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52 Pick-Up. The central conceit of this love story involves a pack of cards that two actors scatter, then pick up, one by one, announcing what the card is and reading its caption, which is always something evocative and elliptical, like "What happened?" or "Cities." That statement cues a brief...
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52 Pick-Up. The central conceit of this love story involves a pack of cards that two actors scatter, then pick up, one by one, announcing what the card is and reading its caption, which is always something evocative and elliptical, like "What happened?" or "Cities." That statement cues a brief scene. The scenes are out of order, so you never get the straightforward arc of the couple's relationship; you may see the wistful one-year-after scene before the first meeting, for example. And since the cards can be picked up in almost endless combinations and permutations, no two audiences will ever see quite the same play. The dialogue isn't brilliant, but it isn't banal, either, and it does communicate the uncertainties of love and the difficulties that lovers have in talking honestly with each other. You are likely to find yourself smiling, and now and then remembering. Gemma Wilcox and Sam Elmore bring subtlety and ingenuity to all the scenes and make an intriguing game of the pick-up process. Presented by Gemma Wilcox Productions through May 16, Bindery/Space, 770 22nd Street, 1-800-838-3006, www.gemmawilcox.com. Reviewed January 22.

Girls Only. The trouble with Girls Only, a two-woman evening of conversation, skits, singing, improvisation and audience participation, is that it's so relentlessly nice. Creator-performers Barbara Gehring and Linda Klein have worked together for many years; at some point, they read their early diaries to each other and were transfixed by the similarities and differences they found in them, as well as the insights they gained into their own psyches and the travails of puberty. This theater piece was developed from that material — but not all of that material. "I purposely don't read every diary entry in the show, because it turns out I was kind of mean, and I don't want to be mean," Klein told an interviewer. But mean is funny, and when you cut it out entirely, what do you have to joke about? Girly pink bedrooms, purses, bras, skinny models in glossy magazines. Every time they tell a story with the tiniest bite to it, Gehring and Klein — both talented and appealing stage performers — move instantly to reassure us that they don't mean it. At one point Klein relates an interesting tale about how she came to possess the badly taxidermied body of an electrocuted squirrel as a child; the minute she's completed this funny, freaky moment in an otherwise highly predictable evening, she gives a pouty, don't-get-me-wrong grin and sweetly caresses the squirrel's head. There's enough good material here for a tight, funny, one-hour-long show, but this one stretches on and on, as if Klein and Gehring had been determined to throw every single joke and piece of shtick that occurred to them in the script. Presented by Denver Center Attractions through June, Garner Galleria Theatre in the Denver Performing Arts Complex, 303-893-4100, www.denvercenter.org. Reviewed September 18.

Sunsets and Margaritas. Jose Cruz Gonzalez's play is so energetic, jolly and good-natured, and presents such an appealing political and familial viewpoint, that it seems coldhearted not to like it, like kicking away a friendly puppy as it darts at your feet. But this world premiere commissioned by the Denver Center Theatre Company is filled with unfunny jokes and plot turns: comic bits repeated too often, too many people fainting dead away, too many scenes in which a hyperventilating character breathes into a paper bag. And paterfamilias Candelario spends an unconscionable amount of time in his underpants. Why? Because a man in underpants is always funny, right? The plot concerns the attempts of Candelario's son to place him in a retirement community, despite a cultural tradition that requires family members to take care of each other, and involves lots of arguing and a slew of ball-breaking appearances by various mythic and folkloric characters. Director Nicholas C. Avila has encouraged a quivering, over-the-top acting style that often becomes tooth-grindingly unwatchable and does no favors at all to the lightweight script. Presented by the Denver Center Theatre Company through May 16, Ricketson Theatre, Denver Performing Arts Complex, 303-893-4100, www.denvercenter.org. (Find the complete review at westword.com.)

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