One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Beck Center

This play takes place in a psychiatric hospital, a fact that some young people may find confusing. In the 55 years since this play first appeared, the United States began closing down such hospitals, preferring to see potential mental patients enter the field of politics. How’s that working out for us?

Ken Kesey’s novel was a screech against a repressive society that tried to grind down anyone who was a non-conformist. But the subtext deals with how we have all been tranquilized and at times euthanized into submission, as we are maneuvered over and over again into waging war against other countries and at times against ourselves. I will leave it to you to make the obvious connections to our world today.

As for the play itself, written by Dale Wasserman, it feels a bit dated. Electrochock therapy—which is administered to the rebellious Randall P. McMurphy—was seen back then as the most gothic torture imaginable (and it is rendered that way in Aaron Benson’s impressive scenic design). But since then, there have been more positive analyses of that particular therapeutic approach.

The male ward of this “loony bin” is filled with a bundle of characters that are all distinctive in their mental difficulties, and they are performed with admirable precision by the cast under the direction of William Roudebush. Those who are particularly effective are George Roth as the closeted and erudite Dale Harding, Jeremy Gladen as twitchy and mommy-dominated Billy Bibbit, and Tony Zanoni as impulsive Martini. Benjamin Gregorio also turns in a haunting performance as the virtually silent and lobotomized Ruckly.

In the challenging, showpiece role of McMurphy, Bryant Carroll has all the feints and twitches of this larger-than-life character down pat. But those details never truly coalesce into a character that insistently worms his way into his fellow patients’ hearts, and ours.

As a sane man who thought he was putting one over on the system by pretending to be mentally challenged, thereby avoiding hard time on a chain gang, McMurphy should be someone with whom we can all relate. But too often, Carroll relies on a manic laugh and a swaggering strut instead of establishing strong threads of connection between McMurphy and the others.

As his main tormentor Nurse Ratched, Katie DeBoer masterfully commands her charges with a virtually unchanging icy smile/stare that could drop a charging rhino to its knees. But in a similar way to Carroll’s McMurphy, this interpretation of the “big nurse” never goes beyond that splendidly played single note, and never shows a woman with more dimensions. By making her a bit more human, it would actually increase the horror of the situation.

In all, this Cuckoo’s Nest captures many of the aspects of Kesey’s book and Wasserman’s adaptation. But it doesn’t soar quite high enough to momentarily liberate us all from the cages in which we find ourselves.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Through October 8 at the Beck Center, 17801 Detroit Ave., Lakewood, 216-521-2540, beckcenter.org

Last of the Boys, none too fragile theater

(From left: Robert Branch and Paul Floriano)

There’s a huge attraction to living in the past. That’s the place where you know what to expect, where all the events have been played out and you can visit at your leisure. Sure, there may be painful memories and even some ghosts wafting around, but at least it’s a fixed entity. That beats the hell out of the present, when you don’t know what new horror (insert Trump-cough here) is waiting around the corner.

In Last of the Boys by Steven Dietz, two older men have taken up virtually permanent residency in their past, back when they were grunt buddies in the Vietnam War. And once they are joined by Jeeter’s new girlfriend Sayler and her mother Lorraine, each of whom have their own profound problems, it’s clear the stage is set for some explosive confrontations and revelations.

Dietz is a talented playwright, and he knows how to coax chuckles from his audience. Plus, one could hardly ask for a more skillful cast than the one offered by director Sean Derry. However, the script gets a bit tangled up in its own premise, especially regarding a ghost who visits Ben repeatedly. The actors often rise above this flawed material, but even they at times seem detoured by a play that never allows them to find solid character footing.

Ben is the occupant of a mobile home set on a toxic Superfund site that is surrounded by piled sandbags, stacks of black barrels containing God knows what, and some rusted lawn furniture. He’s being visited by Jeeter, a pal from back in the day who follows the Stones on tour and often lapses into hippie-dippy riffs about spirit quests. Jeeter has just returned from the funeral for Ben’s father, which Ben did not attend, and Jeeter brought along the flag that was draped on the coffin of Ben's father, who was an aide to Defense Secretary Robert McNamara during 'Nam.

As they share bottles of beer from an outdoor fridge, Ben begins interacting with a soldier (Nate Homolka) in full combat uniform who helps Ben put on a suit and tie so he can channel the words of Ben’s idol, the generally (and justifiably) despised McNamara. Still, Ben sees the architect of the U.S. involvement in Vietnam, the former Ford executive, as the “man with a plan.” And as the play progresses, Ben’s interactions with the ghost get progressively weirder and even physical as their connection ends in a grotesque sort of baptism.

Meanwhile, Jeeter’s 35-year-old gal pal Salyer (an understandably detached Rachel Lee Kolis) always “wears a lot of clothes” to hide some of her own demons. Turns out, she has daddy issues of her own involving Vietnam. And her mother Lorraine, who has come to rescue her from the clutches of Jeeter, is supposedly a dead-end boozer.

