Certain roles by certain actors are so indelibly etched in the minds of theatergoers that they simply cannot be done by anyone else. Gregory Peck as Atticus in "To Kill a Mockingbird" comes to mind, and Jack Nicholson as R.P. McMurphy in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest" and, perhaps the most iconic of them all, Julie Andrews as Maria in "The Sound of Music."

And yet, 10 minutes into "The Sound of Music" at Lakewood Playhouse I forgot all about Julie Andrews. Adrienne Grieco is Maria. Seldom if ever have I seen an actor in a community theater so completely become a character.

Her voice is sweet and pure, her look wholesome and her emotions unabashedly right on the surface. Her expressions of pain and joy and her love for the von Trapp children go right to the heart. In the oh-so-popular film version, the sentimentality is sickeningly overdone, yet there is no taste of that false sentimentality in Grieco’s performance.

The same can be said for the actors who play the younger von Trapp children: Kat Christensen as Louisa, Anna Rose LeMaster as Brigitta, Justin Niedermeyer as Kurt, Hannah Thoreson as Marta and Claire Thoreson as Gretl. It is a joy to see their distrust of the new governess begin to melt away as Maria teaches them the delightful song "Do Re Me" and then turn to pure adoration as she sings "My Favorite Things" while the children huddle in her bed for protection from the scary thunder and lightning of a storm.

Christopher Gilbert as the crusty Capt. Georg von Trapp is stiff and unbending at first. Unlike Grieco and the children, he seems to be acting more than inhabiting the role – until he, like the children, melts under the warmth of Maria’s love. By the second act, the audience is as much in love with him as they are with Maria and the children. And his voice, though not as strong as Grieco’s, is mellow, warm and especially engaging on his duet with Grieco on "Something Good" and his solo on the touching "Edelweiss."

Other performers who are outstanding are Carol Richmond, who plays housekeeper Frau Schmidt and doubles as one of the nuns; Marie Kelly (a terrific singer) as Capt. von Trapp’s fiancée, Elsa; and Ted Fredericks as Uncle Max Detweiler. (If there is such a thing as comic relief in this show, it is provided by Fredericks, who plays Uncle Max as a pompous rooster but ceases to be funny when he begins to cave in to the Nazi invaders.)

Lakewood Playhouse does all of their shows in the round, which means that set changes in a show like this are a huge challenge. But director Scott Campbell and set designer Doug Kerr solve it with simple pieces that are quickly moved by actors as they enter and exit the stage area.

Special recognition must also go to the band: Larry Trop, keyboard and conductor; Hanna Jepson, keyboard; and Jack Lake, percussion.

I saw a preview performance, meaning it was the first performance with full set and lighting in front of a live audience. There were one or two entrances that were too slow, and the nuns singing "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" were somewhat tentative. But these slight problems were insignificant and fixable.

I wish it could have ended with the von Trapp family exiting the stage while singing the "So Long, Farewell" reprise. Everything after that – including the scene with Liesl’s boyfriend turned Nazi, Rolf (Steve Barnett) – was anticlimactic. But contrived as that scene is, it is necessary to the story, and a lot of people would probably be disappointed if it were left out.

For all its sentimentality and familiarity, this show is wonderful to watch. And as Lakewood Playhouse artistic director Marcus Walker warned in his welcoming remarks, it is hard to resist the temptation to sing along out loud.

Louis Sachar’s novel "Holes" earned an impressive number of prestigious awards when it was first published in 1998, including the Newbery Medal, the National Book Award and Book of the Year by Publishers Weekly. But somehow between the novel, the Disney movie and the play (also written by Sachar), something seems to have been lost.

As seen at Lakewood Playhouse, the stage version has elements of allegory, myth, folk tale and morality play. Tying together the various back stories requires so much necessary exposition that character development gets shortchanged. Other than the two principal teenage characters – Stanley Yelnats IV (Henry Walker) and Zero (Joseph Allegro), most of the main characters come across as one-dimensional cardboard cutouts.

Scott C. Brown, easily one of the best dramatic actors working in the South Sound region, plays the duel roles of Mr. Sir and the sheriff, both of whom are nasty caricatures of every bad lawman in every bad Western (or Southern) movie ever made. He’s like the warden in "Cool Hand Luke" without any imagination. And Christie Flynn, who shows sparks of real dramatic flair in her role as the warden, is like Annie Oakley minus her charm and humor. These fine actors are wasted in these roles.

There is an ensemble cast of teenage boys who are equally one-dimensional, and some of them do an admirable job of acting despite having little to work with. Most notable among them are Alex Domine as Armpit and Lex Gernon as Zig Zag. Domine reeks of attitude with his smirks and lumbering gestures, and Gernon has an outrageous laugh that I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying.

