The God Game Political plays have been around since the time of Aristophanes, but you won't find a breezier one than Suzanne Bradbeer's contemporary fairy tale, charming its way into the electorate via Stark Naked Theatre Company. A nicer bunch of politicos would be hard to find. When you think of politics, don't you automatically assume a knife in the back, an erupting scandal from decades ago causing present havoc, or at least a dalliance or two outside the home or inside the oval office? We've been conditioned to think the worst of any candidate, because they always do their best to live down to our expectations. So it's a surprise to discover Bradbeer's sweet literate people vying for our vote. What alternate universe have we been sucked into? Inside their tony Richmond, Virginia, townhouse, Tom and Lisa (Justin Doran and Kim Tobin-Lehl) celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary. Tom is a charismatic Republican U.S. senator with national visibility, a clean heart and a 68 percent approval rating with his constituency. He loves his wife with abiding passion and would eagerly follow through on her provocative mid-day advances if he didn't have a constantly ringing cell phone. He's the real thing: stalwart, a war hero, smart, and above reproach. Wife Lisa is just as perfect. In charge of a women's shelter in downtown Richmond, she's socially committed, put together in all the right ways, smart, too, and is her husband's sounding board. Their marriage is ideal. Enter Matt (Philip Lehl). The couple's oldest friend and former lover of Tom's deceased brother, Matt is the political guru for far right Governor Jenkins, the Republican presidential nominee, but even his personal compromises in working for the governor haven't truly marred his intrinsic goodness. He comes bearing gifts: a floral bouquet for Lisa on her anniversary and to anoint Tom as Jenkins' vice presidential candidate. But Jenkins, and the forces behind him, are deeply faith-based. Tom is too decent to deceive. He doesn't believe in God. Oh, that's not a big issue, Matt assures him with a master politico's snaky charm, you just have to drop a few references to Jesus along the parade route. It's no big deal. That's when the drama begins. Lisa is a devout Christian, and lying about faith is a very big deal to her. The triangle fractures as the three discuss, ponder and threaten. Each has cogent arguments to make, laid out with precision and intelligence, and their back-and-forth is liberally sprinkled with personal intimacies which Bradbeer renders in insightful, often comic dialogue that flows with lively debate. Give these three pros the Congressional Record to read, they'd hold you spellbound. Under Jennifer Dean's sensitive apolitical direction, they infuse Bradbeer's probing wit with utter sincerity. Through September 20. Stark Naked Theatre at Studio 101, 1824 Spring Street. 713-866-6514. — DLG
Waiting for Othello and Desdemona, A Play About a Handkerchief The glories of Shakespeare run so deep that endless variations can be played on his themes and characters. Trebuchet Players, one of Houston's youngest theater companies, presents two one-acts that spin his great tragedy Othello. Waiting for Othello is a gleeful drunk, stumbling about like a sloshed frat boy; Desdemona, A Play about a Handkerchief, a serious feminist deconstruction, uses better-quality alcohol. Commissioned for Trebuchet from local playwright Bryan Maynard, Waiting flits all over, a Monty Python-esque skit in need of more substance. MORE? Huzzah!! Embedded inside Maynard's play is a drinking game. Every time a character says "Moor" or the homophone "more," the audience raises a beer toast. The "mores" come fast and furious, and the gradual ensuing buzz lightens the play. However, even the wonders of Saint Arnold Brewing Company can only do so much. It's Aaron Echegaray as Iago who gives this play its wings. He deepens his baritone into a Froggy the Gremlin croak and twists his body into a contorted limp. He scowls and plots, and hustles across the stage like a bad-tempered creepy-crawly. Set against Taylor Wildman's fey Cassio and Jonathan Moonen's college boy Rodrigo (and a drag serving wench straight out of John Cleese), Echegaray pops off the stage. Desdemona is an early work from distinguished Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Paula Vogel (Baltimore Waltz, How I Learned to Drive, Civil War Christmas). Even so, it's full of mature stage technique as she takes the three women in Shakespeare's tragedy and compares and contrasts. It's a state-of-consciousness study intertwined with gender politics, class, feminism and erotic desire. The play takes place in Cyprus, before the newly married couple relocates to Venice. Desdemona (Tyrrell Woolbert in tony Noel Coward accent) is not the Bard's sweet bride but a closeted hussy who moonlights every Tuesday in the brothel where Bianca (Leighza Walker, with Cockney accent) plies her trade. Serving maid Emilia (Karen Schlag, using an Irish brogue thick as oatmeal), mired in her loveless marriage, hopes to wheedle a promotion for her husband Iago so she can use the money to flee. Short scenes loop back on themselves; time seems to bend as it moves inexorably forward. Wanting as much as she can, insatiable Desdemona takes Othello as a lover for the thrill of his "otherness." From the lower class, faithful Emilia can't wait to get out from under unfeeling Iago; rowdy Bianca finds love with Cassio but gets slapped down by Desdemona's drunken revelation. Female camaraderie can't hold fast against social norms or the striving of the heart. Vogel's one-act drags its feet a little, for we quickly lose sympathy for upper-crust Desdemona and her quest to be filled with the world, even if it's a nice metaphor for her constant tricking. The Bianca/Desdemona scenes pique our prurience with light S&M and lesbian frisson, but they seem tacked-on instead of intrinsic. We yearn to return to faithful, clear-eyed Emilia. She knows she's stuck — in society, in bed — plodding through life until her husband dies and she's free at last. Although these minor works, directed by Kathy Drum, spin Othello in ways Shakespeare never thought of, the pairing of frat-boy humor and feminist thesis doesn't send him spinning. He would appreciate the contemporary rethinking, although he said it all first. Through September 20. Trebuchet Players at Company OnStage, 536 Westbury Square, 318-423-0281. — DLG