Consolidated Works

Through Nov 23.Invaders from Earth, commissioned for the new mainstage at Consolidated Works, has all the right elements: maniacal spaceship pilots, aliens both murderous and gentle, vicious space Vikings in skimpy leather outfits, double identities, and twin realities, both of which occupy that chrome-plated, 1950s space-age fantasy future of busty babes and brave, sensible men with well-defined chins.

Unfortunately, the instantiated whole is far less than any one of its theoretical parts, not to mention the sum. That is to say, Invaders does not fulfill its promise. In fact, it stinks.

Believe me, I hate to say it. I wanted this play--an original piece of theater, in ConWorks' fantastic new building and its wonderfully cavernous theater--to be great, a bright new star on the horizon of performance. But it wasn't. And I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't say so.

Some of the blame belongs to the actors. Though leads and supporters alike have powerful moments, no single performance (with the possible exception of Seanjohn Walsh's mad-hatter pilot) sustains its energy throughout, leaving most scenes with a flat, metallic taste. Some of the blame lies with the electronics wing of Invaders' army. Despite well-used video effects, repetitive techno-glitches spoil whatever disbelief we may, even playfully, manage to suspend.

Most of the fault, however, lies within the script. Dawson Nichols' tone vacillates in a non-committal gray zone between playful irony and sincere (almost sappy) liberal morality play. It takes itself seriously, but not seriously enough; it occasionally winks at its own kitsch-factor (Invaders is, after all, adapted from sci-fi pulp novels), but not so much that we can laugh along with. Instead, we laugh at. And, sometimes, wince.

Sorry, folks. Better luck next time. BRENDAN KILEY

left-out

Velocity MainSpace Theater

Through Nov 2.For the uninitiated, contemporary dance can be baffling; "interpretive dance" is still cultural shorthand for something so far removed from our daily sensibilities, it is undecipherable and ridiculous. Abstract and highly aesthetic without any specific referents to hold on to, dance can be a difficult text to read, alienating and without apparent useful entry points. Like jazz and non-representational painting, dance often requires (and produces) a cadre of trained, specialized readers to make good sense of its rarefied codes.

But there is more to art's essential fun than deciphering a code. Bumbling dance greenhorns (like me) can still enjoy abstract movement performances, even in the depths of our ignorance. Now playing at Oddfellow's Hall, left-out is an excellent starting point--not least because it peppers movement bits with monologues, video footage, and live music by Zeke Keeble and local funk guru Reggie Watts.

Rather than reading dance with the meticulous front-to-back exactitude of an engineer or philosopher, one can treat it like flipping through a SkyMall catalog. The mind meanders where it will, stopping here to reflect on a gestural motif, lingering there to enjoy a fancy flourish. The whole thing serves as highly aestheticized meditation. One can engage in mental dialogue with the experience, drifting along different tracks of thought while watching the performance unfold.

This is a roundabout way of saying that, as far as this particular philistine is concerned, left-out does its job admirably. The ambiguously (and aptly) self-described "musicdance piece" is mesmerizing, meditative, and cohesive--disparate segments and solos are held together by thematic gestures, play with mirrors, and a distinct infusion of minimalism. Use of slowness, silence, stillness, and empty space gives the piece a particularly meditative tone.

Is left-out technically excellent? Innovative or tradition-bound? Would it satisfy the connoisseur? I couldn't begin to tell you. But for the neophyte, it's a beautiful, hypnotic pleasure. BRENDAN KILEY

The Knee Desires the Dirt

Mirror Stage Company at Richard Hugo House

Through Nov 10.What's really exciting is that, after the lamentable demise of the Group Theater and the Bathhouse, Mirror Stage is bringing a new midsize professional theater to town. It's also exciting that Mirror Stage is committed to doing new work; each of the three shows in its first season is either a West Coast or Northwest premiere. What's not so exciting is the first play Mirror Stage has mounted: the 1999 PEN Center award-winner The Knee Desires the Dirt by Julie Hébert.

This mother-daughter story has some gorgeous bits of writing in it--in particular some of Christine's monologues--but there is too much going on to make sense of the whole. Christine (Peggy Gannon) is a woman caught between caring for her feisty mother, Althea (Paula Nelson), who is dying of cancer, and her rebellious 13-year-old daughter, Denise (Joy McCullough-Carranza), who has just lost her virginity. Christine is also mourning her dead husband, Xavier (Jeremy Young), who keeps coming back to visit her even as she is trying to deal with the muddling advances of her loser boyfriend, Jerry (David A. Lewis), who ends up sleeping with another woman. Also, early in the play, Christine, a science teacher prone to poetic rhapsodies about life, trees, and reproduction, loses her job. So here's a story with two intense mother-daughter relationships, sex, death, cancer, job loss, rotten romance, and ghostly visitation. There's also a lot of Cajun music (though I didn't get a sense of anyone's Cajun-ness except for some of Xavier/Young's awkward pronunciations) and a weird exchange of body parts between the living and the dead. Unfortunately, the rich, philosophical monologues are not enough to hold together the different elements of this overly busy script. REBECCA BROWN