Hamlet. Director Melissa Hillman's decision to stage the world's most famous play in a pizzeria basement is nothing if not bold. Her actors perform with passion, she knows how to make a virtue out of the cramped surroundings, and her transitions between scenes are consistently slick. Best of all, she's blessed with a remarkable leading man: Patrick Alparone is a young actor of tantalizing range and promise. From the moment he appears in the space, silent and aquiline as a Trappist monk in his black hoodie, one senses the weight this Hamlet bears on his shoulders as well as his mocking intelligence. But even Alparone could use a little more directorial focus. Impact Theatre's production, though audacious, is hampered by the lack of a coherent vision. Hillman's interest in contemporizing the political aspects of the play -- with guns, indie rock, and night watchmen reimagined as bodyguards -- doesn't quite coalesce with her fascination for Hamlet's metatheatrical undercurrent. Revealingly, the scenes in which Hillman appears onstage as Hamlet's mother are the weakest. If only she would stick to directing. Or find another director, if she must act. Through March 18 at La Val's Subterranean Theatre, 1834 Euclid (at Hearst), Berkeley. Tickets are $10-15; call (510) 464-4468 or visit www.impacttheatre.com. (Chloe Veltman) Reviewed March 1.
In on It. If a comedy duo is defined as the combination of two physical and emotional opposites, then Glenn Peters and Ian Scott McGregor -- "This One" and "That One," respectively, in Daniel MacIvor's dense and fascinating exploration of the hairline fissure between living and dying, laughing and crying, and stopping and ending -- fit the mandate so perfectly that they almost seem like a caricature of a double act. Moving fluidly between three different states -- "the show," in which the partners discuss and rehearse a play written by This One and talk about their relationship; "the play," in which the events of the aforementioned drama unfold; and "the past," in which the couple rehash how they first met and got together -- McGregor and Peters deftly roam a metatheatrical landscape that's as deliberately self-conscious as it is off-the-cuff funny. The effect is rather like watching a Pirandello play as reimagined by Monty Python. Blending MacIvor's whirling dialogue and punctilious directing with punch-drunk performances from McGregor and Peters, In on It recalls the vital connection between comedy and tragedy and reminds us just how removed we've become from understanding the conflicting impulses within ourselves. Through March 12 at the Thick House, 1695 18th St. (between Arkansas and De Haro), S.F. Tickets are $20-25; call 821-4849 or visit www.encoretheatrecompany.org. (Chloe Veltman) Reviewed Feb. 15.
Luna. A Celtic warrior and an Italian maiden unleash their memories, fears, dreams, and longings in this exploration of "inner landscapes." In some scenes, detailed masks transform the actors into the demons of nightmares and the angels of fantasies. At other moments, borrowing elements from Macbeth, the warrior embodies Shakespeare's tortured Scottish antagonist and the maiden acts as his prodding wife. Their meandering journeys are underscored by the pulsing bongo of Orlando Obligacion and the strings of Eugene Jun. The beating drums link the woman's purgative tarantella dance and the warrior's battle poses with the rhythmic sounds of their respective cultures. The music saves this play from the otherwise dark, choppy transitions that butcher its continuity. The script, a collaborative effort by director Maria Lexa and the actors, juxtaposes male and female, dark and light, death and life, moon and sun, hell and heaven, without a specific plot, in a deluge of nebulous ritual. Though the performers appear committed, this muddled creation incorporates so many erratic, artsy modes of performance that it sacrifices clarity for eccentricity. In short, it tries to do too much. Through March 12 at NOHspace, 2840 Mariposa (at Florida), S.F. Tickets are $10-15; call 621-7978 or visit www.sunandmoonensemble.org. (Emily Forbes) Reviewed March 1.
The Master Builder. Psychological and expressionistic readings of Hilde Wangel, the strange young woman who pitches up in the middle of the first act of Henrik Ibsen's 1892 drama about a middle-aged architect's ill-fated attempt to stem the onrush of time, abound. For some directors and critics, Hilde is a siren; for others, she's a troll. But a masterful new production by the Aurora Theatre Company leads me to believe that she may be something else entirely: a projection of an old man's most lurid fantasies. Lauren Grace is no Lolita (she looks at least 22), yet she portrays Hilde (or Hilda, in Paul Walsh's elegant translation) as if viewed through the eyes of a Humbert Humbert. When the character first bounces onstage in a jaunty little Scandinavian mountain outfit, sparkling like a lucky penny, she resembles a pensioner's wet dream. She's as wholesome as Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. I half expected her to break into song. Director Barbara Oliver's production is well balanced and sensitively acted -- an eloquent exploration of weighty Ibsenite themes such as the opposition of will and luck and the tension between youth and age. Yet it's still difficult to make sense of this slippery character. Through March 12 at the Aurora Theatre, 2081 Addison (at Shattuck), Berkeley. Tickets are $38; call (510) 843-4822 or visit www.auroratheatre.org. (Chloe Veltman) Reviewed Feb. 22.