The cascade of flat characters is relieved when Jeff Brown as Sam and Ronee Collins as Kissing Kate take the stage. Sam and Kissing Kate are characters in a flashback story that parallels and sets the stage for the main story. Their story is set in the late 1800s. Sam is an onion farmer whose onions have miraculous curative properties, and Kate is a sweet schoolmarm who falls in love with him. But he is black, and she is white, and interracial romance was not tolerated then. The racial injustice inflicted on them sets sweet Kate on the path to become the infamous outlaw Kissing Kate. (How this story relates to the story of Stanley Yelnats becomes clear at the end of the play.)

The only other well-rounded characters are Stanley and Zero, and Walker and Allegro play these characters with sympathy. They are both completely believable.

Stanley is falsely accused of stealing when sneakers belonging to legendary sports figure Clyde "Sweetfeet" Livingston fall on him from a freeway overpass. Stanley hardly puts up a fight in court because he thinks he’s doomed to bad luck, which he blames on a family curse brought about by his "no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather."

Stanley is sent to Camp Greenlake, a desert detention camp for juvenile offenders where each of the boys is forced to dig a 5-by-5-foot hole in the desert every day. The other boys in the camp are mostly bullies, with Armpit being the leader and Zero being the butt of most of their bullying. Stanley befriends Zero, who is illiterate, and teaches him to read and write. In return, Zero relieves Stanley of a good portion of his hole-digging chore.

Eventually, Zero runs away from the camp and almost dies in the desert until Stanley saves him – which is where the miraculous onions re-enter the story.

Lighting and set designer Scott Campbell designs the perfect set for this show: two large holes in risers upstage left and right and five symbolic holes created by spotlights on the main stage area. Campbell is a master of minimalism, and an abstract and minimalist set is just what’s needed to both create the bleak atmosphere of a desert camp and eliminate set changes that would have been too distracting.

"Holes" is a good story for a young adult audience, but I don’t think it translates well to the stage.

You might remember the Academy Award-winning movie "Amadeus," starring Tom Hulce as the giggling man-boy Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and F. Murray Abraham as the dark and conflicted Antonio Salieri. Most memorable in the movie was Mozart’s amazing laugh – a high-pitched and explosive screech – and his virtuoso piano playing.

In the production at Lakewood Playhouse, which stars Scott C. Brown as Salieri and Bryan Bender as Mozart, that hyena laugh is still in evidence, but the music takes a back seat to the drama, and Salieri’s role looms much larger.

An exquisitely stylized artifice – which is how Salieri describes a Mozart opera – the play is more abstract than the movie and more visceral.

The stage is set by the two Venticelli (Jamie Pederson and Darrel Shephard). Described by playwright Peter Shaffer as "purveyors of fact, rumor and gossip," the Venticelli are silly, fey, powdered and bewigged young men who prance about and tell the audience (and Salieri) what is going on. They are Salieri’s paid spies and also serve as a Greek chorus. They announce that Salieri claims to have killed Mozart, but that nobody believes him. And then Salieri is wheeled on stage in a wheelchair, and he begins to plead his case to the audience as if addressing a jury. From this point on, Salieri becomes – like the God he mocks and cajoles throughout the play – a trinity: a bitter and dying old man; the actor in his own story; and the narrator who harangues God and explains to the audience what is going on.

This is a highly demanding role, and Brown proves more than adequate to the challenge.

Early on, Salieri bargains with God to make him a great and famous composer. Success follows soon after, convincing him that God has accepted his bargain. But then God brings a rival to Vienna, the young genius Mozart, who is much greater than Salieri; Salieri then believes God has betrayed him.

He vows to destroy God by destroying his creature, Mozart. And in order to destroy Mozart, he must become his mentor and benefactor. He pretends to guide Mozart’s career while actually seeing to it that he is penniless and that his marvelous music never gets the audience it deserves.

Bender’s Mozart is just as silly and childishly insane as the memorable Tom Hulce character in the movie. He looks and acts a lot like the great comic actor Crispin Glover, and he plays Mozart as a sex-obsessed and potty-mouthed overgrown child. During the course of the play, he goes from a fun-loving child secure in his awareness of his own genius to a desperate and destitute man falling apart from the inside out and completely at the mercy of his destroyer, Salieri.

Despite a highly complex plot, the play is engaging and easy to follow. It is beautifully directed by Scott Campbell. Dramatic lighting by Ali Criss and a classic set designed by Erin Chanfrau enhance the drama. The acting is superb. Both Bender and Brown stand out in their complex roles. Lauren Wood does a commendable job as Mozart’s wife, Constanze, and Pederson and Shephard are hilarious as the Venticelli.

The music is recorded. The gilded piano has no keyboard. But music is important to both the mood of the play and the progression of the plot. Some of the most inspiring moments come when Salieri describes Mozart’s music as the music plays in the background. The more he hates Mozart, the more he loves his music. It is, to him, God’s voice on Earth. And Brown conveys this rapture convincingly.

