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Dixie's Tupperware Party. Dixie is a booze- and sex-addicted, trash-talking, child-neglecting ex-con from Alabama who holds Tupperware parties in her trailer, and she's invited you to this one.

Dixie's Tupperware Party

at the Galleria really

is

a Tupperware party — you get a name tag and raffle number when you come in, and there are pens and catalogues on all the tables. Dixie, your hostess, greets you in high white heels and a crotch-skimming skirt, earrings swinging, red hair piled high. Collapsible bowls, punch and party setups, plastic jugs and ribbed mugs (uh-huh) gleam in shades of lime, blue, orange and purple on a table behind her; by the time she's through, you won't be able to look at a plastic storage container without giggling. Just the words "collapsible bowl" will set you off. Dixie is also Kris Andersson, an actor who realized he could make an actual living selling Tupperware and began hosting parties. As he worked, the character of Dixie developed. Andersson brought his show to New York's Fringe Festival in 2004, and it caught fire from there. This production is seriously dirty, and it's also one terrific evening. Dixie is a great character: She doesn't give an inch, but she's as appealing as she is wicked. And Andersson not only loves Dixie, but he loves Tupperware, too — and he's not being snarky about it. So no matter how much Dixie screws up her spiel or how many lewd jokes she makes about the uses to which you can put "the best plastic crap on the planet," there's a reverential quality to the way she fondles the goods that makes you actually want to buy them. Presented by Denver Center Attractions through January 2, Garner Galleria Theatre, Denver Performing Arts Complex, 303-893-4100, www.denvercenter.org.

Don Juan in Hell. Four chairs, filled by four characters — Don Juan, Dona Ana, her father the Commander, and the Devil himself — all engaged in a long, long argument. It's an argument filled with wit, wisdom, humor, flashes of insight and pure Shavian contrarianism. As the action begins, Dona Ana has just arrived in hell, and she's quite peeved to realize it, given the conspicuous religiosity with which she lived her long life. Don Juan serves as her guide, and assures her that an eternity spent in hell is far more pleasurable than anything going on in heaven. His point is reinforced by the Devil, a jovial soul, and by the Commander, who is so bored with heaven that he's come to request a change of residence. The point of this essentially plotless play is a protracted discussion about just about everything on earth, including the ways in which humans spend their limited time. The Devil has a long and eloquent monologue about the violent uses to which man puts his intellect, resources and energy. Shaw uses Don Juan's scornful rebuttal to take digs at all his favorite whipping boys: politicians, businessmen, the English in general, and artists. Art is seductive, Don Juan admits, but it ultimately serves only to enslave men to women, whose job it is to birth the race and rule in the home. But despite his intellect and blistering wit, Don Juan's essential belief system is romantically woolly-headed. While the Devil advocates hedonism because he believes there's no such thing as human progress, Don Juan — who represents Shaw himself — argues for a kind of mystical evolution in which the human mind continues to develop in breadth and wisdom and ultimately transforms the human race. It's fascinating to watch these ideas zipping around the stage like little white Ping-Pong balls. And though you do occasionally feel a bit like a kid subjected to an overlong scolding, the overall effect is exhilarating. Presented by Germinal Stage Denver through December 16, 2450 West 44th Avenue, 303-455-7108, www.germinalstage.com.

Drag Machine. The goal of Off-Center @ The Jones is to work with local talent, explore exciting new forms and create lively and informal theater, and Drag Machine is as much a party and celebration as it is a production. Shirley Delta Blow, aka actor Stuart Sanks, takes you on a trip through the decades of the twentieth century by twiddling with various fluffy objects and making vroom-vroom sounds while "If I Could Turn Back Time" plays. She is assisted by two adorable flight attendants: pretty little Ruby Bouche and lithe, smooth-skinned Go Go. Audience participation here isn't one of those get-picked-on-and-embarrassed-by-a-performer things; for those enticed onto the stage, it's more like making a kindly new friend who'll guide you through games like "Are You Smarter Than a Drag Queen?" and "Who Dat in Drag?" while more new friends in the audience help by shouting out answers when you find yourself stumped. Decade by decade, famous faces flash past on two screens — everyone from Grace Jones to Martin Luther King Jr. to Al Capone — accompanied by a few facts about each era. But amid the laughter and camp, there are some genuine tributes as Delta Blow applauds the heroes of the gay-rights movement and stresses the participation of drag queens within it. After a moving homage to the many young gay people who have taken their own lives, the show ends with some hopeful, rainbow-colored imagery for the future. And, really, how can it not be a good party when you learn your own drag-queen name, get to eat cotton candy, and end up adding the shimmer of your glow stick to all the others waving gently in the dark? Presented by Off-Center @ The Jones December 7-8, Denver Performing Arts Complex, 303-893-4100, www.denveroffcenter.org. Reviewed November 8.

