Justin Tanner’s latest comedy, Little Theater, is an autobiographical tale dealing with the unique world of Los Angeles theater. Its time-span is late 1980s-early 1990s, when L.A. had two theater planets orbiting round each other. One planet was composed of a handful of large venues–-The Taper, Ahmanson, Geffen, etc.–-that concentrated on mounting plays which had achieved success in either Chicago or New York. The other planet comprised a hundred-odd intimate spaces–-a euphemism for holes in the wall-–which survived courtesy of a special arrangement with Actors Equity that allowed the actors to work for free, as long as the theater had less than 99 seats.
This waiver deal meant that productions could be mounted cheaply and chances could be taken with original plays. It helped that L.A. had a bunch of daily and weekly newspapers that paid attention to the small-theater scene–-and that the city itself had an arts budget which enabled many of those shoestring operations to survive.
Today that universe looks considerably different. The big theaters are still functioning as before, but the smaller ones have become an endangered species. Most of LA’s newspapers have folded, and the few that are still alive, especially the Times, no longer review anything but mainstream stuff. On top of that, Equity has killed the waiver deal (despite opposition from the actors themselves), so one small theater after another has gone under, thanks to urban renewal and/or greedy landlords. As for the arts budget, it dried up, as well.
Little Theater recalls the halcyon days of LA theater, when a budding local playwright like Tanner could get his work produced fairly easily. In the play Tanner calls himself James (Zachary Grant). He walks into the El Centro Theatre and lands a job as an intern. His boss Monica (Jenny O’Hara) is based on Diana Gibson, who ran the Cast Theater for many years. Her main helper Danny (Ryan Brophy) is a jack-of-all-trades who runs the box office, builds the sets and keeps the books.
James is young, naive and unworldly, the opposite of the middle-aged, cynical, profane, pot-smoking Monica, but they become a team when she discovers his playwriting skills. His first play, a modest comedy, saves the El Centro’s fate when it not only wins an arts grant but has a successful run.
The clash between Monica and James (and Danny in the middle) provides most of the comedy, largely because Monica is outrageously coarse, bitchy and crazy. But she has one rare and remarkable gift: she really knows theater. With her dramaturgical help James becomes a skilled playwright, turning out one hit after another. One of them attracts the attention of Steven Spielberg’s film company, which hires him to write a comedy.
James goes from little-theater to Hollywood fame, a transition he can’t quite handle. The money pours in, he’s given an office on the Universal lot, and treated like a boy wonder. But he’s still tied, creatively and spiritually to Monica, his muse, tutor and mother, all rolled into one. What happens when he tries to break that bond gives the play its surprises, its disappointments, and sorrow.
This isn’t to say that Little Theater becomes completely dark and downbeat. The comedy is still uppermost, but it’s tinged with sadness for a relationship, and by extension a community, that crumbles before our eyes.
Rogue Machine’s production of Little Theater is noteworthy for its splendid acting and directing, and for its impressive technical support.