Even though some of Salieri’s monologues and harangues are overly drawn out and the play is awfully long, "Amadeus" is easily among the top five plays I have seen since beginning this column four years ago. It is a roller-coaster ride between peaks of hilarity and depths of despair. Mozart’s language, while appropriate to the character, may be offensive to some audience members.

"Seussical," the musical at Lakewood Playhouse, is endearing holiday entertainment for all the family. It’s high-energy and loaded with great music and outstanding acting. Many of the characters – most notably Horton the elephant (Marcus Walker) – will really touch your heart.

Yet somehow the story fails to fully engage. There’s something lacking in the script by Lynn Ahrens, and it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what. Ahrens wove together characters, settings and plotlines from 17 different Dr. Seuss stories. She created a single, complex and coherent story that is touching in parts and funny in parts, but the whole never quite equals the sum of those parts. That, I suspect, is why the Broadway show was never as successful as expected. It closed after 34 previews and 198 performances, a short run by Broadway standards.

The main story line combines the books "Horton Hears a Who" and "Horton Hatches an Egg," with bits from "If I Ran the Circus," "Oh, the Places You’ll Go" and other Seuss classics.

The Cat in the Hat (Karen Christensen) narrates the story and periodically steps out of her narrator role and into the meat of the action to stir things up.

Horton the elephant hears a sound coming from a speck of dust and decides there must be tiny people there. He picks up the speck of dust and places it on a clover, and decides to guard it. All the other animals, led by the Sour Kangaroo (Cynthia Bettes), make fun of him, but Horton is determined to protect the people of Whoville. He expresses his determination throughout the play with the repeated refrain, "A person’s a person no matter how small."

Horton’s neighbor Gertrude McFuzz (Stephanie Nace) is a bird with a pitifully inadequate tail. Gertrude falls in love with Horton but fears he will never notice her because her tail consists of merely one "droopy-droop feather." So she goes to a doctor (the Cat in the Hat stepping momentarily out of her narrator role) and gets a pill to make her tail feather grow. She wants a tail big enough to make Horton see her, so she takes more and more pills. It works too well. She sprouts a marvelous tail that is so long she can no longer fly. (Kudos to costume designer Frances Rankos for the ever-growing tail.)

Speaking of tails, another bird, Mayzie La Bird (Elizabeth Richmond), has a glorious tail, but she is deliciously self-serving and haughty. Mayzie convinces the gullible Horton to sit on her egg while she goes off on vacation. So, while Mayzie languishes on the beach, Horton dutifully sits on her egg month after month.

Eventually Horton hatches the egg, Gertrude gets a normal tail back, Horton saves the Whos, and Jojo (Peter Gernon), the Who boy who had been chastised for thinking too much, is honored for being a "thinker non-stop."

Walker is outstanding as the long-suffering, put-upon, kind-hearted and determined Horton. Nace’s acting chops as Gertrude are comically absurd. Gernon is a lovable Jojo, and his singing is beautiful. Outstanding musical numbers include "Biggest Blame Fool," a rocking number with a soulful solo by Bettes; the saucy and rhythmical "The One Feather of Gertrude" and "Amayzing Mayzie/Amayzing Gertrude" with Nace and Richmond. Soloman Sanders, Dan Crossman and Reuben Walker display amazing rhythm and athleticism in their roles as the Wickersham brothers, a trio of wild and crazy monkeys.

The staging and choreography are marvelous, and Scott Campbell’s set really brings the world of Dr. Seuss alive. This is a refreshing alternative to seeing another "Christmas Carol" or "Charlie Brown Christmas."

Thornton Wilder's "Our Town" is among the dozen or so best plays ever written, and it's as relevant in 2006 as it was in 1938 when it won the Pulitzer Prize.

Most people today have probably seen it performed by one r another regional theater, and many can recall the made-for-TV version starring Hal Holbrook. Some may even remember a 1950s musical version starring Frank Sinatra. (Thankfully I never had to sit through that desecration of a masterpiece, but I do remember the sappy song that came out of it - "Love and Marriage.") No matter where you may have seen it, I'd be willing to bet you've never seen anyone do it any better than Lakewood Playhouse. Their production - directed by Doug Kerr and starring Scott Campbell as the Stage Manager - is true to Wilder's vision of how the play should be done.

It is performed with minimal sets and lighting, most actions pantomimed, and all of the characters - right down to the town drunk - are played with quiet dignity.

The small black-box theater has been converted to contain what may be called a modified proscenium stage with a deep apron, or thrust stage, and seating on three sides. The back wall is brick. Warm and unobtrusive lighting creates a feeling of intimacy. Two ladders lean against the wall. The ladders stand in for upstairs bedroom windows through which the neighbors, young lovers George and Emily, talk to each other. The only other set pieces are two small tables, some chairs and a trellis gate.

