David Beaird

American dramatist David Beaird is the talk of the town here-- all because of a play he insists was rejected by every major theater in America. His semi-autobiographical "900 Oneonta" (the title refers to the street address of a rambling family mansion in Louisiana) opened at the Old Vic July 18 to a chorus of praise from Britain's normally skeptical theater critics.

American dramatist David Beaird is the talk of the town here-- all because of a play he insists was rejected by every major theater in America. His semi-autobiographical "900 Oneonta" (the title refers to the street address of a rambling family mansion in Louisiana) opened at the Old Vic July 18 to a chorus of praise from Britain's normally skeptical theater critics.

Emily Lloyd is a "scorcher," blazing with righteous anger. Clad only in a white slip, she shakes her finger in imitation of actor Leland Crooke, playing her father, before turning around to shake her bottom at him. "That's great," shouts "Scorchers" director David Beaird as she sashays across the boardinghouse bedroom set. "The script only calls for one wiggle and you put in about five. I love it."

Emily Lloyd is a "scorcher," blazing with righteous anger. Clad only in a white slip, she shakes her finger in imitation of actor Leland Crooke, playing her father, before turning around to shake her bottom at him. "That's great," shouts "Scorchers" director David Beaird as she sashays across the boardinghouse bedroom set. "The script only calls for one wiggle and you put in about five. I love it."

"It Takes Two" (which opened Wednesday at selected theaters) is a modestly budgeted comedy with no real stars and a frowzy plot that suggests high-concept brainstorming: A gullible Texas farm boy has a series of demented fish-out-of-water misadventures in Dallas, while his fuming fiancee waits at the wedding. A lot of the jokes are the same stale japes you get in one dumb teen-sex comedy after another.

Several weeks ago, writer-director David Beaird excitedly invited his 13-year-old nephew to see "Uncle David's movie." Christopher Carson was equally gleeful, proclaiming to all who would listen that he would be the first kid on his Houston block to see the raunchy "Party Animal," about a nerd who gets his comeuppance for treating women like sex objects. But Christopher's mom had other ideas.

Even if you find yourself hating David Beaird's deep-fried Southern Gothic "900 Oneonta," now in a paradoxically excellent production at the Odyssey Theatre Ensemble, it's not hard to see why it enjoyed an encouraging critical reception--as well as a best new play Olivier Award nomination--in its 1994 London premiere. The English love to see their worst nightmares of American greed and squalor confirmed. And in fact, who doesn't relish that spectator sport?

"Pass the Ammo" (citywide)--is a grotesque, cartoonish satire on big time TV religious programs. The movie takes some well-earned swipes at the commercialism of fundamentalism, the hypocrisy of some of society's self-appointed moral guardians and the staggering credulity of the well-meaning faithful who keep the TV preachers swimming in dough. And though, overall, the film is very inconsistent, its best moments have a crazy, liberating energy that keeps you wishing it were better.

"Everybody's saying, 'Did you guys engineer all this--or what?' There's no doubt about it. We've got the perfect publicity tie-in." With that, a spokesman for New Century/Vista distribution company laughed and added, "Thank God!" "Pass the Ammo," a feature film that satirizes religion and television--and TV evangelists--does seem timely in light of the current scandal involving TV preacher Jimmy Swaggart.

"It Takes Two" (which opened Wednesday at selected theaters) is a modestly budgeted comedy with no real stars and a frowzy plot that suggests high-concept brainstorming: A gullible Texas farm boy has a series of demented fish-out-of-water misadventures in Dallas, while his fuming fiancee waits at the wedding. A lot of the jokes are the same stale japes you get in one dumb teen-sex comedy after another.

Several weeks ago, writer-director David Beaird excitedly invited his 13-year-old nephew to see "Uncle David's movie." Christopher Carson was equally gleeful, proclaiming to all who would listen that he would be the first kid on his Houston block to see the raunchy "Party Animal," about a nerd who gets his comeuppance for treating women like sex objects. But Christopher's mom had other ideas.

"My Chauffeur" (citywide) is a rambunctious little comedy that tries to mix the goofy savoir-faire of the '30s Hollywood screwballers with the brash, bare-skinned, four-letter glitz of the '80s sex farce. It's about a slightly flaky Angeleno, Casey Meadows, who--through an unseen benefactor's machinations--becomes the only female limousine driver in the staid Brentwood Limousine agency: a company with a fleet of Rolls- Royces and a staff of surly male chauvinists.

One good thing about "Fine Line": You can arrive early, the show can start late, and when it's over, your car's engine will still be warm. At 22 minutes, this one-act play by Janice Van Horne is hardly a full evening of theater. What, then, to make of this production at the Whitefire Theatre in Sherman Oaks? That it is a showcase for its two young, blond actresses? Most likely.