THE CLEAN HOUSE -- (At Woolly Mammoth Theatre through Sunday)
This is a delicate play for rough times. Promising young playwright Sarah Ruhl offers up a radical set of notions: that human beings are not inherently selfish, that people can ask for forgiveness and be granted it with grace, that we can live without telling lies to each other -- and even die laughing. The staging Ruhl's play receives, under the canny direction of Rebecca Bayla Taichman, accentuates her poetic worldview with few harmfully sugary detours. The production has been blessed, too, with a beguiling central performance by Guenia Lemos as Mathilde, a dreamy Brazilian woman in her mid-twenties who's hired as a maid -- albeit an inefficient one -- in the home of married doctors Lane (Naomi Jacobson) and Charles (Mitchell Hebert). Lane's sister Virginia (Sarah Marshall), a depressive clean-aholic, willingly takes up Mathilde's slack and secretly becomes her sister's housekeeper. If the evening begins with each character aswirl in his or her own eddy, by the end they've been drawn together in one irresistible vortex. For the best reasons, "The Clean House" leaves you wanting more.
-- Peter Marks
HAIRSPRAY -- (At the Kennedy Center through Aug. 21)
With an exuberant bubble-gum score and unvarnished optimism intact, the touring version of this eight-time Tony award-winning musical packs pleasure aplenty. In the story, the abuse heaped on Tracy, the plucky fat girl who wants to dance on a local "American Bandstand" TV show in the Baltimore of 1962, makes her a natural ally for the city's black kids, banned from performing on the program except on a designated day each month. The show is a fairy tale, a '60s idealist's vision of racial barriers coming down through pop music and dance crazes and kids like Tracy. However, a few unfunny things have happened on the way to the Kennedy Center. For one, there has been shameful cutting of corners, such as skimping on scenery. Also, this show lacks star wattage, most notably in mother-hen Edna Turnblad (John Pinette), the role originated by drag star Divine in John Waters's movie of the same name, and more recently played brilliantly by Harvey Fierstein on Broadway. In addition, several songs are hard to hear. Let's hope the show's difficulties are ironed out. Musicals with this much flavor demand to be fully savored.
THE INTELLIGENT DESIGN OF JENNY CHOW -- (At Studio Theatre through Sunday)
This delightfully inventive play by Rolin Jones -- directed by David Muse with a zesty affinity for the writer's eccentric sensibility -- arrives as a bona fide summer surprise. Jones packs a dizzying array of ideas and insights and gimmicks into two hours, yet the evening succeeds because he carries it all off in such ferociously entertaining style. Eunice Wong plays Jennifer, a deeply troubled, obsessive-compulsive 22-year-old genius who is fixated on finding her Chinese birth mother. Since she's petrified of leaving her house, she builds Jenny Chow (Mia Whang), a surrogate Jennifer devoid of dysfunction, to take the journey to China in her place. It's a lot of exposition, but thanks in part to Muse's imaginative staging and the six swell actors, it's not nearly as dense as it sounds. It helps, too, that Jones anchors all the whimsy in the touching evocation of Jennifer's despair and that Wong is able to balance so sensitively the arrogant and desperate facets of Jennifer's nature.
THE LION KING -- (At the Hippodrome Theatre, Baltimore, through Sept. 4)
Discerning adults may notice that the story in this wildly popular Disney show is thinly stretched over a production that runs nearly three hours and that the ballads Elton John and Tim Rice added for the stage are yawners. But these things hardly matter. What the musical has accomplished is the inspired tailoring of an animated film to the imaginative measurements of the stage. When it comes to kids' spectacles, few productions do it better. This touring production is a virtual photocopy of the Broadway original, and that largely is a good thing. Musically and visually, Africa is as flavorfully woven into the stage version as it was lacking in the movie. Entrancing images of flora and fauna abound, but they embroider a lumbering story that adults and even tweeners are likely to find slow going at times. Nevertheless, Taymor's lavish production demonstrates to children that theater can still perform its own indelible acts of magic.
THE PERSIANS -- (By Scena Theatre at Tivoli Theatre through Aug. 14)
In this retooling of Aeschylus's play, refugees in war-torn Iraq mourn their losses at the hands of overwhelming American forces, claiming that this is a war about oil, an assertion underscored by the thick, dark puddle and giant busted pipes in this poised production. Robert Auletta's adaptation of the ancient Greek drama -- the compassionate play Aeschylus wrote from the point of view of the Greeks' recently vanquished enemy -- has been converted to hot-blooded contemporary agitprop. Yet this adaptation flows with surprising ease; it is written, for the most part, with cool intelligence. Auletta effectively retains the stately rhythm and elevated language of Greek drama while smoothly updating the references. The politics, too, are more even-handed than you'd think. And director Robert McNamara's staging avoids pushiness and heavy tactics. The lead actors are terrific, finding the shape and passion in the play's marathon speeches. At its best this revived Greek drama conflates ancient and modern furies, and artfully controls them.
-- Nelson Pressley
THE ROYAL HUNT OF THE SUN -- (By Washington Shakespeare Company at Clark Street Warehouse through Aug. 28)
Peter Shaffer's 1964 epic about the conquest of Peru finds the Washington Shakespeare Company in vintage form. Shaffer's vision is Shakespearean in pitch and scale, with Spanish conquistadors and Inca warriors squaring off in a play that shakes its fist at God. Director Steven Scott Mazzola adroitly seizes each opportunity for pomp and pageantry, and the bigger the scenes, the better the staging. The original music by Mariano Vales, rich with mournful Peruvian flavor and sometimes sung by three women who form a kind of wandering chorus, adds to the sense of cinematic sweep. Conscience, religion and even political systems are all under scrutiny here. Pizarro claims Peru's dazzling riches for Spain and spearheads the advance of Christianity, but Shaffer imagines a conquistador who begins to question his own claims of moral superiority once he observes the Incas' peaceable agrarian society and enlightened sun king. The show may be a textbook case of overreaching, but it's hardly a foolish or embarrassing stretch. Under Mazzola's guidance the quest is always noble, and glory is nearly in sight.
SHEAR MADNESS -- (At the Kennedy Center Theater Lab indefinitely)
This interactive murder mystery, set in a Georgetown beauty parlor, is a mechanical comedy featuring a gallery of obvious stereotypes and a bottomless barrel of bad jokes. I was stunned, not by the sheer badness of it, but by the blandness.
TAKE ME OUT -- (At Studio Theatre through Sunday)
A lyrical valentine to the national pastime encased in the turbulent story of a gay superstar, this play has been staged to virtual perfection by a team that can be described only as, well, fabulous. Richard Greenberg's locker room comedy-drama is an impassioned portrait of the game, but it also tackles such issues as race-baiting, gender politics and friendship. Director Kirk Jackson's production features four smashing performances -- by Tug Coker, M.D. Walton, Jake Suffian and Rick Foucheux -- anchoring this exploration of the trials and terrors of male bonding. Much of the story revolves around the tale's hero, Darren Lemming (Walton), who is handsome and regal. He is also gay, which he announces to the media, throwing the team into turmoil. Torn between their ingrown biases and the pressure from society to be more tolerant, the players and manager are forced onto a treacherous playing field. Greenberg is pushing a lot of hot buttons, but what flames hottest is something that words ultimately fail: an irrational, unrequited love for a game.