Less tongue-in-cheek is the acting by an able trio who bring out what subtlety there is in the play, none of whose characters are bad people or (as Stanislavsky would say) small actors. Even Jake, the smugly affable film star flexing his actual and figurative muscles, has his insecurities, and Kelby T. Akin signals them before the script does. As Harry, the title symbol of powerlessness, Christopher James Webb simmers with snarkiness when disparaging his "talent-free" rival, but he also captures the committed actor in Harry — no small feat given the silliness of the masterpiece to which he must apply his thespian chops. Most irresistible is Laura Latreille's disappointed actress-turned-stage-manager Roxanne, holding on by a thread to her headset, her cell phone, her actors, her hurt feelings. She is a veritable volcano of exasperation, but you don't miss the bruise beneath all the spewing lava.
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