Capsule reviews of current area theater presentations

All's Well That Ends Well — One of Shakespeare's less-produced romantic comedies features two rather unappealing people as the major "love" interest. Helena, a ward of the Countess of Rossillion, spent her early life chilling with the royal family, as her dad was the court physician, and developed a monster crush on the Countess' son Bertram, a handsome fellow who's now grown up and on his way to serve the ailing King of France. Bert, who's about as warm and cuddly as a dead perch, is forced to marry Helena. But he opts to go to war instead of bedding the wife he despises. On his way out, he claims he will never accept Helena until she wears his ring (he never takes it off) and bears his child (fat chance). So Helena spends the rest of the play involved in sly subterfuges, as she maneuvers her way into Bert's stony heart. Caught somewhere between drama and comedy, this production, under the direction of Charles Fee, has moments of charm and wit separated by frequent stretches of enervating blather. Lending excellent comic relief are David Anthony Smith as the vocabulary-challenged and cowardly Parolles, and Jeffrey C. Hawkins, who plays the Countess' clown, Lavatch, with brio and a nicely modified Groucho Marx stride. Markus Potter is suitably chilly as Bertram, and Sara M. Bruner capably displays Helena's OCD impulses, although the rhythm of her speech tends to be mechanical at times. And since we never really cheer for either, the happy ending alluded to in the title is somewhat less than enchanting. Through April 25 at the Great Lakes Theater Festival, Ohio Theatre, Playhouse Square Center, 1511 Euclid Ave., 216-241-6000. — Christine Howey

The Crucible — An allegory for the post-World War II "Red Scare," this play had a very personal genesis. Playwright Arthur Miller had been subjected to grilling by the vile House Un-American Activities Committee and cited for contempt of Congress for refusing to name fellow writers who had attended a communist meeting years before. The Crucible turns that political witch hunt into a literal one, as a number of girls in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692, band together and start declaring that there are witches in their midst. This admirable production throws all the emphasis on the actors and Miller's words, since the set design by Narelle Sissons is almost painfully plain. The talented Great Lakes company, under the direction of Drew Barr, brings Miller's words to life with compelling power. Andrew May, raging and helpless as John Proctor, and a quiet Laura Perrotta, as his wife, make the confusion and desperation of this quite ordinary couple visceral and vivid. At over three hours with intermission, The Crucible is no lighthearted romp. But the second-act trial puts any TV courtroom drama to shame. Innocent people writhe on the spiny point of mass hysteria as a mindless spasm of fear swiftly devastates their lives. Through April 27, produced by the Great Lakes Theater Festival at the Ohio Theatre, Playhouse Square Center, 1511 Euclid Avenue, 216-241-6000. — Howey

In the Continuum — In this play by Danai Gurira and Nikkole Salter, HIV/AIDS distorts the promising lives of Abigail, a TV newsperson in Zimbabwe, and Nia, a 19-year-old Los Angeles woman with a facility for poetry and tendencies toward kleptomania and self-delusion. The two one-woman shows, staged side by side in alternating scenes, contain weaknesses in both the writing and performances, but the production as a whole is still profoundly affecting. In Zimbabwe, Abigail talks about her career and family plans — she's pregnant and was infected by her husband — but her bright horizons are quickly darkened by the societal pressures applied to African women with AIDS. Nia acquired the HIV retrovirus from her boyfriend Darnell, a professional athlete whose basic attitude is represented by his absence. The script, believe it or not, contains touches of humor. Much of the lighter side is supplied by Kimberly Brown, who wonderfully crafts different and believable characters, including Nia. As Abigail, Bianca Sams has a lovely and lilting accent, but, with the exception of the witch doctor, her characters all speak with the same tempo and inflection. Director Tony Sias and his two actors fashion some memorable moments in this 85-minute performance, but ultimately, the playwrights' format of self-contained monologues starts to wear thin and loses theatrical momentum. Even so, the downbeat ending feels appropriate and leaves you wondering when we will ever stop punishing the victims. Through May 3 at Cleveland Public Theatre, 6415 Detroit Ave., 216-631-2727. — Howey