Capsule Stage Reviews: Lucky Stiff, Pack of Lies, Sty of the Blind Pig, Underneath the Lintel, Wit

Underneath the Lintel John Tyson's Librarian, in the Alley Theatre's lovely production of Glen Berger's one-man show Underneath the Lintel, is just the sort of city worker most of us never, ever want to meet. He lives for late fines. Imagine his excitement when he discovers a book left in the night-drop-box that's more than 100 years overdue! With a handful of clues that include an old laundry ticket left in the late book, he sets out on a weeklong trip to find the cheeky culprit who's dared to keep a book out for so long. What he ends up with is a life-changing journey that takes him far, far from home. This small play that's shaped into a speech given by the Librarian to inform the public of his journey deals with such large ideas as how to live a life that actually matters. And it is surprisingly rich, especially as rendered by Tyson with the help of director Alex Harvey. Tyson's Librarian shows us that passions run deep in the quietest souls. When he holds up the library date-stamper he wears on a cotton string around his neck and declares that the date of everyone's death can be found in the little device, the moment resonates with a profound truth. And Tyson so thoroughly inhabits this misanthrope with his slightly turned-in toes and his awkward attempts at jokes that the character and his quest move from funny to outrageous and finally to deeply moving. Designer Kevin Rigdon's bleak, bare stage, which looks a bit like an auditorium about to be torn down, underscores the frail hope found in this tender play that anyone who's looking for a little bit of meaning in this world should not miss. Through April 20. 615 Texas, 713-220-5700. — LW

Wit At first glance, Margaret Edson's Pulitzer Prize-winning play could be a downer of colossal proportions: not only does its leading character, Dr. Vivian Bearing, die from ovarian cancer, which we witness with horrid precision and clinical intimacy, but Professor Bearing is also the foremost authority on the 17th-century metaphysical poet John Donne -— "death be not proud," "no man is an island" and other heady, religious thoughts — and throughout the play we are treated to snippets from her probing lectures and random thoughts on Donne's "Holy Sonnets." This has every intention of transforming into the most insufferable of dramas, like something meaningful and good for you from Public Broadcasting. But Edson performs the miraculous: harrowing as it ultimately is, she makes the act of dying entertaining and full of grace. Bearing's only passion in life is Donne; she has no lover, no family, no friends, and is fiercely proud of her immense intellect and cognitive skills. However, these will do her no good as she screams in pain from the treatments meant to cure her. Self-absorbed lovers of research and as dedicated as she to pure knowledge, her doctors dissect her malady with as much unemotional precision as she once used to parse the great Jacobean poet. Neither art nor science, Ms. Edson states with utter felicity and theatrical know-how in her dexterously intelligent and playful play, is of much comfort when one faces death. Everything boils down to a great essence: a kind word or a soothing deed. In Texas Rep's sublime rendition, Pamela Vogel, as Vivian, is show-stoppingly radiant: icy, Olympian, witty and, at the end, all too human as she heads into the light. Edson's play is equally redeeming and triumphant, and must not be missed. Through April 13. 14243 Steubner Airline. 281-583-7573. — DLG.