Dateline>City of Angels

Yep, folks, I’m bilingual too. And while the paucity of postings since August 2 might indicate I’ve been vacationing along the Mexican Riviera, unfortunately that isn’t the case. (How I wish it were…)

The days surrounding the 15th of each month are always what I affectionately refer to as Hell Week. That’s when the trade publication I oversee as editor (aka, my Day Job) ships to press. Putting the magazine to bed pretty much sucks up all my attention, leaving me little time for getting out and about, let alone blogging. However, this last week I did manage to carve out enough time for two extracurricular pursuits.

First, Mary Bingham of the Tubac Villager, contacted me again about my continued obsession with the Curse of Rancho Los Feliz. She was researching the next installment in her series on the topic, this time concentrating on the ranch’s post-Feliz owners. Over the years, I’ve collected a mass of notes about owners from Antonio Coronel to Griffith J. Griffith, but had yet to sort them out.

Mary touched off another round of organizing, searching and sleuthing. I shared with her what I could. She took the leads and ran with them, hunting down a wealth of information and working it into a compelling, soon-to-be published narrative. To date, I don’t think any writer has done a better job identifying the later owners and their fates. I’ll certainly post the link here when it becomes available.

The week’s highlight, however, came Wednesday night at the Pasadena Playhouse, where I caught the final night of Can-Can’s world premier revival. First debuting on Broadway in 1953, this musical comedy by Cole Porter and Abe Burrows ran for 892 performances, but has rarely been reproduced since.

Up to now, there was good reason not to. Critics and Broadway historians agree almost universally that the original book was tragically incoherent, even by that day’s standards. But with the help of Joe Fields, writer David Lee (famous for Cheers and Frasier) has totally updated the script, giving it a passable plot, sympathetic characters and witty dialog. Saving all Porter’s original music, the duo “reset” the numbers like jewels into a new, completely polished crown. The result is the show Porter and Burrows should’ve written.

But that wasn’t the most impressive aspect of the evening. The performance delivered some of most thrilling stagecraft I’ve seen in a while. I’ve never really immersed myself in Porter’s hypnotic melodies, nor his insightful lyrics. This was the perfect baptism. The talent, costumes, choreography and orchestrations were all first-rate, and their arrangement on a confined stage was cleverly creative.

So why tell you about a show that’s gone (and now destined for New York)? Because my praise is more for the venue than the show itself. Lately, Pasadena’s tiny shoebox of a playhouse has been serving up some of the most satisfying theater experiences in the L.A. area. I’ll put its fare up against the “blockbusters” at the Pantages any day. (Wicked lives up to its name, and not in a good way.)

When my Hell Week is finally over, I’ll be headed back to the Playhouse to check out their other offerings — and possibly splurge on season tickets for 2008. If you haven’t been there lately, you should too.