Head games at the Wade James

I can’t say campy comedy is my cup of tea. But the zany free-for-all that concluded its two-week run last weekend at the Wade James cracked up any number of others.

The fiasco of a farce was Alternative Stage’s “There is No Place Like Homicide” by Robert Nott.

Here is a Southwest playwright with “Homicide” as his only stage play as far as I know and a radio show and newspaper column, both centered on film and the local theater scene. His main claim to fame is a couple of books: one, on John Garfield; the other, on Western film heroes out of the 1940’s and 50’s (Randolph Scott, Joel McCrae and Audie Murphy). This dude is hung up on the past and coming from the head.

“Homicide” picks up and kicks into gear, mostly on Bogey’s Sam Spade in “Maltese Falcon,” some on “Casablanca” and lots on film noire. Detecting the references tickles some folks pink and ticks others off. Either way, this who-is-doing-what-to-whom is loaded with clichés.

Bias aside, got to hand it to Alternative Stages.

Producer-director Carissa Meisner Smit wasn’t targeting a mainstream audience. Her sights were set on theatergoers who like a mix of dark comedy and mind games. Those types who showed up connected.

Also, from a performance standpoint, Smit was interested in pure acting with a minimum of props, sets and tech effects. The mileage she got out of a cast on a basically bare stage was considerable. It went from a looney bin to a waterfront dock and back with whackos you had to see to believe.

David Nance captivated as Sting Despondent, a Sam Spade takeoff who wiggles out of his straightjacket to lead the goose chase. Nance takes you into his hands, establishes credibility, works you with a twisted sense of humor and leaves you laughing. Nice going, Nance.

Nance’s gal, Tuesday, definitely to be confused with Gal Friday, was Jennifer Hawkins wearing a picture-perfect deadpan. Hawkins did a “Who’s on First”-type shtick — not equal to Costello’s, but not bad.

Mark Gladding’s Dr. Ha Ha was to die laughing for. Gladding’s got a delivery you can’t resist. How does that man do it?

Lisa Wright Thiroux’s dipsy-doodle of a buxom bombshell took you back to “Born Yesterday” with a wink.

And why shouldn’t David Bailey have used his Captain Epsom to materialize Captain Ahab? Epsom? Salt? Epsom and Ahab are both old salts?

As for Jeff Stilwell’s punch-drunk Johnny Angel, I really like Stilwell’s playwriting.

This was community theater off in a back eddy near the mainstream’s shore: not for everybody, a great change of pace and a delight for some.

Reactions? Comments? E-mail Dale Burrows at grayghost7@comcast.net.