Throughout the play, the Stage Manager teases the audience by erecting and then breaking through the metaphorical fourth wall - the wall that separates the audience from the actors and play from reality. The Stage Manager tells the audience in the opening scene that they are about to witness a play about the town of Grover's Corners, N.H. He acknowledges the playwright and the director, and then invites a local historian, Professor Willard (Rolly Opsahl), and the editor of the local newspaper, Mr. Webb (Randy Clark), to tell the audience a little about local history. Mr. Webb even takes questions from the audience - actors planted in the audience.

This deliberate play between the real world and the pretend world seems like a bit of silliness at first, but becomes increasingly important as the play progresses.

"Our Town" is a three-act play. Very few plays are presented in three acts anymore, even though not long ago that was standard for all plays. In this one, the three-act structure is important. Act I provides a window into the world of Grover's Corners. We meet the Gibbs and Webb families: Dr. Gibbs (Christopher Gilbert), his wife (Laurie Sifford) and their children, George (Chad Russell) and Rebecca (Monica Meyer); Mr. Webb and his wife (Aya Hashiguchi) and their children Wally (Jonathan Hogue) and Emily (Erin Culbertson); and a host of townspeople. The town seems quaint and its people quirky. Everything is homey and lighthearted.

Act II is a love story between George and Emily, the quintessential boy and girl next door. It seems terribly dated, quaint and innocent. But the romance and down-home humor comes to an abrupt end as Act III opens in the town cemetery a few years later. Major characters are now dead and buried, and the audience is forced to look at what life and death are all about. The dead say of the living: "It all goes so fast, people don't have time to look at one another. ... Do any human beings realize life while they live it?"

Agatha Christie's "Black Coffee" at Lakewood Playhouse is an enjoyable whodunit with Christie's favorite detective, Hercule Poirot (Michael Dresdner), and the usual menagerie of suspects: the sexy seductress, Barbara Amory (Deya Ozburn); the ill-at-ease and terribly suspicious victim's son, Richard (Tim Goebel); his wife, Lucia (Emilie Rommel), who is hiding a secret past; the evil Italian physician, Dr. Carelli (Joel Nicholas); the prim and ditzy aunt, Miss Caroline Amory (Carol Richmond); and, of course, the butler, Tredwell (Jim Hickman) and the maid, Raynor (Allison Strickman).

A funny thing I've noticed about Michael Dresdner is that no matter what role he plays - whether the comical Egyptian Dragoman in "Appointment with Death," the magisterial Reb Saunders in "The Chosen" or Lazar Wolf in "Fiddler on the Roof" - he seems to have been typecast, so perfectly that you can't imagine him playing any other role. That's acting. And he does it beautifully here. With the sly twinkle of his eye, his self-satisfied "gotcha" expressions, and the way he grins through his upturned mustache, he seems born into the role of Poirot.

Other actors in the ensemble cast also meld seamlessly into their roles as if not acting at all - especially Elliot Weiner as Poirot's sidekick, Capt. Hastings; Richmond as the bubble-brained Miss Caroline; and Rommel as the beautiful Lucia, the most multidimensional character in the play. There is, however, one character who seems oddly miscast, and that is Christian Doyle as Inspector Japp. Doyle looks too young for the role, like a kid in a high school performance playing an older man.

Speaking of costumes, designer Frances Rankos came up with some great ones, including a gorgeous gown worn by Barbara, Lucia's perky sailor blouse and a ludicrous double-breasted jacket worn by Dr. Carelli.

Scenic designer Erin Chanfrau also did a wonderful job. Her set is a warm and comfortable room backed by a long wall with three doors, bookcase, fireplace and a terrific array of period props.

"Black Coffee" is the first stage play Christie ever wrote, and it is the first of her stories featuring Poirot to be performed on stage. Sir Claude Amory (Michael Osier) is a noted scientist who has come up with a formula for a huge explosive device. The formulation, written on a scrap of paper, has been stolen by someone in his house. Sir Claude calls everyone into the library and informs them that he has called the famous Belgian detective Hercule Poirot to help find the thief. However, he first wants to give whoever stole the formula an opportunity to return it anonymously. He says he is going to turn off the lights, and if the formula is returned while the lights are out, he will call off the investigation. But when the lights come back on, Sir Claude is dead in his easy chair, poisoned by a cup of coffee that had gone through numerous hands. Anyone in the house could have slipped the poison in the cup, and almost everyone has possible motives.

As in any good murder mystery, the prime enjoyment is watching the hero cleverly figure out who committed the crime. But there is more to this story than unraveling the mystery. As Poirot himself says, "What we have here is a drama, a poignant human drama."

There was one bit of stage business that should have been left out, because it gave away the killer's identity too soon. I won't divulge it here, but watch for it and see if you can figure out whodunit before Poirot reveals.

One final note: The set slices across two sides of the theater's normal arena, thereby eliminating a lot of seating capacity, so available seats might be hard to come by. They were sold out opening night; I recommend calling for tickets right away.

Better latte than never.

A full-blown musical extravaganza with a large cast, "Fiddler on the Roof" is the kind of play that is normally seen on a large proscenium (traditional) stage such the Pantages or Seattle's 5th Avenue Theatre. It takes on a different aura when presented in the round at Lakewood Playhouse.