Clearly, playwright Dietz has set himself a daunting task in weaving together these unusual characters and free-floating metaphors including a pervasive fog which is referenced but never seen, and the final result is only partially successful. What works well, at times, are the dialog scenes between Ben and Jeeter. Robert Branch is an actor with an admirably wide range, and he’s up to the task of portraying this cynical, world-weary man who is beset by phantoms of all kinds. And he is met, acting-wise, on equal footing by Paul Floriano, whose Jeeter gets the best lines and is often a bundle of nervous excitement. That is, when he hasn’t lapsed into a fugue state inspired by, you guessed it, some troubling memories.

Unfortunately, the script doesn’t provide enough backstory about Jeeter to allow the audience to fully understand who this guy is. As a result, the central relationship between Jeeter and Ben is a mystery papered over by their cryptic conversations which, when they don’t work, feel manufactured and not organic. This is particularly true at the start of the show, a situation that is not aided by the actors overlapping each other as they deliver their rapid-fire lines. This is a performance technique that must be carefully employed, otherwise it feels as if the characters aren’t listening and just talking. And in this play, listening is key for both the characters and the audience.

Also, the subplot involving Lorraine and her daughter never comes to fruition, since it is woefully underwritten. As Lorraine, Anne McEvoy displays her precise comic timing throughout (an example: When Jeeter tells her “I know what you’re thinking.” Lorraine responds with “So why are you still here?”). Trouble is, it’s hard to buy the elegant and self-possessed McEvoy as a hard-drinking woman who will guzzle whiskey at a moment’s notice.

For those of us who lived through the Vietnam War as adults, there are ghosts aplenty.  And as the current documentary series on PBS shows, the interest in that doomed and lethal excursion never seems to wane. The feelings of loss and guilt, along with the excesses of governmental hubris, are real. This play touches some of those points, but undercuts its theme with too many conflicting elements.

Last of the Boys

Through September 30 at none too fragile theater, 1835 Merriman Rd., Akron (enter through Pub Bricco), 330-962-5547, nonetoofragile.com

Life x 3, Cesear’s Forum

(From left: Brian Bowers, Tricia Bestic, Dana Hart, Julia Kolibab)

How many times have each of us wondered what would have happened at that diner party if things had gone differently? And how many times have playwrights and screenwriters attempted to capture that conundrum of human existence? The answer to both questions is: Countless.

In Life x 3 by Yasmina Reza (translated by Christopher Hampton), Sonia and Henry are hosting an older couple, Hubert and Inez, for dinner. Unfortunately, the guests have arrived a day early and there’s hardly any food in the house. And they can’t go out to dinner since the hosts’ six-year old son Arnaud is crying for attention in the next room.

Taking this premise, Reza then plays the evening’s conversation through three different times with three different outcomes. And during these versions we learn of many interpersonal conflicts: Research scientist Henry is desperate for approval from his superior Hubert, Hubert is hot for and has a history with Sonia, Inez is always doing a slow boil when her husband puts her down, and little Arnaud (an unseen Mary Alice Beck) keeps whining for snacks and cuddles.

It is an admittedly intriguing concept, and a talented cast under the direction of Greg Cesear does its best to make this triple layer cake turn out well. They accomplish that task splendidly in the first iteration of the “dinner” party, when the dynamics of the situation are fresh and surprising and Reza’s sharp wit is in evidence. But as the second and third replays continue, the air slowly seeps out of this balloon until, by the end, the premise feels rather deflated.

It’s a challenging task to take an audience through three versions of the same conversation with subtle changes that slightly tweak reactions. As a result, you spend more time trying to suss out what’s different this time than you do becoming engrossed in the character dynamics.

Still, Cesear is an accomplished and inventive director and he teases interesting performances out of his cast. Tricia Bestic is sharp and no-nonsense as Sonia, taking charge of her home as well as her (sometimes) vacillating husband played with bursts of self-flagellation by Brian Bowers. Dana Hart is solid as the pompous Hubert, and his nasty zingers directed at his wife are played off with humorous diffidence by Julia Kolibab as Inez.

There are aspirations to the metaphysical in Reza’s script, but the repeated renditions don’t provide the necessary snap of realization that is required to bring the audience along. Instead, by the end, it feels as if we’ve been stumbling through several rough drafts of a piece that isn’t quite finished.

Life x 3

Through Oct. 28 at Cesear’s Forum, Playhouse Square, Kennedy’s Down Under, 1501 Euclid Ave., 216-241-6000, playhousesquare.org

Simply Simone, Karamu House

Nina Simone was an awesome talent and an even more compelling personality. She became “The High Priestess of Soul” almost against her will, since she grew up as a piano prodigy and really only wanted to become the world’s first black classical concert pianist. And along the way, back in the 1960s, she became a fierce voice for the radical black militant movement in America.

In short, there’s a big story to tell about Nina Simone. Unfortunately, this slap-dash play created by David Grapes and Robert Neblett captures almost none of the Simone magic. Due to a series of wrong-headed decisions, the play covers 2½ hours and more than 30 songs while managing to miss the compelling essence at the core of Nina Simone’s art.

