasso at the Lapin” showed only a flat series of overly rehearsed monologues. By the end of the play, it seemed that the actors had stopped listening to each other altogether. According to the actual Pablo Picasso, “The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.” With its unvaryingly slow pace and lack of chemistry among the cast, the Actors Ensemble of Berkeley failed to convince in “Picasso at the Lapin.

Contact Josephine Yang at jyang@dailycal.org.

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It’s Sunday night, and Hertz Hall’s theater is dark but packed full of people. No one dares to move or speak as a chilling trill cuts through the silent air. More strings chime in, and the stage is illuminated to reveal a small orchestra of cellos. Their sound is crisp, loud and unified, the classical harmonies stirringly beautiful. A mandolin joins the chorus, its lighter, sweeter notes adding another layer to the stringed symphony.

The music is what makes and consumes “Angel Heart,” the musical storybook in which these ornate harmonies play an integral part. Cal Performances organized the show’s opening night on Oct 6, and hundreds of parents and young children clad in semiformal attire were in attendance.

The show is marketed as a live storybook, but this title is somewhat misleading. Although the live narration, performed by acclaimed “A Clockwork Orange” star Malcolm McDowell, progressed at an adequate pace, the simultaneous bellowing of the cellos occasionally overpowered the story’s voice. The musical accompaniment made the experience more intense but also made it difficult to hear the narration.

“Angel Heart” follows a depressed young woman, Luna, who finds solace in nature with the help of the Angel of Love and Compassion. The angel explains that he must turn back time to make Luna a child again, as he says, “We know best who we are when we are very young.” The play portrays childhood innocence as an important component of one’s identity and speaks to the overarching theme of the healing power of solitude and nature. Luna’s sadness functions as the crux of the story, but the cause of her woes is never explained, leaving the audience confused as the protagonist’s melancholy grows deeper for an unknown reason.

The girl travels in all directions to all cardinal points on the compass rose. Each direction — North, West, South and East — offers her a degree of healing as she slowly begins to recover from her once seemingly inescapable sorrow. Costumed opera singers personify the four cardinal points, each vocalist crooning about what makes his area of the world unique. Although the concept of moving on through traveling is portrayed in an innovative way, one could also read the story as encouraging youth to run away from their problems.

Regardless of its themes and their interpretations, “Angel Heart” brings something new and fresh to the table — an opera accessible to children. The song lyrics are relatable, as both parents and children can appreciate the messages behind scores such as “Mother Nature’s Son.” The incorporation of other languages such as French cultivates a more global appeal. While there were only four opera singers onstage, a cluster of Oakland schoolchildren formed a chanting chorus. One young girl stood apart from the crowd, miming the role of Luna and her heartache center stage. The juxtaposition between the children onstage in their white T-shirts and jeans and the opera singers in their feather cloaks and jewel-toned embroidery melded the ethereal with reality and made the fictional symbolic, establishing a parallelism between the conflicts of the story and those of the real world.

Overall, the production has a certain folktale charm about it that deeply resonated with the audience. At the end of the story, Luna heals from her sorrow and the crowd gave a standing ovation. While many enjoyed the experience, one young boy explained to his mother after the show that he was hoping for “more of a story(line).” It seems that although “Angel Heart” wins the adult audience with its classical operatic scores, the plotline takes a bit of a hit as the musical notes envelop the characters. Nevertheless, if you’re looking for a fairy-tale opera with relevant contemporary connotations, “Angel Heart” will leave you humming to its saccharine melodies of tragedy and love. 

Contact Kate Irwin at kirwin@dailycal.org.

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Once upon a time, a group of mean-spirited kids elected their whipping girl prom queen to humiliate her in public. This has happened a few times in fictional American history, but only Carrie White got the revenge every bullied kid dreamed about. This tale of horror, ostracism and coming of age is now a musical, and it’s a touching and well-crafted show. It seems odd to build a great musical around a horror story about telekinesis and a bucket of blood. “Carrie the Musical” brings the work by Stephen King into the strange realm of musical theater, and the result is a perfect prelude to Halloween.

