BEEHIVE -- (At the Kennedy Center Terrace Theater through Sunday)
"Beehive" presents a few dozen songs from the '60s -- and a couple that didn't chart until the early '70s -- in a revue that pays homage to the decade's favorite songbirds. Donning sky-high wigs and costumes that include skirts from poodle to mini, six women imitate performers such as Brenda Lee, Dusty Springfield and Aretha Franklin. Except the cast members don't look a whole lot like the stars they're aping, and despite strong voices, they don't much sound like them, either. There's little here, in fact, to distinguish the show as anything more than high-priced karaoke; the show doesn't even string together its hit list with a story. The well-intentioned "Beehive" may be an innocuous way to spend two hours, but it will likely leave true music lovers wishing they had just stuck to their record collections.
-- Tricia Olzewski
THE BEST MAN -- (At Olney Theatre Center through Sunday)
The image of two men squaring off, grinning foxy grins, armed with political mud, may be a little grating at this stage of our national campaign marathon, but you have to admire how sharply it's drawn in Potomac Theatre Project's production of Gore Vidal's 1960 play. It's a high-minded melodrama pitting William Russell (Paul Morella), a noble but flawed intellectual, against Joseph Cantwell (Nigel Reed), a hypocritical moralist. The best thing about director Richard Romagnoli's sometimes eccentric but largely penetrating production is the depiction of these two archetypal figures. Romagnoli gets you to think about something that at first blush seems absurd by casting a woman as the outgoing president. But the notion of a female president suggests a progressiveness that is at odds with a subplot about who will win the women's vote, a presumably domesticated bloc. Yet after a while, that inconsistency -- are women empowered or aren't they? -- begins to seem like the point.
-- Nelson Pressley
COPENHAGEN -- (At Olney Theatre Center through Aug. 15)
Good writing has a way of relaxing the spirit, and Michael Frayn, author of this elegantly accessible, Tony-winning play, is in this regard a stress-relief wizard. The play revolves around a 1941 reunion at the Copenhagen home of the revered Danish physicist Niels Bohr (Alan Wade) and his wife, Margrethe (Valerie Leonard), with Bohr's old student, Werner Heisenberg (Chris Lane), who earned renown as the author of the uncertainty principle of quantum theory. The meeting is reconstructed from the memories of the three participants, now speaking to each other from beyond the grave. Jim Petosa has staged the play with a keen understanding of both its humanity and its moral force, and the trio of actors lean on each other as securely as if they were sides of an equilateral triangle. Frayn's discussions of physics and classical mechanics are beautiful and utterly convincing; part of the delight of the play is in that Stoppardesque sensation of delving into realms that seem patently untheatrical, and discovering that they belong on the stage after all.
-- Peter Marks
DNA: DRAMA, NUANCE, ATTITUDE -- (By the Black Women Playwrights' Group at the Mead Theater Lab through Sunday)
How many riffs and variations can be conjured from the letters DNA? This play has plenty, ranging from sober meditations on deoxyribonucleic acid -- the genetic blueprint that defines and binds -- to the surly declaration "Don't need his [behind]." This refreshing omnibus show is a collection of 14 monologues by a dozen writers, presented in collaboration with the Young Playwrights' Theater and directed with an attentive ear by Lisa Rose Middleton. The performance is an unembellished affair: Two actors and a largely bare stage is all it takes. "Drama" is the subject in the first act, and it's saturated with family agonies; the second act is lighter. The monologues all benefit from a light, straightforward touch; it's a nice night for the writers.