Before the dissection continues, we must pause and give a pass to the four hard-working performers who try to lift this lumbering show into the air. Sheffia Randall Dooley, Corlesia Smith and Mariama Whyte are all gifted, professional singers and actors, and they generate fleeting moments of bliss. And Afia Mensa does her best while battling some pitch problems in several of her songs. In addition, music director Ed Ridley, Jr. and his four-piece band provide solid support.

The first questionable decision is to have those four women play aspects of Ms. Simone, along with assorted other characters during the narrated sections of the play. These arid readings of Simone’s biography turn the show into a Wikipedia musical, with factoids replacing actual theatrical scenes between and among characters.

Right from the start, the play skids off center as four songs are presented in standard smiley-face variety show style with not a hint of the deep and fascinating Simone personality. From there on, songs from the Simone songbook are presented with varying degrees of power. On the positive side, Smith handles her songs well, especially a spine-tingling version of “I Put a Spell on You.” And Dooley delivers some tingles herself in the second act with “Trouble in Mind” and “My Father.”

While the script dutifully records Simone’s conflicts with her dad, her husband/manager Andy, her sister and herself, the show never slows down enough to allow these torments to land with any impact.

This problem is not aided by an overly simplistic scenic design by Inda Blatch-Geib that employs photo collages on three-sided rolling columns, intended to capture the era in which Simone and the people in her life. Instead, newsreel footage and photos of Simone herself—who was a stunning presence at all ages—would help immensely. In a similar way, the lighting design by Prophet Seay is bland and perfunctory, without using lighting contrasts to carve out sections of the stage to increase the emotional force of certain moments.

Director Caroline Jackson Smith is certainly hamstrung by this oddly passionless material. But her staging often feels like a by-the-book 1970s TV show, with the singers tramping up and down a small, four-level platform and lining up across the stage and belting. That wasn’t Nina Simone.

Where is the Nina Simone who could turn a pop tune into an entirely new and different creature due to her bold phrasing and daring silences? Where is the Nina Simone who employed classical music idioms in her music, often going on long riffs that turned blues and jazz into something gloriously new. And where is the Nina Simone who was driven by and eventually punished for her deeply held political beliefs?

Some of it is given cursory lip service, but most of what made Nina Simone so different and wonderful is simply missing from Simply Simone.

Simply Simone

Through October 8 at Karamu House, 2355 East 89 St., 216-795-7070, karamuhouse.org.

The Book of Mormon, Playhouse Square

If you haven’t yet seen The Book of Mormon, shame on you. Go stand in the corner, and I’ll tell you when you can leave. But before you do that, give Playhouse Square a call and see if you can glom some tickets before this show leaves after this coming Sunday.

This outrageous carnival of musicality, wit and offensiveness—created from the fertile and possibly felonious minds of Trey  Parker, Robert Lopez and Matt Stone—is back in town in a touring production that sizzles from start to finish. This particular troupe has been touring for a while, but you’d never know it from that sharp, energetic and engaging performances all around.

As you probably know, it’s all about a comical and irreverent take on the Church of the Latter Day Saints, and while it is certainly rude and distasteful  (for some), it is also flat out hilarious and really quite sweet. Two featured missionaries, Elder Price and Elder Cunningham, are shipped off to Uganda to convert the locals.

And that challenge is illustrated in a send-up of “Hakuna Matata” from The Lion King. In this version, the poverty-stricken, AIDS-beset, warlorf-domoinated Ugandans sing “Hasa Diga Eebowai” which is translated as “Fuck You, God.” Just to make their feelings clear, the song is punctuated frequently with the middle-finger salute.

This production benefits from outstanding performances in the lead roles. As Elder Price, the fellow who dreams of spending eternity in Orlando, Gabe Gibbs is a toothy force of nature as he nails songs such as “You and Me (But Mostly Me),” and “I Believe.” The latter song illustrates how the creators meld real Mormon facts with parody as he sings: “I believe the Lord God sent me here/And I believe that in 1978 God changed his mind about black people.”

He is matched by Conner Peirson as the schlubby Elder Cunningham, a wannabe missionary who never read the Book, so he makes up his own version of the religion—featuring Star Wars characters and other random bits—to bring his flock some peace of mind. And he is particularly adorable when he romances—er, baptizes—the lovely young Nabulungi (Myha’la Herrold, who possesses way more voice than should be allowed in a person that small). They bond, even though Cunningham never gets her name right, calling her at various times Neutrogena, Netflix, Nagasaki and Nakatomi Plaza.

Also outstanding are PJ Adzima as the not-so-ambiguously gay Elder McKinley, Johnny Brantley III as the ever smiling local doctor with maggots in his throat, and Sterling Jarvis as the town’s leader Mafala.

The visual aspects of the production are also outstanding, including a scene of Mormon hell pulsing with crimson fire and populated by Jeffrey Dahmer, Johnnie Cochran and cups of Starbucks coffee (tea and coffee are forbidden to Mormons).

In short, this show is a hoot and a half, and it is performed with superb professionalism by this touring company. Something that is not always true when a show visits for just a short time. So go, laugh, smile. You deserve it.

The Book of Mormon

Through September 17 at Playhouse Square, Keybank State Theater, 1615 Euclid Ave. 216-241-6000, playhousesquare.com.