Ray of Light, the theater company that has put together this production, set up a reception area for the audience outside of San Francisco’s Victoria Theatre. Prom pictures were offered out front with crowns for king and queen. Inside, the theater was decorated with paper lanterns and the dead-on, cheap, glittery kind of signage that goes perfectly with any American high school prom. Cast bios were offered in a block of lockers left open, complete with bubble-lettered notes and heart-strewn photos.

The play begins with an energetic ensemble number called “In” that captures the frenetic sexualized pressure of adolescence and hints at the supernatural events to come. Courtney Merrell, as Sue Snell, introduces the theme of disaster in her opening monologue. Merrell plays the hapless Snell as a young woman on the cusp of adulthood, with all the uncertainty of her identity on display.

Cristina Ann Oeschger appears as the title character and does not attempt a Sissy Spacek redux based on the iconic horror film. Oeschger’s Carrie is lovely and vulnerable, with an undercurrent of righteous anger. Her vocals are the pure cry of a feral bird, and the audience could scarcely wait for the end of her songs to explode into thunderous applause.

The secondary players present a mixed bag of talents. Nikita Burshteyn is an athletic and affable Tommy Ross with just the right edge of masculinity, but his songs suffer from the fetishy modulations of a man in love with Josh Groban. Riley Krull is a knockout, physically perfect for the role of the most popular and most heartless girl in school, Chris Hargensen. Krull is a talented dancer and was born to play the villain, but her range defeats her in most of her sung lines. She strained in her big number, “The World According to Chris,” but attempted to distract the audience from the lack of steak with a lot of sizzle.

Heather Orth, as Margaret White, is captivating. Her deft physical acting, coupled with a clear and seasoned soprano, brings the essence of Carrie’s mother to the stage. Her wounded vacillation between care and abuse proves a perfect backdrop for Carrie’s growing powers throughout both acts. The real standout of the ensemble cast is Jessica Coker, as Miss Gardner. Gardner represents the only refuge for Carrie in a school that crackles with heartbreaking meanness to the outcast girl. Coker plays a high school gym teacher with utterly authentic authority, and she supplies a stellar vocal talent to “Unsuspecting Hearts” as well as the overall chorus.

Oeschger plays Carrie with a terrible naivete until the final moments of the doomed prom, and she manages the metamorphosis of the role with great skill. The stage management and lighting make the climax utterly breathtaking in a relatively low-tech theater. No matter how well you know this story, the machinations of the ending will blow you away.

“Carrie the Musical” at the Victoria Theatre is a must-see. It will thrill you, amuse you and may dredge up powerfully uncomfortable memories of high school. Put on your pretty pink dress, and get your picture taken out front. There is no hidden bucket in the rafters, and they’re not all going to laugh at you.

Meg Elison covers literature. Contact her at melison@dailycal.org

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Unlike in the days of Gershwin, Lerner and Loewe or Rodgers and Hammerstein, musicals are no longer only about extravagant tap numbers and happy endings. In the age of “Rent” and “Spring Awakening,” with the worlds of Broadway and rock music colliding, musicals today tell all sorts of stories — and it seems as though the ones that take home the Tony Awards often entail angsty compositions and dismal plotlines.

“Next to Normal,” with book and lyrics by Brian Yorkey and music by Tom Kitt, might be the most depressing of all. The work, which centers on a woman suffering from an extreme case of bipolar disorder, opened on Broadway in April 2009 and took home three Tonys in the same year. In 2010, “Next to Normal” won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama — making it only the eighth musical in history to receive the award. It has since spawned many productions both all over the United States and around the globe — one of which, commissioned by Custom Made Theatre Company, is currently playing at the Gough Street Playhouse in San Francisco.

The musical tells the story of an overmedicated suburban mom, Diana Goodman (Lisa-Marie Newton), who is slowly losing her grip on life as she struggles to distinguish between reality and hallucinatory episodes — most of which include visions of her dead son Gabe (Danny Gould) or her psychiatrists (both played by Perry Aliado) as rock stars. Both her husband, Dan (LaMont Ridgell), and daughter, Natalie (Mackenzie Cala), seem to be losing their minds as well as they go through their own bouts of depression. Despite finding a loving boyfriend, Henry (Jordon Bridges), and achieving high marks at school, Natalie begins stealing her mother’s drugs to escape reality and spirals down her own path of self-destruction.