Greetings! The play begins with a fair amount of charm and humor, even if the basic plot is less than original: Andy Gorski has brought his girlfriend, Randi, to his Pittsburgh home to meet his very Catholic and conventional family — grumpy, alcoholic father Phil, anxious and unhappy mother Emily, and mentally challenged younger brother Mickey. Think Meet the Parents crossed with Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, and throw in a dash of Archie and Edith Bunker. But even if the characters aren't fully fleshed out and the jokes are a bit thin, the acting is strong, and the first act flies by. The affectionate interplay between Andy and the brother for whom he's saved his airline package of honey-roasted nuts and with whom he wrestles uninhibitedly on the floor is appealing, and Phil's constant growling irritation, his endless battles with the house's electricity, are pretty funny. But then the angelic being shows up — and, unhappily, he's a complete bore, provider of minor and meaningless miracles, utterer of the kind of advice about life you'd expect to find in a Hallmark card. He helps Randi make peace with the death of her little sister and explains to Emily that changing your life is as simple as changing your actions day by day. Taken as a whole, though, and perhaps with an eggnog or two to help it along, this is a pleasant holiday offering. Presented by Miners Alley through December 23, 1224 Washington Avenue, Golden, 303-935-3044, www.minersalley.com.

Time Stands Still. For all but a small sliver of society in the United States, wars are only a distant rumbling. But for those who have experienced the conflicts — soldiers, journalists, refugees — they are devastating. The images of war engrave themselves indelibly on the brain and can rip apart the fabric of an entire life. This truth lies at the heart of Donald Margulies's searching and unsettling play Time Stands Still. The primary protagonists are two journalists who have covered some of the world's hottest war zones. Sarah, a photographer wounded by a roadside bomb in Iraq, has returned to the U.S. almost literally in pieces, both physical and emotional. Her long-term lover, James, is at their apartment to welcome her. A reporter, he left Iraq while Sarah was still in the hospital in Germany because of a breakdown of his own, and he is determined to bring her back to health. But Sarah is not an easy patient. Richard, her photo editor, arrives, accompanied by his much younger girlfriend, Mandy, and Sarah can barely mask her contempt. When the two women discuss the photographs on Sarah's laptop, Mandy begins to weep over a shot of a mother with her horribly burned baby. She has touched on a profound question: Both Sarah and James sometimes wonder whether recording war scenes does any good or whether it's a kind of voyeurism, a commodification of human pain. But the play is not didactic. It's smart, multi-layered, absorbing and wryly funny, and the issues it raises are explored through the lives of four very real and interesting people. Presented by Curious Theatre Company through December 15, 1080 Acoma Street, 303-623-0524, www.curioustheatre.org. Reviewed November 8.

When We Are Married. Set in 1907 in Yorkshire, where J.B. Priestley grew up, When We Are Married focuses on three status-conscious and conventional middle-class couples who were married in the same ceremony 25 years before and have reconvened to celebrate and pose for a commemorative photo. Also on hand is Gerald, a young man who's courting the niece of one of the husbands, as well as a couple of servants — a drunken, hostile charwoman and the far less prickly and generally ignored teenage maid. A reporter and a mouthy photographer intrude on the action now and then, as does a free-spirited tootsie who once had a flirtation with one of the husbands at Blackpool. The plot is flimsy. The couples discover that because of a minor technicality, their marriages aren't legal, and this gives them a chance to re-evaluate their relationships. Timid Herbert Soppitt is routinely ordered about by his shrewish wife, Clara; Annie Parker has grown tired of Albert, her stingy popinjay of a husband; and while the Helliwells appear to enjoy an occasional moment of communication, their marriage seems held together more by habit than anything warmer. Given the time and place they live in, however, these folks don't have the option of divorcing and creating entirely new lives — although we really want them to, because the script hints at possibilities of true love and transformation with just a little partner-swapping. The production is sumptuous, and the set and costumes (by Vicki Smith and David Kay Mickelsen, respectively) deserve a round of applause all on their own. Still, the entire enterprise feels a bit tired and dated, and you can't help feeling that the Denver Center will never fill its seats or entice a new generation of viewers with period pieces like this. Presented by the Denver Center Theatre Company through December 16, Stage Theatre, Denver Performing Arts Complex, 303-893-4100, www.denvercenter.org. Reviewed November 29.

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