From the opening song when the 30-odd cast members join Tevye the dairyman for the rousing song "Tradition," it is clear that this performance is going to have a different feel. Tevye (Michael Slease) begins his song alone - not on a traditional stage, but standing in the middle of a floor, surrounded by an audience within arm's length on riser seats. Residents of the village of Anatevka wander in from all directions - not just from backstage but from the lobby and the parking lot as well - and in the course of the opening song, singers wander into the audience to sit on steps in the aisles. The feeling is simultaneously colossal and intimate.

"Fiddler" has gained classic status for good reason. The trademark songs - "Matchmaker," "If I Were a Rich Man" and "Sunrise, Sunset" - never fail to thrill, and the story of Tevye and his wife, Golde (Carol Richmond), and their daughters is uplifting despite its tragic nature. The story is set in a Jewish village in Tsarist Russia in 1905, at a time when the Russians are forcing Jews into pogroms. Devoted to upholding ancient traditions, including the traditions of patriarchal authority and arranged marriages, Tevye is forced to reconsider the old ways as his daughters, one after another, question or defy his paternal authority.

First, he arranges a marriage between eldest daughter Tzeitel (Renée Roberts) and the wealthy butcher, Lazar Wolf (Michael Dresdner), but Tzeitel begs him to let her marry, instead, her childhood sweetheart, the poor tailor Motel (Samuel Rudolph). Then his second daughter, Hodel (Keri Costello), marries the revolutionary Perchik (Jerod Nace), and a third daughter, Chava (Olivia Seward), marries Fyedka (Joe Kelly), a Russian soldier and non-Jew. Tevye and Golde must let go of the old ways or else lose their daughters.

The role of Tevye is demanding and carries high expectations, especially considering that anyone who plays the part is bound to be compared with such great actors as Theodore Bikel and Zero Mostel. Slease is up to the challenge. A large man with a scruffy beard, he looks the part. His voice can be soft and melodious as well as gravelly, and his expressions are, by turns, comic, tragic and poignant. He is less histrionic than other actors I have seen in this role, which is fitting for the intimate space of the Lakewood Playhouse. A more boisterous and expansive Tevye would have been overwhelming.

Richmond downplays the drama in her portrayal of Golde, perhaps too much as she speaks and sings too softly in places. But her duet with Slease on the sweet "Do You Love Me" is as touching as a love song can be.

The most beautiful voice in the cast belongs to Costello, a 16-year-old student at Stadium High School who is marvelous as Hodel.

Overall this cast does not excel in singing and dancing. The Russian soldiers, in particular, are not quite up to the challenge of their dance number on the rousing "To Life," but their expressions during the amazing bottle dance make up for any shortcomings.

Roberts is completely believable as the overwrought Tzeitel, who expresses both heartbreak and joy with abandon. Debby Birkey as the loveable matchmaker Yente is delightful, and Playhouse veteran Dresdner seems born to play Lazar Wolf.

Music is provided by an orchestra perched above the set, with two dancing fiddlers who "fiddled" from perches in the audience and the orchestra area. The costumes designed by Lauren Walker add an authentic look. The performance runs about three hours but doesn't seem that long.

Lorraine Hansberry’s play"A Raisin in the Sun" was decades ahead of its time when it premiered in 1959. Among the first plays to take an honest look at a black family, it also looked unflinchingly at the issue of abortion before abortion was legal, at women’s issues before feminism and at racism – both white racism and, even more daringly, internalized black racism.

While racial discrimination was not institutionally condoned in Chicago, where Hansberry grew up and where she set her play, social and monetary pressures kept blacks ghettoized and destroyed their hope of partaking in the American dream.

Hansberry took the title of her play from poet Langston Hughes, who said a"dream deferred" withers"like a raisin in the sun."

Now playing at Lakewood Playhouse,"A Raisin in the Sun" seems as fresh and relevant today as it must have seemed 47 years ago. Seen through the lens of a single family in Chicago, it illuminates black experience in America at midcentury.

Eva Abrams, a newcomer to the stage, plays Lena Younger, the head of the Younger family. As the play opens, the family is anticipating the arrival, the next day, of a check for $10,000 from Lena’s deceased husband’s estate. She and her children have their own ideas about what to do with the money. Her 35-year-old son, Walter Lee (Lance McQueen), wants to invest in a liquor store. Her daughter, Beneatha (Ijeoma O. Okpla), a college student, wants to use it to help her pay for medical school. But Lena and her daughter-in-law, Ruth (Sarita Williams), talk about the possibility of buying a house with some of the money. They want to escape from the cramped, cockroach-infested apartment where the family has to fight over use of the bathroom with other occupants in the building, and where Walter’s son, Travis (Izaic York), has to sleep on the couch.