To say that the storyline is chaotic would be undercutting it a little, though the show is beautifully strung together by the captivating musical score of Yorkey and Kitt. There are very few strictly spoken scenes. Similar to the likes of Jonathan Larson’s “Rent,” nearly the whole story is sung from beginning to end.

Newton’s portrayal of Diana is heart-stirringly magnificent. Not only is her singing breathtaking, but she is also able to capture both the daze and misery of bipolar disorder as well as the way she is enchanted by her own illness. The same can be said about the remarkable performance given by high school senior Cala. However, the most standout actor is Bridges in his portrayal of Henry, whose character, though secondary to those in the Goodman family, manages to radiate on stage. Simply put, the Bay Area newcomer has a voice comparable to those on Broadway.

Custom Made Theatre did a phenomenal job in casting those with some of the best voices in the Bay Area theater scene, and the songs are sung in a way that uphold the integrity of the work. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about the acting; the skill level of some of the actors is completely off-balance with many moments of unnecessary overacting that took away from the raw feel of the story. There are even several instances in the show when what are meant to be the most serious and heart-wrenching scenes seem almost farcical. With this odd inconsistency, the end result is sadly a show rather mediocre in spite of its vocal strength.

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In Christopher Durang’s “Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike,” Anton Chekhov meets Walt Disney in this over-the-top comedy that takes place in the rustic Pennsylvanian home of two single 50-something siblings. When their self-absorbed Hollywood actress sister comes gallivanting back into the picture with her very young and often naked new boy toy, the three must come to terms with the dull and shallow lives they have led as their midlife crises ensue.

The original production first opened off-Broadway at New Jersey’s McCarter Theatre not even a year ago and transferred to the Great White Way just this March. At the 67th Annual Tony Awards, it was nominated in six major categories and took home the pre-eminent “Best Play” award. “Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike” is the season opener for Berkeley Repertory Theatre’s current season — making it the first official production to open on the West Coast and outside off-Broadway and Broadway.

Middle-aged Vanya (Anthony Fusco), a closeted gay man, lives with his slightly offbeat adopted younger sister Sonia (Sharon Lockwood) in the countryside home where they grew up in rural Bucks County, Penn. The two have been manning the homestead for as long as they can remember, staying behind to care for their elderly parents when they contracted Alzheimer’s, while their other sister, Masha (Lorri Holt) went off to Hollywood to pursue her dreams.

All three were named by their professor-slash-community-theater-actor parents after characters from Anton Chekhov’s plays. Fifteen years have fluttered by since their parents’ passing — Vanya and Sonia are both now in their 50s — jobless, single and trapped in mundane, unfulfilling lives. To pass the time, they nag one another, quarrel and bird-watch. Cassandra (Heather Alicia Sims), their housekeeper with prophetic powers, serves as the main source of entertainment in the household — constantly spewing prophecies of calamity to the siblings.

Enter the pretentious and narcissistic Masha, the final sibling of the Chekhov bunch and fading movie star, who finances the house and its upkeep. Her new assistant, the unseen Hootie Pie, claims that the family home is a major financial burden and insists on selling it. With her new 20-something, wannabe actor boyfriend, Spike (Mark Junek) in tow, Masha waltzes back into the house in standard diva style — stirring up trouble along the way. Masha thinks of herself as a great classic actress, though she seems to only find herself being cast as a nymphomaniac serial killer in a series of movies. Spike, on the other hand, is her youthful, attention-craving boyfriend with a wandering eye and an obsession with parkour.

The final character in the play is Nina (Caroline Kaplan) — a young, aspiring actress and die-hard Masha fan visiting her relatives who live next door. She shares the name of the ingenue from Chekhov’s “The Seagull,” who torments declining actress Irina, and quite characteristically carries the same effect on Masha by catching the eye of Spike.

