‘Hard Times’ at Angels; ‘Living Room’ at Coronet; ‘Sick Puppies’ at 6470; ‘Over Jordan’ at Friends, Artists

Studs Terkel’s 1970 oral history of the Depression, “Hard Times,” has become an evocative theatrical scrapbook at Company of Angels.

It’s a Friday-night companion piece to the company’s acclaimed staging of “Waiting for Lefty,” the 1935 rabble-rouser by Clifford Odets. First, “Lefty” fires up the audience; then “Hard Times” offers a wider context in which to understand the era that produced the likes of “Lefty.”

While “Lefty” generates more heat than light, “Hard Times” does the opposite. It’s a thoughtful piece, in contrast with the feverish bombast of its predecessor. Together, the plays throw a formidable one-two punch at anyone who’s ignorant of the past--or complacent about the future.

In “Hard Times,” six actors speak the words of 26 of the people Terkel interviewed. The monologues are brief; the entire production doesn’t last much longer than an hour. But Nanci Feldman’s adaptation covers a lot of territory, from a young Pauline Kael remembering her college days at Berkeley, to hobos and the people who took them in, to farmers who faced foreclosure, to government officials who tried to cope with the crisis.

The words are generally plain, but most of the reminiscences are rich in visual imagery and anecdotal value. The individuals are not identified as they speak; though their names are listed in the program, we don’t know who said what unless we go to the book itself--a step that many in the audience may feel inspired to take.

The monologues have been woven together by director Nancy Oehlschlaeger with the right amount of often lyrical movement. The actors troop on stage as if in a bread line; later we see them jumping onto freight cars and wistfully waving goodby to adventurers who are going abroad. A chair becomes the campfire that drifters warm their hands around.

It’s too bad that the cast is all-white; Terkel’s book wasn’t. But each of the actors creates a variety of people, using different accents and simple off-the-rack costume changes to draw the differences among them. The cast includes Feldman, Linda M. Grinstead, Ruth M. Harrison, Howard S. Miller, Scott N. Stevens and David Willis.

At 2106 Hyperion Ave., Fridays at 9:45 p.m. (following “Waiting for Lefty,” which starts at 8), indefinitely. Tickets: $5 (or $3 if purchased with $10 “Lefty” tickets); (213) 665-8989.

‘The Living Room’

Producer Shelly Garrett is attempting to repeat the box-office success of his “Beauty Shop” with another raucous comedy aimed at black audiences: “The Living Room,” at the Coronet. Unlike “Beauty Shop,” this one wasn’t written by Garrett; the writing and direction are credited to Charles Michael Moore.

“Does a play have to make sense all the way through as long as people are entertained?” Garrett asked in a recent Times interview. Well, “The Living Room” doesn’t make much sense. It doesn’t have an ending, for example, relying instead on the laugh from the final cheap sight gag to distract audiences from thinking very much about the non-ending.

Although Moore’s script flirts early on with such subjects as joblessness, immigrant ownership of businesses in black neighborhoods and domestic violence, serious thoughts are quickly banished in favor of conventional gags about philanderers, an overweight housewife cutting loose, an upwardly mobile black woman putting on airs, a flamboyantly gay male secretary who has to baby-sit his boss’s screaming child.

The pivotal character is a mechanic (Lewis Dix Jr.), who returns to his depressed Michigan home town and finds himself torn between wooing his married boss (Bern Nadette Stanis) and returning to his ex, a snooty attorney (Lee Ellen Harrington). But the focus on the mechanic isn’t very intense--this is a loose, free-wheeling script.

Critics (many of them black) who found the early black sitcoms to be shallow and stereotyped won’t consider “The Living Room” to be much of an improvement, but it is an undeniably effective laugh machine for its target audience.

At 366 N. La Cienega Blvd., tonight and Saturday at 8 p.m., Sunday at 3 and 7:30 p.m. Tickets: $22-$25; (213) 659-2400.

‘Sick Puppies’

Theatre 6470 is presenting three brief one-acts under the title “Sick Puppies” and the subtitle “characters in search of the cold, wet nose.” The evening is preceded and tied together by videos, a cartoon and rudimentary sketches about the close relationships between people and their dogs. Directed by Jim Holmes, it doesn’t add up to a big deal, but it is a stylish dash of droll and rueful humor.

Jerome Kass’ “Make Like a Dog” depicts a bored, childless couple who turn to dog-and-master games in search of a little excitement. Not surprisingly, they get more than they bargained for. Jonny Solomon and Jane Voigts play the couple as nebbishes with an edge.

Voigts takes the stage alone in Jordan Crittenden’s “Thursday Is My Day for Cleaning.” It’s mad-housewife time, with a surreal undertone. Voigts is a bundle of neurotic energy. Nick Flynn designed the slightly askew set.

The set for “The Age of Pie,” a parody of self-help groups, is too far back on the stage to make us feel as if we, too, are about to become victims of the psychological fascism that is the target of Peter Hedges’ script. “Pie” has a few good ideas, but it’s no more trenchant than a Groundlings sketch.

At 6470 Santa Monica Blvd., Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., until Sept. 9. Tickets: $10; (213) 466-1767.

‘Over Jordan’

The Friends and Artists Theatre Ensemble, known for its revivals, has finally tackled a new, full-length play, Mark McNease’s “Over Jordan.” Actually this one seems longer, if not fuller, than full-length. It’s an interminable talkathon, overwrought yet underdramatized.

Most of the characters are rubes who have paid $500 to witness the appearance of an alien who speaks through a kindly, maternal channeler; they hope the spirit will deliver them from their earthly trials. After sitting through half an hour or so of McNease’s excruciating dialogue, one can begin to identify with their yearning for an escape. But it was a long time coming.

Bob Delegall directed on a nicely detailed set by Robert W. Zentis.

At 1761 N. Vermont Ave., Fridays through Sundays at 8 p.m., through Oct. 15. Tickets: $12.50; (213) 466-1767.

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