Buddy -- The Buddy Holly Story. Among the honored too-early-dead of rock 'n' roll, Buddy Holly is untouchable. Not only did he help invent the genre, but he also helped invent the too-early death. His legacy is obvious in his music -- it's been covered by the Beatles (Paul McCartney has for years owned the rights to all of Holly's songs), the Rolling Stones, the Grateful Dead, the Beach Boys, Blondie, and so on, and alluded to, consciously and un-, by countless others. Although it's not immediately evident from the unimaginative title, Buddy is committed to being (and celebrating being) alive -- so much so, in fact, that it comes off as peculiarly hyper. The book by Alan Janes is a pastiche of feel-good, PG-rated stuff, but true enough, it rocks. In appearance, sound, and mood, Buddy evokes a special age in American music, the forward-looking mid-'50s, when a kid like Holly was thrilling to behold. It does no harm to remember the momentum he imparted. Better still to rediscover his musicianship. Ongoing at the Post Street Theatre, 450 Post (at Mason), S.F. Tickets are $25-63; call 321-2900 or visit www.buddyrocks.com. (Jonathan Kiefer) Reviewed June 16.
Hairspray. Based on the 1988 pop-camp-trailer-trash cult-classic film Hairspray, the musical by the same name sticks with you for days like a generous spraying of Aqua Net. Between the upbeat score (which combines bebop, rock, blues, and show tunes) and the humorous but meaningful script, it's actually more vibrant, and resonates more deeply, than the movie. Played by the energetic Keala Settle, Tracy Turnblad is a toe-tapping, hip-swinging typical teenager in 1962 Baltimore, with an expansive heart, monumental dreams, and hair so high it's a hazard in a lightning storm. In fact, everything about Tracy is super-sized, and that's precisely her problem. When she finally lands a spot as a regular teen dancer on the locally broadcast (and all-white) Corny Collins show, she becomes determined to integrate it. Her desire to do the right thing lands her in all sorts of colorful places, including the slammer. There's never a dull moment in Hairspray, and when the show ends, the joy in the room is palpable enough to make your hair stand on end. Through July 3 at the Golden Gate Theatre, 1 Taylor (at Golden Gate), S.F. Tickets are $39-81; call 512-7770 or visit www.bestofbroadway-sf.com. (Karen Macklin) Reviewed June 9.
The Lion King. How do you turn a decent cartoon about African wildlife into a lame Broadway musical? 1) Puzzle carefully about the problem of costumes and sets. Pour millions of dollars and hours of mental energy into making your actors look like lions, hyenas, elephants, wildebeests, giraffes, and birds. Solve the problem brilliantly. Hire Julie Taymor to design the magnificent costumes and masks (and to direct the show). Hire Garth Fagan to choreograph elegant, exciting, Afro-Caribbean dance routines. Make sure Donald Holder lights the stage with an eloquent feeling for African distances and sunshine. In general make the show a visual feast. Then, 2) squint in confusion at the script, and 3) carve it up to make room for appalling songs by Tim Rice and Elton John. You'll have a profitable bunch of nonsense with more than one God-soaked number that sounds indistinguishable from bad Whitney Houston. The only cast member who can transcend this mess and give a stirring performance is Thandazile Soni, as Rafiki the monkey shaman, who gets to sing songs like "Nants' Ingonyama," by Lebo M, and other African chants originated by Tsidii Le Loka on Broadway. Bob Bouchard is also funny as Pumbaa the warthog, and Derek Smith plays a perfectly arrogant, sinister Scar, the pretender lion king. Otherwise the show is forced and childish. Adults looking for good theater will be happier when the performers dance instead of trying to act. Through Sept. 5 at the Orpheum Theatre, 1182 Market (at Eighth Street), S.F. Tickets are $26-160; call 512-7770 or visit www.bestofbroadway-sf.com. (Michael Scott Moore) Reviewed Feb. 11.
Master Class. One reason people use the word "diva" too often nowadays is that the notion of great women being defined by great performances has made great fodder for modern dramatists. Not far beneath Billy Wilder's Sunset Blvd. , the pinnacle of diva dramaturgy, is Terrence McNally's Tony Award-winning 1996 play Master Class. The subject here, in a command performance by Rita Moreno, is the aching soul of superstar Maria Callas. But the show is also a valentine to the opera, beautiful bitch that she is. McNally knows how to orchestrate for human instruments. His play is agreeably operatic, and director Moisés Kaufman planes the lines of its shapely form with affection. Based on classes Callas taught at Juilliard in the early '70s, the action is an imparting of her earned wisdom. She's that dazzling -- the brutal teacher we've all had or wanted. Among the three students, strong singers all, Sherry Boone's Sharon is the real crowd-pleaser; the arc of her creative process is the most impressive and the most human. Mark Wedland's design and David Lander's lighting make good use of a deep, high-ceilinged stage to reveal a few stirring glimpses of grandeur. And Moreno, firmly rooted and lifting her face to gather the light, makes a big room feel small. "The real world." Brutal expression, brutal place," she declares as Callas, edifying performers everywhere. Through July 18 at the Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison (at Shattuck), Berkeley. Tickets are $20-55; call 510-647-2949 or visit www.berkeleyrep.org. (Jonathan Kiefer) Reviewed June 9.