Packed with copious Chekhov references in both the dialogue, structure and themes of the story, “Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike” also alludes to Disney’s “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves,” the Beatles, Paul Simon, Maggie Smith, “Entourage”, Greek tragedies and so forth.

While the production is filled with plenty of striking, comical moments — such as when Spike takes the order of doing a “reverse strip-tease” quite literally or when Sonia outshines Masha at a costume party when dressed as the Evil Queen from “Snow White” as played by Maggie Smith on the way to the Oscars — the characters are seemingly far too outrageous and the play entertaining only on the surface level. For those who are unfamiliar with Chekhov’s literature, many parts of the work will seem utterly nonsensical — such as the bizarre reading of Vanya’s play written about molecules. The end product, with its lack of insightful depth, sadly plays out similarly to a bad sitcom.

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There’s a strange infection in San Francisco, and it’s making all those around the geeky, 20-something Hamlet speak and act as if they’re in a Shakespearean play. And, as we all know, the works of William Shakespeare don’t always have happy endings.

Following the success of last year’s “Truffaldino Says No,” award-winning playwright Ken Slattery and director M. Graham Smith are back with “The Shakespeare Bug.” Their latest work, commissioned by theater company Killing My Lobster, is opening on the Stage Werx Theatre in San Francisco.

Hamlet (Peter Townley) is having a terrible day. He has just been fired from his day job by his very own uncle, Claude (David Cramer), and found out that his ex-girlfriend, Tiffany, (Millie DeBenedet) is sleeping with his best friend, Larry (William Dao). To make matters even worse, everyone, from his bizarre family members to his circle of friends, has suddenly taken on a Bard persona following the opening night of the most recent play by his father, Leonard (Cramer again). Now all the world is a stage and all the men and women Shakespearean players.

Hamlet’s mother, Gretchen (Michaela Greeley), is trading in his Shakespearean actor father for the selfish, money-obsessed Claude — who has become enamored of the idea of becoming the “King of San Francisco.” During all this, Hamlet’s father, now a ghost a la King Hamlet, is moping around the city shaming the adulterers — but with a Starbucks cup in hand.

Marybeth (Erin Carter), Leonard’s once exceedingly devoted stage manager, is leaving behind theater to take Hamlet’s old job as the director of apps for Claude’s company. After an odd encounter with three very strange MUNI passengers dressed in leotards and sunglasses who drone of prophecies, Marybeth becomes infatuated with rising to the top of the company and plotting murder along the way.

And interestingly enough, Tiffany is now hopelessly in love with Hamlet. When he rejects her, she breaks into a mad frenzy, singing terrible modern-day love songs as she dawdles around onstage with mascara-smudged eyes. On the other hand, the heartbroken Larry, newly dubbed the earl of Outer Sunset, is planning vengeance upon Hamlet with a poison-tipped sword in tow.

Caught in the midst of it all is the modern-day Hamlet, who doesn’t quite know which role to take on. He is the only one immune to the disease but knows he must step in to break the spell before everyone starts dying horrific deaths, as people often do in Shakespearean tales.

The biggest flaw to the piece is its length. “The Shakespeare Bug” runs a full two hours and 15 minutes, which is lengthy for any play but feels especially long for such a satirical, lighthearted comedy.

Nevertheless, in true Shakespearean fashion, there are several fight scenes (some with actual weapons and one with laptops), a gender swap at one point in the story and numerous melodramatic soliloquies. Taking aspects from “Macbeth,” “Hamlet” and other Bard classics, Slattery and Graham have crafted a hilarious dramedy parodying both modern society and classic theatre. “The Shakespeare Bug” is the ultimate theatrical production created specifically for San Franciscan theater lovers — it is fresh yet familiar, full of references to the city that we know and love.

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The story of Salome is anything but simple. It’s biblical and apocryphal, and great writers like Gustave Flaubert and Oscar Wilde have tried to pin it down into a story of sex or scandal or both. Playwright Brooke Silva takes this New Testament story and makes it into something modern and strange in “Luna Noctiluca,” part of San Francisco Fringe Festival, a two-week festival featuring 36 different theater companies.

