‘Our Man in Nirvana’ at Theatre/Theater; ‘He Laughed’ at Groundlings; ‘Widowers’ Houses’ at Actors’ Alley; ‘Svoboda’ at Crossley; ‘As Is’ at Rose

“Our Man in Nirvana” is not a parody of “Our Man in Havana,” but author/actor Jackson Hughes’ trance-channeling chameleon at Theatre/Theater is reminiscent of the early comic inventiveness of Alec Guinness and Ernie Kovacs (who co-starred in the spoofy 1960 “Havana” movie).

Hughes’ repressed German microbiologist Hans-Georg is a visiting lecturer famous for his discovery that bacteria grows on the cheese of his hometown, Limburg, Germany. During a panel demonstration at UCLA, he falls into a trance, re-emerging as a series of flamboyant spirits who include a Puerto Rican fashion designer who envisions world peace through good fashion sense.

Losing all vestiges of his proper Nordic persona and his uncanny guttural accent, Hughes’ character is mercurially trance-channeled into a porno superstar named Butch Street, a Polish Jewish/French Catholic ballerina, a surfer named Bud Beach, the blueblooded Wedgwood Catheter and, among others, plain Bob, who is pure consciousness. (He’s never had a body.)

Hughes’ late night solo performance, directed by Randy Brenner and expressively lit by Marianne Schneller, is startling for its facial and vocal transformations and transcendental theatricality. Here’s an actor and writer to watch.

At 1713 N. Cahuenga Blvd., Fridays and Saturdays, 10:30 p.m., through May 13. Tickets: $10. (213) 466-1767.

‘On Sunday He Laughed’

The Groundlings are a comedy institution in L.A. The quality of the material fluctuates, but the company’s infectious energy never flags. One reason is the resources of its newer members, the Sunday Groundlings, whose current show is considerably more fun than its dumb title, “And on Sunday, He Laughed,” would suggest.

Nineteen scripted skits, plus three improvs, briskly fill the two-act, two-hour production, nimbly directed by Mindy Sterling and rousingly buttressed by musicians Willie Etra and Steve Clark.

The strongest number is “Amazinks!!!,” in which black-wigged guys in pink tights with stupid grins tumble around the stage like rejects from a Vegas circus act. What’s amazing is the deceptive acrobatic skill of the quartet (Ty Harman, Bob Beuth, Patrick Bristow and Mike Castagnola). Years ago, aquacades used to feature a clown in a ‘20s bathing suit tripping and belly-flopping off the high board like some flamingo bird shot down in mid-flight when, in reality, the performer had to be a gifted diver to pull it off. “Amazinks!!!” is that kind of number.

Another favorite is “Hurlyburly.” A half dozen upscale types are seated together watching the recent play in Westwood. As luck would have it, Sean Penn is indisposed that night. One of the group (Lisa Kudrow) drives everyone bananas with her chatter.

“Screen Door” is a knockout. A rednecked, nosy couple (a mindless Heather Morgan and beer-bellied Beuth) stand behind a screen door egregiously trying to get the attention of new neighbors who never answer them.

There are misses too, but these actors, who also wrote the skits, are a well-crafted Sunday bunch.

At 7307 Melrose Ave., Sundays, 7:30 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $12. (213) 934-9700.

‘Widowers’ Houses’

The new artistic director of the Actors Alley Repertory Theatre, Jeremiah Morris, has chosen a curiosity to kick off his reign: George Bernard Shaw’s first and seldom-produced play, “Widowers’ Houses” (1892).

Morris’ direction, the production’s design and the acting enjoy a nice period style. But Shaw’s first act is aimless, barely touching on his theme of the evils of gouging slum landlords, and only the second of the three acts has dramatic momentum.

There’s a palpable letdown in the heavily expository third act. Dual intermissions don’t help. Let’s face it, one break is plenty, even with most classics (which this is not).

Tony Rizzoli’s dandified peacock is a splendidly perfumed caricature. Stefan Gierasch’s scruffy rent collector is a textured, gritty portrait. And Peter Colley’s disingenuous swain, Richard Kuss’ hardheaded slum lord and Carol Keis’ elegant, strong-willed daughter are all flavorful.

Gary L. Wissman’s set and lighting design and Paul Jan Paul’s costumes reflect Edwardian times. Shavians and those sensitive to poverty today will relish the pungent dialogue in the second act, timely as ever. Others must be beguiled by style.

At 4334 Van Nuys Blvd., Thursdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., 2 p.m. on (Sundays) May 7 and 28. Tickets: $13. (818) 986-2278.

‘Svoboda’

Toward the end of “Svoboda,” which dramatizes political persecutions in Russia, a jailed poet finally, briefly touches on the hope of glasnost and says plaintively: “We will see.”

The rest of playwright Gabriel Paul’s docudrama is a grueling litany of human rights abuse cases, “inspired,” a program note tells us, “by the real Christian men and women in Russia who were sent to labor camps as recently as 1987.”

It is the play’s focus on Christian victims that is troublesome. Staged by John Elerick at the Crossley Theatre by the Actor’s Co-op, which is an outreach of the First Presbyterian Church in Hollywood, the production signals a circumscribed spiritual advocacy that doesn’t bode well for a theater company, however talented and sincere the actors (who all play multiple roles) may be.

One actress in the 10-member cast is indeed inspiring, the vivid Vaughn Taylor as the real-life writer Irina Ratushinskaya, quoted above. But the production lacks arc and momentum. Despite an ambitious, interweaving structure and some painfully felt episodes, the drama squanders its power through labored repetition.

One hopes this troupe will move on to ecumenical concerns and let its spirit flower less overtly.

At 1760 N. Gower St. (use the courtyard entrance), Fridays at 8 p.m., Saturdays at 2:30 p.m. and 8 p.m., Sundays at 2:30 p.m., through April 30. Suggested donation: $8. (213) 463-7161, ext. 83.

‘As Is’

One of the early, most important plays about AIDS, “As Is” does not stand the test of time (which in this case, is only four years).

In 1985, when the play opened in New York, it didn’t matter if the characters were basically uninteresting. Playwright William Hoffman’s play about a dying gay man returning to his abandoned lover included so much medical and social information about gay life in the AIDS era that the play shocked. That is no longer true. There’s nothing heartless about this situation. That’s just the way it is.

The production at the Rose Theatre, under the direction of Leah Cooper, negotiates the kaleidoscope of shifting scenes and draws strong performances from some of the eight actors, particularly hospice worker Layce Gardner, whose direct opening and closing addresses to the audience have a luminous quality.

As the lovers, Victor Orosco and Michael Gaffney are credible enough, but the ailing Orosco’s deathbed dialogue shouldn’t be so realistic that he’s inaudible.

Overall, the production is murky, too darkly lit in the bar scenes, and labored. Politically, the play has unquestioned value, but dramatically, its day is gone.

At 318 Lincoln Blvd., Venice, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 3 p.m., through May 21. Tickets: $15. (213) 392-6963.