Not a Genuine Black Man. It's not easy being green, but try being a black kid in San Leandro in the early '70s. When Brian Copeland got there -- just a few months after the Summer of Love, he points out -- it was one of the most viciously racist suburbs in America. Now it's officially the most diverse. "Take that, San Francisco," Copeland chides. He's earned that attitude, not just for going through his hell of growing up, but also for extracting from it such affirmative, hilarious stuff. Copeland's rightfully popular one-man show, recently extended for another few weeks, is wrought from pain and rage, but never really succumbs to bitterness. "Is that black?" he asks, and proves that it is. Some of his best stereotype-busting material doesn't feel especially new, but it does feel good. Besides, it's the stereotypes that have passed their expiration dates: Copeland's title comes from an accusation recently flung at him by a cranky listener who called in to his KGO radio program. This show is his response. With help from declarative lighting and David Ford's direction, Copeland creates an affecting hybrid of the dramatic monologue and the rollicking stand-up act. Through June 26 at the Marsh, 1062 Valencia (at 22nd Street), S.F. Tickets are $15-22; call 826-5750 or visit www.themarsh.org. (Jonathan Kiefer) Reviewed June 2.
Sacrament! Yes, Dave Eggers has written a play, too. Get over it. Even better: See it, and come out saying, "Oh yeah, I like Eggers." In collaboration with Campo Santo and director Kent Nicholson, the writer seems reinvigorated by the immediacy of theater. The tone is familiar: equal parts goofiness and gravitas, with results greater than the sum of their parts. The aesthetic is familiar as well: a handsome production, clean, controlled, and elegant in a pared-down way. And, of course, the material is familiar (from Eggers' novel You Shall Know Our Velocity!): Two young men, bearing a financial windfall and a friend's death, travel the world on impulse, grieving and giving away money. Should be easy enough. But, as Will (Sean San José) observes, "It's always so fucking complicated!" Identity, both civic and personal, is a creative act: It demands the effort of self-reflection, of converting memory into inspiration, yet the actors here pull it off. Danny Wolohan, as Hand, makes great, simple choices and is impossible not to like. He and San José have fine support from Tina Marie Murray and Michael Torres. If the cast's headlong charges into the text sometimes seem memorized beyond the prospect of discovery (and read like a phobia of stillness), it might be considered a thematic preoccupation. To discover mystery is an artist's privilege and his task, and Eggers won't let that opportunity be squandered. The show beseeches you to stay open above all; it'll leave you feeling at once wrung-out and ravenous. Through June 28 at Intersection for the Arts, 446 Valencia (between 15th and 16th streets), S.F. Tickets are $9-15; call 626-3311 or visit www.theintersection.org. (Jonathan Kiefer) Reviewed June 9.
Also Playing Arcadia: Tom Stoppard's comedy jumps back and forth in perspective from the inhabitants of a 19th century mansion to a pair of modern historians who study their movements, 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Fridays, 2 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, 2 and 7 p.m. Sundays, through July 11; $20-$50. Mountain View Center for the Performing Arts, 500 Castro (at Mercy), Mountain View, 650-903-6000.
Awe About Eve: Theatre Rhinoceros stages the original uncut screenplay (filmed in the 1950s as All About Eve) written by Joseph Mankiewicz and made famous by Bette Davis' classic performance, 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, through July 18; Opening night, 8 p.m. Thursday, June 24, $25; 3 p.m. Sundays, through July 18; $15-$20. Theatre Rhinoceros, 2926 16th St. (at South Van Ness), 861-5079.
The Best of Playground 8: A festival showcasing the best of local playwrights with seven short plays from Tom Swift, Jonathan Luskin, and other writers, 8 p.m. Thursday, June 24, through Saturday, June 26, 2 and 7 p.m. Sunday, June 27; $15-$40. Traveling Jewish Theatre, 470 Florida (at Mariposa), 285-8282.
Betrayal: Aurora Theatre Company's take on Harold Pinter's drama about marital infidelity; Previews, 8 p.m. Wednesday, June 23; 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Saturdays, beginning Thursday, June 24, 2 and 7 p.m. Sundays, through July 25; $28-$40. Aurora Theatre, 2081 Addison (at Shattuck), Berkeley, 510-843-4822.
"Bourgeois": A rather schizophrenic evening of experimental music, dance, and theater featuring choreographer Joe Landini's 4 Stories, a dance piece reflecting on technology's takeover of modern culture, along with Femmisphere: Songs in the Key of Angst, a "drag cabaret" performance by the inimitable Trauma Flintstone, 8 p.m. Wednesdays, through June 30, $10, 885-4006 (information). Off-Market Theater, 965 Mission (at Fifth St.), 896-6477.
Eclipsed: Patricia Burke Brogan's drama takes a critical look at Ireland's Magdalene laundries, which incarcerated so-called "promiscuous" women, 8 p.m. Thursday, June 24, through Saturday, June 26, 2 p.m. Sunday, June 27; $13-$20. Berkeley City Club, 2315 Durant (at Ellsworth), Berkeley, 510-843-4822.
The Fantasticks: Two dads launch a fake feud in order to drive their son and daughter into each other's arms in this musical classic, 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Fridays, 3 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, through July 31; $15-$50. The Playhouse, 536 Sutter (at Powell), 677-9596.
The Good Body: Award-winning playwright Eve Ensler looks at the whys and wherefores of women changing their bodies for social approval, Previews, 8 p.m. Thursday, June 24, through Tuesday, June 29; $11-$68. Geary Theater, 415 Geary (at Mason), 749-2228.
Last Five Years: The musical comedy looks at a romance from two points of view: Hers from the end backwards, his from the beginning forward, 8:15 p.m. Wednesday, June 23, through Saturday, June 26; $26-$29. Dean Lesher Regional Center for the Arts, 1601 Civic (at Locust), Walnut Creek, 925-943-7469.
Orpheus Descending: The Jean Shelton & Kenneth Vandenberg-directed production resets the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice in a small, backwards southern town., 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, beginning Friday, June 25, 7 p.m. Sundays, through Aug. 28; $10-$40. Actors Theatre San Francisco, 533 Sutter (at Powell), 296-9179.