The productions of the Fringe Festival are small, hastily directed and often very far from the beaten path in theater. With a cast of fewer than 10 and a very unusual treatment of the story of Salome, “Luna Noctiluca” fits right in.

A character called simply “A Woman” by the program provides much of the narration; however, her monologue is only loosely related to the actual text of the play. Lindsey Martin injects modernism into the show with her portrayal.

Her delivery is quick and controlled; she is the most professional-seeming actor in the cast. She reminisces about stripping, prostitution and the loss of virginity, thereby underscoring the eroticism of Salome’s story.

Salome, portrayed by Caitlin Lushington, is an ingenue terrible, calling for the head of John the Baptist as payment for her dance of the seven veils. Lushington is lithe and spritely, but the dance itself is awkward and poorly costumed. The audience is left with the feeling that Herod has overpaid for his entertainment.

When not dancing, Lushington crackles like a spitfire in the role and is the picture of headstrong young lust. The ill-fated prophet (called by his Greek name, Jokanaan) is played by John Holst. Holst brings a perfect physicality to the man who would lose his head over the daughter of Herodias.

The queen herself is brought to haughty life on the stage by Chelsea Wellott, who plays her regally but with a sluttish and murderous edge. As her opposite, Cyle Conley pales as a forgettable Herod whose appeal rests largely in his accurate depiction of the male gaze.

The supporting cast is very green and provides a machinery to move the plot forward without individual standout performances.

The script emphasizes the sexuality and gender parity implied in the original story. The narrator is not physically present in the events affecting Salome but seems to embody her future self. Her stories push the envelope, using modern vulgar terms for anatomy and the acts in which they are employed.

By contrast, the players enacting the events in Judea use the 19th-century approximation of the ancient language the people in the real events would have spoken. Inexplicably, the text veers into French in moments of heated emotion. Occasionally, Salome and the female narrator speak over one another in two languages.

The result of all this is a Salome that is dreamlike, disjointed and utterly out of its time. The first, 19th and 20th centuries all confront one another in a layered examination of one of the oldest tales of the wickedness of womankind.

“Luna Noctiluca” is a play born of discord and dichotomy, deviance and dimorphism. This treatment is not so much a fresh take on a classic as it is a remix; an unanticipated dubstep movement played in the middle of the same old song. In fact, in the middle of Salome’s dance of the seven veils, actual dubstep was played. That the actors cannot entirely pull it off is not a surprise given the hurdle of the text’s incomprehensible choice.

“Luna Noctiluca” is a little sexy, a little different and absolutely a play from the fringe. Offered at a very low ticket price and runtime of exactly one hour, it succeeded as a curiosity and an amusement if nothing else.

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It is 1914. With the Comstock Act in full effect, it is illegal in the United States to create and distribute written materials deemed “obscene” by those in charge — including any information or items pertaining to women’s sexuality and health. In this world where women are given no rights to their own bodies, four teenage girls in a Catholic reformatory — Anne, Theresa, Lucy and newcomer Joan — create imaginary worlds of romance and adventure within the four walls of their room where they are free to travel the world, be whomever they choose, love whomever they desire and kill all who get in their way.

Written by up-and-coming playwright Monica Byrne, “What Every Girl Should Know” had its world premiere in Durham, N.C., just last year and recently finished a run at the New York International Fringe Festival.

Last Saturday, the play opened at Berkeley’s own Impact Theatre, the theater nestled beneath the floors of La Val’s Pizza. Despite its small size, Impact Theatre always stages impressive performances. In the comfort and intimacy of this one-of-a-kind venue and under the creative direction of Tracy Ward, the story sparks to life not only on the stage but also through the entirety of the theater.

The title of the work is taken from a pamphlet written by famed birth-control activist and feminist reformer Margaret Sanger. When the rebellious Joan (Elissa Beth Stebbins) moves into the quad of the Catholic reformatory St. Mary’s, she is immediately met with hostility from the three other girls already residing in the room — the Protestant-hating Anne (Abigail Edber), the naive, Satan-fearing Lucy (Arisa Bega) and the bubbly Theresa (Carlye Pollack).