FIFTEEN ROUNDS WITH JACKSON POLLOCK -- (By Hyacinth Theater Company at Warehouse Theater through Sunday)
This play, written by local author Bruce Clarke, is a mostly compelling history that begins with the completion of Jackson Pollock's first "drip" painting. Set in Pollock's barn studio and in New York art galleries, the script chronicles Pollock's rise as an art celebrity, his worsening alcoholism and the disintegration of his marriage. As Pollock, Ian LeValley does his share of shouting and stumbling, but he is also rather cheerful -- quite a departure from the more popular characterization of the artist as seething iconoclast. Kerri Rambow endows Pollock's wife, Lee Krasner, with a quiet tenderness that is all the more devastating near play's end, when Pollock's drinking and depression alienate even his No. 1 cheerleader. Clarke and the Hyacinth crew's portrait of the artist may not be pitch-perfect, but with its thought-provoking theories on the fickleness of fame, the nature of creativity and, especially, the cattiness of the art world, "Fifteen Rounds" gets the big picture right.
THE GLASS MENAGERIE -- (At the Kennedy Center Eisenhower Theater through Sunday)
It is to Sally Field's enormous credit that Amanda Wingfield does not plow through this exquisite revival like a runaway bulldozer. Field's overbearing Amanda is subtler than that: She's a woman of southern refinement worn down by poverty and worry. And she's oblivious to the impact her obsession with her reclusive daughter, Laura, is having on her son, Tom, who is suffocating in the cage of anxiety Amanda makes of their shabby St. Louis apartment. Jennifer Dundas and Jason Butler Harner, as Laura and Tom, are marvelous foils for Field's Amanda; the cast, including Corey Brill as the Gentleman Caller, works in perfect harmony. Directed by Gregory Mosher with a captivating intuition for the play's unerring emotional truth, the production is all about the zone of protection we attempt to draw around the people we love, and how easy it is to be trapped between the impulses of self-sacrifice and self-preservation. The audience is left teary and grieving for Tom's pain and Laura's heartache and Amanda's cluelessness. The Kennedy Center's production reaffirms "Menagerie" as Tennessee Williams's most moving and skillful play, one of the signal family dramas of the American theater.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE -- (At Olney Theatre Center through Sunday)
Purity is the subject of Shakespeare's play, in which a lax government gets back to the business of enforcing morality. The plot concerns a duke who turns over the reins to the dour and rigid Angelo; Angelo rules with an iron fist but finds himself going corrupt in the presence of a beautiful woman who begs for mercy for her convicted brother. The duke arranges his return in time to set things right. Chris Hayes's adaptation for the Potomac Theatre Project is too hysterically conspiracy-minded to win hearts and minds. Hayes cuts the play nearly in half and condenses it for six actors, but his efforts to convert the story into something wholly sinister don't quite work -- though if you want to see how much "Measure for Measure" can be made to resemble "The Manchurian Candidate," this may be the show for you.
PARALLEL LIVES: THE KATHY & MO SHOW -- (By Phoenix Theatre DC at Playbill Cafe through Saturday)
Versions of "The Kathy & Mo Show" have been kicking around since the early '80s, when co-creators Kathy Najimy and Mo Gaffney brought their brand of gently feminist sketch comedy to stages from San Diego to off-Broadway. Throughout the years, Najimy and Gaffney have tinkered with the content, with two of these incarnations becoming award-winning HBO specials in the '90s. This production is taken from the earlier special, which first aired in 1991. It doesn't seem all that long ago, but the material is unfortunately pretty stale. Misty Demory and Kimberley Cooper Kissoyan play Kathy, Mo and a few dozen other characters during 14 mostly unrelated skits. The gist of these short skits is that birth is painful, men have big egos and white people are bland. Despite the highly likable actresses' nearly flawless performances, "Parallel Lives" is bogged down by such unoriginality.
