By ERIC MARCHESE Special to the Register

Parenting is the universal subject visited by nearly every playwright, in a cathartic process whose results are something nearly every theater-goer can relate to. British playwright Mark Ravenhill, one of the leaders in the crop of angry new theater voices from across the pond, tackled the subject in his 1998 comedy "Handbag." While its subtitle, "The Importance of Being Someone," alludes to its references to Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest," those allusions are more counterpoint than focal. At the core of "Handbag" are themes akin to those of Christopher Durang's "Baby With the Bathwater" of a generation ago, but with far more introspective thought and satirical bite. It's an uneasy mixture - part Wilde spoof, part typical Ravenhill treatment of contemporary relationships and mores - but as Rude Guerrilla proves in director Dave Barton's staging of the piece's U.S. premiere, the lighthearted patina of Wilde-style wit can take only a back seat to the compelling nature of Ravenhill's theatrical voice.

By now that voice is unmistakable to Rude G. patrons. The troupe has offered"Faust Is Dead," "Shopping and F[ucking]" (Orange County premieres), "SomeExplicit Polaroids" [California premiere] and "Sleeping Around" ([US] premiere). These four productions show a playwright who tackles the big social and political issues and concerns of our time, but whose stories are personalized, not abstract. His characters are real people in today's world, grappling with thesame problems and issues as you or me. It's Ravenhill's view of these folks,though, that's most distinctive: compassionate without being overtly sentimental; truthful and objective without being cold. The main story of "Handbag" concerns lesbian couple Mauretta and Suzanne and their close pals, gay couple David and Tom. The four are preparing for parenthood: Tom ([Steven] Parker) will provide the sperm to artificially inseminate Mauretta (Johanna Adams). This baby, they proudly declare, will have "a positive glut of parents" - two mummies and two daddies.

Scene 2 starts the Wilde spoof rolling, as two Victorian-era wet nurses, Prism (Joan Neubauer) and Augusta (Jill Cary Martin), cross paths and discover they share the same destination: the home of the prestigious Col. Moncrief, whose wife, Constance, Augusta's sister, is expecting a baby. Considering the Wilde gimmick of two babies switched at birth, we're expecting Ravenhill to pull a similar routine. Instead, the increasing focus of "Handbag" is the ambivalence Suzanne (Erika Tai) feels toward Mauretta, finding herself attracted to the unstable Lorraine (Kelly Quigley). Likewise, David (Keith Bennett) begins a secret affair with Phil (Scott Barber), a young prostitute. The nexus of the two story lines is Phil, who becomes a pupil of Cardew (David Cramer), a child molester who's the Moncrief's private tutor. More critically, Ravenhill introduces Phil to Lorraine, setting them on a path that only exposes the weaknesses in the relationships of those around them while proving how the characters from both story lines are miserably unequipped for parenthood. In contrast with the gruesome climax is Ravenhill's sly sense of satire, apparent in his use of the Tinky Winky character from "Teletubbies": Tinky's red handbag is a central metaphor, while a Tinky face mask is worn by David, Phil and others - usually while in the midst of sex. Regardless of which story line can be said to be the more successful,

Ravenhill's text is well-crafted, giving all of Barton's 11 cast members something of substance with which to work. They, in turn, deliver the kind of work we'vecome to expect from this troupe, and the veterans of Rude Guerrilla's otherRavenhill plays - Adams, Barber, Bennett, Conroy, Cramer, Martin, Parker, Quigley and Tai - deliver work on a par with those shows'. In their accents and mannerisms, Adams, Bennett, Parker and Tai personify Gen-X Londoners - young, technologically hip and fairly affluent, dreaming of having it all, including a happy home life to go with their success in the working world. Barber and Quigley represent a stratum a few notches lower on the class scale, a seamier world where economic survival trumps any attempts at emotional fulfillment. The familiarity of all six actors with Barton and one another shows in performances that are solid and self-assured, whether generating laughs or in the script's more compelling dramatic flourishes.

Cramer, Martin, Neubauer, and Stan Jenson and Deborah Conroy (as Col. andMrs. Moncrief) provide a more stylized comedic approach that's a welcome contrast to the story's contemporary elements, offering equally credible Irish brogues (Conroy and Martin) and starchy Oxford accents (Cramer, Jenson, Neubauer). Featuring paintings of all four Teletubbies, and black- and-white photos of youngsters, the play's unadorned set design ([Barton]), props (Barton and Jody J. Reeves) and costumes (Reeves and Peter Balgoyen) are stylish, yet put our attention where it should be: on Ravenhill's text, and on actors who know their stuff.

LA Times

In the mid-1990s, British playwright Mark Ravenhill made a splash with a play that contained simulated acts of raw, passionless sex and carried a title that few theater marquees or newspapers could display in full. As scandal transmuted into success, Ravenhill came to be regarded as everything from a crass opportunist to a brave cultural commentator.

The debate sparked by the double-gerund "Shopping and ... " has continuedthrough Ravenhill's subsequent work, including 1998's "Handbag," now being presented in Santa Ana by Rude Guerrilla Theater Company.

Set in present-day Britain, the story focuses on lesbian spouses (played byJohnna Adams and Erika Tai) who conceive a baby with a male couple (Steven Parker and Keith Bennett). One mommy promises that there will be "a positive glut of parents here for you," but even before the child is born, it's clear he's going to have to make it on his own, just as his emotionally stunted parents have.

Infidelities (depicted with copious nudity and sex) destabilize the family, while intermittent scenes travel back to Victorian times to eavesdrop on another household ill-prepared to raise a child. Extrapolated from Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest," these characters are self-righteously proper but eerily cold.

On a stage that looks like a nightmarish nursery, director David Barton and his 11 actors bring these scenarios to life — vividly, frighteningly so.

But the shocks don't necessarily jolt the audience into awareness. Ravenhill means, perhaps, to indict a society that, for years, has been so hooked on instant gratification that it has lost its nurturing instinct. But the message is hard to read through the muck.

--Daryl H. Miller

Everyone is searching for some kind of meaning in life, and so is Mark Ravenhill’s compelling—if muddled—play Handbag. Tied to a slightly indulgent thematic exploration of the origins of Oscar Wilde’s Importance of Being Earnest, Handbag explores the need for caring, commitment and nurturing through Teletubbies, junkie prostitutes, Victorian posturing and—being a Rude Guerrilla show—blatant ass reaming and blowjobs. The mixture works, for the most part. The storyline centers on four gay friends trying to raise a child together. Tragedy ensues when Phil (Scott Barber act-icizing the hell out of us yet again) invades the home turf, along with a thick psycho named Lorraine (a misplaced Kelly Quigley). The voyeuristic qualities of the play—watching Phil’s heroin binge or David’s sexual transgressions—help ram the point home: a lack of personal identity may create a need for love, but most of us would rather whack off over a dead dog than give the wretched thing a bone.

Ravenhill’s insertion of characters from The Importance of Being Earnest is clever but tends to drag down an already-disjointed plot that kind of humps along to a somewhat-predictable conclusion. However, the sheer power of the acting makes things worth sticking around for. Handbag may not tread new intellectual ground, but when Johnna Adams (in a performance as a lesbian matriarch that’s as understated and imperious as it is gorgeous) screams at the rest of the cast to just shut the Christ up and start acting like adults for God’s sake . . . well, we’re right there with her.

—John Beane