After a game of truth-or-dare, they begin to warm up to one another as Joan reveals the reason she was sent to the reformatory. Bringing with her numerous birth-control contraband and feminist pamphlets, she exposes the three girls to the mind of Margaret Sanger and a world where women are given rights.

The four make a saint of the feminist activist — they perform ritualistic sacrifices by creating a fictional realm through storytelling within the confines of their dormitory, a realm in whhich they are given sexual freedom and able to bring harm to the men who hurt them in the past.

As the play progresses, we learn the stories of each girl’s expulsion from society, and the flaws of the punitive system are revealed when the fictional world collides with real life. This is a coming-of-age story of four teenage girls on the cusp of womanhood, learning about both themselves and a sad, oppressive reality.

Bega, Edber, Pollack and Stebbins work together fantastically. The acting is so well-balanced that not one character outshines another, each adding a slightly different tone to the story unraveling onstage.

Combining elements of dance under the modern choreography of Erika Chong Shuch, the characters are able to express themselves with their bodies in ways that echo the message of the production.

While certain parts of the play don’t flow as fluidly as the rest and seem somewhat unnecessary, such as when the characters get repeatedly possessed by Margaret Sanger’s spirit, the underlying message and purpose remains intact and obvious from beginning to end. As best described by Stebbins’ Joan, “the woman’s body is a carcass.”

In many ways, the plot of “What Every Girl Should Know” is still incredibly relevant today. Women’s liberties are still being tampered with by men around the globe — whether they be abortion rights, fashion choices or sexual freedom. Byrne’s script, set in a time period so restrictive and unjust, really allows for audience members to see how tragedies can strike when the most basic human rights are taken away.

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When a dark secret reveals a heart-wrenching detail of the surreptitious past of her beloved grandfather, Emma is forced to investigate every other familial relationship by which she deeply defines her profession and self. Under the direction of Joy Carlin, a well-selected Aurora Theatre cast successfully renders Amy Herzog’s “After the Revolution” (2010) an intimately honest production, poignantly relatable and perennial.

At first glance, “After the Revolution” may be considered narratively simplistic: Emma, a lawyer who fights wrongful persecution in memory of her late grandfather whom she had believed to be wrongfully blacklisted, is traumatized to learn that her grandfather participated in espionage during World War II. After the delivery of this news very early on in the production, little else happens in terms of narrative or action, placing substantial pressure on the cast to present the emotional transformations within and between the characters in a compelling way.

As the action fades and emotional understanding comes to the forefront, a sense of movement is created between the scenes through a well-calculated use of space. A platform at one end of the stage represents Emma’s father’s home, which is made to feel increasingly distant as Emma and her father’s relationship worsens; the lighting on the stage progressively lessens, finally placing Emma in a spotlight at one end of the stage and her father in a dimmer light at the other, with darkness between them.

Furthermore, while the first scene takes place on the entire ground level of the stage, each scene thereafter is confined to one of four corners. This choice concentrates attention on the emotional specificity of each scene (usually between only two of the six characters) and perhaps also on Emma’s own feeling of being “cornered” by the rupture of her career.

Critical journalism on “After the Revolution” and Herzog herself attest to similarities between Herzog’s family and the characters and relationships presented through the course of the production. While the script gains depth from its autobiographical nature, the Aurora Theatre cast successfully makes very close, complicated relationships relatable.

In this context, the commendable work of Rolf Saxon (Ben, Emma’s father) comes to mind. The extensive history of care and support behind the relationship between Emma and her father is beautifully expressed through Saxon’s multifaceted performance. His character is, at certain moments, the grounded, mastering presence taking over the theater and, at others, a fragile shadow of his former self.

It would be difficult to watch such a performance without applying such strong feelings of pride, comfort, loss and guilt to one’s own life and relationships. Performances like Saxon’s, as well as those of much of the rest of the cast, make such intimate, emotional material available and identifiable.

