‘Hot L Baltimore’ always entertaining

One of the sure signs that a play is working is when a production has two intermissions and both times you can't wait to get back inside to enjoy the company of the characters.

That was my reaction to Las Vegas Little Theatre's "The Hot L Baltimore," a warm, disturbing and always entertaining look at the residents and staff of a rundown residence.

Ron Lindblom's set for Lanford Wilson's 1973 script is a marvelous precursor. The hotel lobby looks, at first glance, pretty elegant: nice detailed paneling and wide marble staring. Closer observation reveals cracks in the plaster here and there, duct tape trying to hide damages over doors, and impressions on the walls that hint of better paintings hung and long ago lost. We see through a window part of a neon "Hotel" street sign. As the play begins, we hear the sounds of an electrical short, and the "e" in the sign disappears, explaining the show's title.

The residents we meet are mostly down-and-outs, full of nonsensical schemes to better themselves. Director Rob Kastil doesn't push the pathos. We feel as if we've been thrown into a room full of life. Despite the decadence, we like being here. We enjoy the conversations.

The cast is rich in effective performances. Among them: Lisa Illia, as an aging prostitute, who projects equal parts bitterness, humor and good will (the joy in her voice during the final scene makes you want to cheer); John Ivanoff, who, as a slow-moving elderly man with an animated temper, three-dimensionalizes a role that could easily be reduced to shtick; Mary O'Brien, as a persistent middle-aged conwoman who is determined to get her kicked-out degenerate son back into the hotel; and Mark Brunton, who is surprisingly moving as a hotel clerk who hides his deepening feelings for a local call girl.

There's a character or two (particularly the part of a young prostitute overplayed by the talented Katrina Larsen) that feel lifted from tired comedy sketches. And occasionally, Kastil succumbs to overstatement. But he's achieved the difficult task of turning Wilson's words into a world of recognizable people.

On the drive home, I couldn't let go of the play. The characters haunted me, as if they felt they had more about their lives they needed to share.

Anthony Del Valle can be reached at DelValle@aol.com. You can write him c/o Las Vegas Review-Journal, P.O. Box 70, Las Vegas, NV 89125.