Abrams, a professional storyteller, has never before appeared on stage in an acting role. But you’d never believe it from this performance. With her dignified carriage and piercing eyes, she inhabits the role of this proud mother as if born into it. Her gentle love for her hard-to-love children is as convincing as is her fierce anger when provoked.

McQueen is a veteran of many stage performances, including"Romeo and Juliet" and"To Kill a Mockingbird" at Lakewood Playhouse. He is a large man with a commanding presence, and his performance as the proud and bitter Walter Lee is as powerful as any performance I have seen this year. Walter Lee has worked as a chauffeur all his adult life. He hates bowing and scraping and constantly saying"yes sir" and"no sir" to rich white men. He feels less than a man and undeserving of his young son’s love. He wants to earn the respect of his family, but the only way he believes he can earn it is by investing his mother’s money with shady characters in a risky business venture that his mother calls immoral.

Okapala also has extensive acting experience and plays Beneatha as down-to-earth but with idealistic aspirations. In many ways, she epitomizes the myriad social and political upheavals that were brewing under the surface at the time this play is set. Beneatha is a feminist before feminism surfaced. She admires her African heritage at a time when many African Americans were ashamed of it. She dares to question her mother’s strong religious convictions, and she despises what she calls"assimilationist negroes" (which Walter Lee defines as a college girl’s name for an Uncle Tom).

The other characters serve as foils to Lena and Walter Lee and Beneatha. They are: Ruth, Walter’s long-suffering wife; George Murchison (Ekello Harrid Jr.), the embodiment of Beneatha’s assimilationist negro; Bobo (Jack House), Walter Lee’s friend and business partner; Joseph Asagai (Frank Reed), a medical student from Africa whom Beneatha idealizes; Karl Lindner (Patrick C. Schroeder), a representative of the neighborhood improvement group, whose job it is to tell the Youngers they’re not wanted; and Walter and Ruth’s delightful grandson Travis, who is the family’s bright hope for the future.

Good grief! The "Peanuts" gang members have taken up residence at Lakewood Playhouse with all their neuroses intact.

It’s the updated and revised musical "You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown," with new scenes and new songs, directed by Micheal O’Hara and starring Johnny Reed as Charlie Brown, Rachel Morton as Sally, Peter Punzi as Schroeder, Patti Sprague as Lucy Van Pelt, Drew Dresdner as Linus, and Jerod Nance as Snoopy.

"Charlie Brown" was a last-minute replacement for "Annie," which was pulled from the schedule when a professional touring company bought the rights. O’Hara was going to direct "Annie" and had already cast Catherine Ross in the title role and begun preliminary rehearsals when their rights were yanked. O’Hara stepped up to the challenge to put on a different show with severely shortened rehearsal time, and his cast and crew came through like champs.

"Charlie Brown" is a live-action cartoon with adult actors playing the roles of the lovable children – and one weird beagle – created by cartoonist Charles Schulz.

The play is presented as a series of loosely connected cartoon strips in the form of sketch comedy, one-liners and song-and-dance numbers. The dramatic arc is a typical day in the life of Charlie Brown – actually bits from many days stretching from Valentine’s Day to summers of baseball and kite flying and the inevitable psychiatric session with Lucy ("Psychiatric Help, 5 cents").

The show begins with know-it-all Lucy telling Charlie Brown the only thing wrong with him is his lack of confidence, and then adding to that an almost endless list of faults as a lead-in to the title song. Then poor, put-upon Charlie, who has never done anything right in his entire life, is left alone to bemoan his hopeless love for the little red-haired girl (an offstage presence who never actually appears).

The best skits are the shortest, such as when Linus walks on stage carrying his ever-present blanket and sucking his thumb. He pulls his thumb out of his mouth, says, "I think I’m losing my flavor," and walks off. This scene is a precursor to Linus’ song-and-dance number "My Blanket and Me." In this stylized choreography of shuffling and skipping and eye-batting, Dresdner nails the stereotypical gestures of a shy young kid hiding in the protective arms of his security blanket. The number starts out as a solo, then a dancing blanket joins Linus on stage, followed by a chorus line of Charlie, Sally and Lucy, each with his or her own blanket. Dresdner also puts his highly trained baritone voice to good use on this number.

Another outstanding song is "Beethoven Day," with a rocking Schroeder leading the ensemble. Punzi really shows his range and versatility on this one.

The one other song that really swings is "Suppertime," Snoopy’s finger-snapping jazz tune with the chorus sounding like a gospel choir. Some of the other songs, and some of the longer sketches, drag a bit. I found myself wishing they would hurry up and get on with the next scene.

Schulz’s humor is witty, insightful and universal – examples being Sally asking, "How does anyone get a C in coat hanger sculpture?" and Charlie saying his kite likes to see a little kid cry.

Ron Coleman’s set employs an aptly childish, cut-out look borrowed directly from the comic strip, and the costumes by Narrah McDonald are delightful. The girls wear oversized dresses with big bows over lacy bloomers. The boys wear simple but boldly patterned T-shirts. Props such as pencils, notebooks, baseball gloves and bats are grossly oversized, and the catcher’s pads Schroeder wears in the baseball scene swallow him whole.