Written in 2010, this production deals with historical events of the 1940s — Emma’s grandfather and World War II — and the 1980s; Emma’s legal client, Mumia Abu-Jamal, was accused of shooting a police officer in 1981 and faced 30 years on death row.

One of the most vivid portrayals of the constant relevancy and interaction of history with the present is the inclusion of Emma’s younger sister Jess (Sarah Mitchell) and her grandmother Vera (Ella Ratner). Both Mitchell and Ratner create breaths of comic relief that are representative of innocence or wisdom; Mitchell rolls her eyes and often retains a relaxed, disconnected aura, while Ratner walks slowly but steadily, always listening closely and critically. Mitchell and Ratner create a sense of youth and age that work together to guide and critique Emma as she makes decisions about how to proceed personally and professionally.

Berkeley’s Aurora Theatre presents Amy Herzog’s “After the Revolution” as a piece of intimacy and availability, history and relevance — a two-hour investigation of the vulnerability and strength of familial relationships.

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There are some stories that can be told a million times and never grow old. The tale of Bonnie and Clyde is one of these American mythologies that finds itself in decades’ worth of films, songs and, recently, theater. It contains all the elements of a lasting American classic — guns, crime and sexuality. The two toted guns, robbed banks, committed murders, were deeply in love and died young and beautiful.

British playwright Adam Peck’s theatrical rendering of the story, not-so-surprisingly titled “Bonnie & Clyde,” opened last Tuesday on Berkeley’s Ashby Stage. Unlike most “Bonnie & Clyde” retellings, including the 2011 failed Broadway musical of the same name, Peck’s stage version strays from glamorizing and glorifying the legendary outlaws. No longer are they our American Robin Hoods — they’re simply two ordinary people stuck in a way of life structured by their surroundings and exaggerated by the media.

The play is set in the era of the Great Depression. Bonnie Parker (Megan Trout) and Clyde Barrow (Joe Estlack) are seeking refuge in an abandoned wooden barn with a shotgun and pistols in tow. The 80-minute production chronicles the young lovers’ final night, prior to the day of the ambush that took their lives. Peck strips the characters down in a complex yet exquisite manner, slowly undressing them layer by layer to reveal their true natures and allowing the audience to genuinely feel, but not fully grasp, the love and romantic relationship shared by the two. They fight, they reminisce, they can beans, they make love and they even play hopscotch.

In Peck’s script, we become acquainted with a Bonnie Parker who is nowhere as malicious as the media’s portrayal of her but rather is a childlike young woman who finds herself both deeply invested in the love she has for Clyde and utterly enchanted by being in the limelight. This Clyde Barrow similarly differs from the media’s caricatured depiction of a cold-hearted murderer and is shown to be someone who doesn’t take the act of killing lightly.

Trout mesmerizes as the almost naive Bonnie, and Estlack captures the serious and perplexed nature of Clyde exquisitely.

The two actors not only seem to understand their characters inside and out but also know precisely how and when to play them as harmonious lovers and as clashing individuals.

Much of the production’s appeal comes from aspects outside of the script. Robert Broadfoot’s geometric wooden set design, accompanied by the spectacular lighting, projections and sound designs of Jon Tracy, Micah Stieglitz and Matt Stines, respectively, works to create a live-action art installation. The many dance numbers in the work, stunningly choreographed by Kimberly Dooley, also add a fantastic new dimension to the story playing out onstage.

The word “gorgeous” doesn’t even begin to brush  the surface when it comes to describing the production as a whole. Just as the story of Bonnie and Clyde holds the elements of a great and lasting American myth, Shotgun Players’ “Bonnie & Clyde” contains all the vital ingredients of good theater. This work, commissioned by the local theater company and directed by Mark Jackson, is a hybrid form of theater-meets-performance-art. Alluring in almost every way, the production boasts a script equally delicate and dramatic, with dreamlike interludes of internal monologues and poetry reading, coalesced with gorgeous visual projections and modern dance. The story of Bonnie and Clyde, in this case, is not simply being told and acted out in dialogue but also uses dance and visual art.

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