PERFECT PIE -- (At Olney Theatre Center through Sunday)
The best overall production of the Potomac Theatre Project, this lovely and affecting play is a class-conscious but generally apolitical work by Judith Thompson. It is provocative despite a plot that requires withholding the details of a terrible long-ago accident until the very end. Thirty years later, Patsy and Francesca (Mary Beth Wise and Helen Hedman) -- the two women involved in the disaster -- revive their complicated childhood friendship. And Thompson's beautiful, uncommonly vivid writing keeps you hanging on every word. The story is set in a small Canadian town. Francesca is the girl who left, becoming a successful actress. Patsy stayed behind to live the farm life. What's absorbing about the play is the depth and nuance of the relationship and how effortlessly it makes use of flashbacks and multiple casting, having three actors play each character. There's no intellectual agitprop here: "Perfect Pie" is one for the heart.
THE PRODUCERS -- (At the Kennedy Center Opera House through Aug. 22)
"The Producers," billed as "the new Mel Brooks musical," isn't so new anymore; it opened on Broadway to an explosion of huzzahs in the spring of 2001. Yet even if you're forced to wait around for the life of the party, isn't everything forgiven the minute he floats through the door? What, after all, is a year or three? "The Producers" is here at last in Washington, with its brass, cheek and boobs-in-brownshirts jokes riotously intact. Brooks's achievement -- and let's be real, though the credits list writers and directors and stuff, this musical screams "Brooks!" the way that ketchup bottle shouts "Heinz!" -- shows little of the corrosive wear and tear of life on the road. If you caught Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick in their celebrated run in New York, more power to you. But if your introduction to this sublime act of insanity is Lewis J. Stadlen and Alan Ruck as, respectively, libidinous Max Bialystock and dysfunctional Leo Bloom, know that you've been delivered into capable hands. "The Producers" satisfies in gratifying waves a craving for meaninglessness. And it's as close to a Broadway experience as you're likely to encounter this far south of Times Square. This is not a show you'd call subtle. The unexpurgated feel of "The Producers" is such a tonic for a society in which taking offense has become a national pastime. Brooks goosesteps where others fear to tiptoe. The show is based on his subversive 1968 movie of the same title about, well, you know, a leering, larcenous Broadway producer who dreams up a scheme to defraud investors and cash in by mounting the most tasteless musical of all time, "Springtime for Hitler." I guess it must be pointed out that Brooks and the libretto's co-author, Thomas Meehan, scandalously stereotype and/or ridicule every category on the census form, and then some: gay men, Irish cops, Jews, lesbians, Scandinavians, accountants, Russian dictators, Nazi sympathizers, lonely old ladies, prison inmates and FDR. If your sensibilities are bruised by intimations of octogenarian sex, or outrageous punning, or the Village People, your time might be better spent tatting a new doily for the harmonium. For everyone of lighter heart and brighter countenance, though, being subjected to Brooks's irrepressible essence is as close as musical comedy gets to spiritual fulfillment.
SHEAR MADNESS -- (At the Kennedy Center Theater Lab indefinitely)
This interactive murder mystery, set in a Georgetown beauty parlor, is not so much a whodunit as a how-they-dunit. How has a mechanical comedy featuring a gallery of obvious stereotypes and a bottomless barrel of bad jokes found success here for so many years? I was stunned, not by the sheer badness of it, but by the blandness. Why would one of the world's premier showcases for theater tie up one of its stages for so long with any play, let alone one so inconsequential?
THE WHO'S TOMMY -- (At Studio Theatre's Secondstage through Sunday)
The classic rock opera is 35 years old, and from the look of things, it's ready for early retirement. The atmosphere of Keith Alan Baker's constipated production is so stately you get the feeling the cast has come to lay Pete Townshend's music to rest, not to celebrate it. Thinly plotted and humorless, the play moves episodically through the kind of story that seems trite on a stage: After seeing his war hero-father kill his mother's lover in front of him, Tommy (Yuval Samburski) is struck deaf, mute and blind. The rock-musical requirement of a messianic element is fulfilled when Tommy becomes a pinball champ and attracts an adoring following. The familiar words and melodies waft through the theater pleasantly, care of the cast of engaging young vocalists Baker has assembled, especially Jeffrey L. Peterson. Still, they have a devil of a time trying to shake "Tommy" awake.