"Lilies of the Field" is a small story with little conflict and even less action, yet since the release of the Academy Award-winning motion picture starring Sidney Poitier in 1963 it has continued to touch people’s hearts.

In the ’60s, when a black man in a leading role was rare, critics called it a small story with a sparse plot and credited Poitier’s Best Actor Oscar more to his likability than to the great actor’s dramatic prowess.

Poitier’s character, Homer Smith, was a man you simply couldn’t help liking – the kind of man whose down-to-earth goodness and subtle humor clings to the memory long after he is no longer around.

David Dear brings many of the same qualities to his portrayal of Homer Smith in the Lakewood Playhouse production of " Lilies of the Field."

It, too, is a small story with little dramatic conflict; yet it manages to stick to my memory. The play, adapted for the stage by F. Andrew Leslie from the novel by William E. Barrett, tells the story of Smith, a wandering ex-soldier, and his encounters with a group of German nuns in a small community in the desert Southwest. Smith has recently gotten out of the Army. He decides to travel around the country for a while, picking up odd jobs here and there.

He stocks his truck with food and a bedroll and hits the road, where he runs into Mother Maria Marthe (Jeanne Ross) and her small band of nuns in a convent that is little more than an adobe hut in the desert. Mother Maria thinks God has sent her a strong man to build them a chapel. Smith agrees to repair a roof, but doesn’t agree to do anything more than that. Mother Maria thinks offering him a place at their table for a meager meal is payment enough for his work, but Smith demands actual money for his labors. Their arguments over his work and her payment, or lack thereof, are exacerbated because Mother Maria can barely speak English.

Somehow Smith’s stay with the nuns drags on day after day, and he is cajoled into building the chapel despite his refusals to do it – not to mention that he has no idea how to build a chapel or where to get sorely needed materials.

The religious community is served by a roving priest, Father Gomez (played with great dignity by Michael Sanchez, who narrates the action and also plays the role of Jose, the proprietor of the local cafe). Sanchez is the unsung star of this production. The subtle ways in which his voice and carriage change as he goes back and forth between the roles is faultless. He is equally believable as the priest and as the cafe owner, and the most naturalistic interchanges between any of the characters take place when Smith stops in for a hearty breakfast as Jose’s cafe while the nuns are in church.

The only other characters are John Pfaffe as the owner of the local hardware store, and Season Luben, Ashley Miller and Alice Montgomery as the other three nuns. Pfaffe’s character is something of a redneck and a blowhard, and Pfaffe’s acting makes him seem very comfortable in the role. The three junior nuns serve as backdrop and stagehands throughout most of the play. Other than one brief scene where Homer is teaching them the English names for objects, they are little more than props.

I wish there had been more interaction between Homer and the sisters, and I wish the playwright had been able to come up with some way to move the story along without so much narration. It’s not that Sanchez doesn’t tell the tale well; he does. But it would have been so much better if we had been able to experience it through dialogue and action, which there is too little of, other than the stubborn clashes between Mother Maria and Homer Smith.

But those clashes are what make the play a success. Mother Maria is a hardheaded woman who refuses to understand or believe anything Homer says. Despite his protestations to the contrary, she never once wavers in her believe that he has been sent by God to build her chapel. And you just know from the get-go that poor old Homer doesn’t stand a chance against her.

"Man of La Mancha" is one of those grand old musicals that regional theaters love to trot out as often as they can. And why not? With its stirring music and inspirational tale of triumph of the spirit, it is a play that, if done even halfway well, is sure to stir the souls of even the most jaded audience members.

And the Lakewood Playhouse does it well. All in all, the performance I saw Saturday night was the best I have yet seen at Lakewood Playhouse.

The principal actors are well-cast physically. Micheal O’Hara is tall, thin and balding. In the role of the novelist Miguel de Cervantes, he carries himself with dignity. And when he brushes gray into his beard and musses his hair to play the part of the mad knight Don Quixote, he transforms as if by magic into an emaciated madman who has been beaten down by the world but remains unflagging in spirit. Johnathan Reed, with his massive body and dimpled smile, is the quintessential comic sidekick, Sancho Panza. And Maggi Barrett as Aldonza, the clichéd whore with a heart of gold, has a commanding presence and air of toughness that never falters, except in her most vulnerable moments.

Musically, these three principal actors come on strong.

There is a little touch of roughness in O’Hara’s voice that could be distracting if he were playing a romantic lead. But the only thing romantic about Don Quixote is his indomitable spirit, so the rough edge doesn’t distract at all. By the time he sang "The Impossible Dream" at the end of Act One, I had suspended all critical judgment and was swept up into the spirit of the play. And as I glanced around at the audience I saw more than one person wiping tears off their cheeks.

Barrett has an operatic voice that stands out beautifully on "What Does He Want of Me?" and again on the reprise of "The Impossible Dream."

But the voice that really floored me was that of a minor character, the padre, played by Jerod Richard Nace. His voice rings out like the mellow notes of a flute carried on night fog. Fortunately for the audience, even though Nace’s role is small, he gets to solo on two musical numbers.

Also worth noting in a supporting role were the comic antics of Jamie Robert Pederson as Paco and the barber.

"Man of La Mancha" was written by Dale Wasserman, with music and lyrics by Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion. It opened off-Broadway in 1965. A film version starring Peter O’Toole and Sophia Loren premiered in 1972. The story is based on the 400-year-old novel "Don Quixote" by Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra.

In the musical version, Cervantes and his servant are thrown into prison by the Spanish Inquisition. In prison, they are forced to defend themselves before an underworld court of thieves and murderers. Cervantes asks if he can present his defense in the form of an entertainment, and he and his servant assume the roles of the characters in a story.

It is the story of a country squire named Alonso Quijana who, overwhelmed by the evil that men do toward men, sets out into the world as a knight errant – 300 years since knights were last seen in the land – dubbing himself Don Quixote of La Mancha, champion of the oppressed and righter of wrongs. With his faithful servant Sancho Panza forever by his side, he roams the countryside searching for opportunities to fight evil and defend the honor of fair maidens.

Along the road they come upon an inn where they meet Aldonza, whom Don Quixote sees as a fair maiden and virgin and whom he defends against a gang of ruffians. But he meets his match when forced to fight a knight whose weapon is a mirrored shield in which he sees himself reflected as a foolish old man.

I don't understand how there could have been so many empty seats at Lakewood Playhouse's opening performance of "The Chosen". Have people forgotten the great 1967 novel by Chaim Potok? Or is the culture of Hasidic Judaism too foreign for many people in the Pacific Northwest in 2005?

"The Chosen" is a powerful play about compassion and righteousness, and even though it is set more than half a century ago and investigates the clash of two cultures that are far removed from the dominant modern culture, it is a story that remains relevant today.

It is the story of a friendship between two boys who occupy vastly different worlds, even though they live a mere five blocks from each other in Brooklyn, N.Y. Reuven Malter (Patrick Bonck) is the son of David Malter (Marty Mackenzie), an influential Modern Orthodox Jewish scholar and writer. Danny Saunders (Reuben Walker) is the son of Reb Saunders (Michael Dresdner), the rebbe (or tzaddik) of a strict Hasidic sect.

The teenagers become best friends despite the different worlds in which they live. Both are intellectual sons of intellectuals, and they both love baseball. The similarities end there.

Reuven is a mathematics wiz who decides to study to become a rabbi. He and his father have a loving and mutually supportive relationship. Danny, who is destined by tradition to take his father's place, wants to become a psychologist. The relationship between Danny and his father is cold and tense. Reb Saunders will not speak with his son except during Talmud lessons. He has chosen to "teach with silence." His refusal to speak to Danny seems heartless. But Reb Saunders does talk to Danny in his way; he speaks to him through Reuven. And through Reuven, it is revealed that he loves his son with a harsh kind of love not unlike what pop psychologists of a later era would term tough love.

Speaking to Danny through Reuven, Reb Saunders says, "A heart I need for a son, a soul I need for a son, compassion I want from my son, righteousness, mercy, strength to suffer and carry pain, that I want from my son, not a mind without a soul!"

The fathers' clashing political views affect their sons' friendship. When Mr. Malter becomes a champion of Zionism and the building of an Israeli homeland after World War II, Reb Saunders "excommunicates" Reuven, telling Danny that he cannot so much as come within four feet of him.

There are only five actors in the play, and no scene changes. Everything is played out on a traverse set (brilliantly designed by Scott Campbell) in which the Saunders and Malter homes face each other with five blocks and the whole world in between, and the audience on either side like spectators at a football game.

Reuven as an old man (Samuel Rudolph) narrates the tale. His narration helps clarify some of the religious traditions and condenses events that need condensing. Regrettably, there is far more narration than necessary, meaning that Old Reuven occasionally insults the audience by explaining things unnecessarily. On the other hand, he offers much-needed comic relief both as narrator and in various other roles he slips into, and his dialect and head-nodding and hands-behind-back saunter all seem delightfully authentic.

Dresdner as Reb Saunders also has the head nod and the dialect down pat. Both of these actors obviously had a lot of coaching on Brooklyn Yiddish gestures and dialect. That coaching came from assistant director Rebecca Osman, a member of the Congregation Shaarei Tefilah-Lubavitch Synagogue of Seattle, with further help from dialect consultant Juli Rosenzweig, who was assisted by Rabbi Shneur Zalman Heber, Chabad of Pierce County. Also, Rabbi Sholom Ber Levitin, Congregation Shaarei Tefilah-Lubavitch of Seattle, helped with background and authentication.