VERSAILLES — The newly christened Woodford Theater, formerly the Woodford County Theatrical Arts Association, opens its 2009-10 season with a Victorian flourish and an homage to one of the wittiest, and most infamous, playwrights of all time.

Beth Kirchner directs The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscare Wilde’s famous farce poking fun at the very London high society circles he himself frequented. Full of ribald characters with vacuous motives, the hallmark of the show is Wilde’s unapologetic, lavish play with language, a linguistically Victorian aspect of the play Kirchner hopes to translate to modern audiences. Her director’s notes lament our culture’s atrophy of language; she points to the theater as a vehicle for preserving the “art form of conversation.”

Nine actors prove more or less up to Kirchner’s lofty task. At evident at Saturday night’s performance, they largely wield the language to potently comedic effect, but a few times, the language wields them, causing them to fall into the trap of caricature over character. These instances do little to disrupt the overall flow and fun of the show, but do prevent the ensemble effort from reaching its highest level of accomplishment.

Set alternately between London and an English country manor in 1895, the play follows Algernon and Jack, a pair of high society bachelors fond of “Bunburying,” Algernon’s term for adopting an alter ego to freely adventure outside London. Bunbury is Algernon’s fake name, while Jack admits to pretending to be Earnest in the city and Jack in the country. Enter a beautiful young girl of marrying age intent on wedding a man named Earnest; her domineering mother; and another beautiful girl intent on marrying a man named Earnest. With that combination, you have a plot ripe for hijinks, confused identities and social parody.

Chris Williams’ Jack is refreshingly drawn and makes some interesting choices that pay off in laughs, like his hilarious mini-breakdown while asking the vicar (played with subtle panache by John Broderick Lynaugh) to re-christen him as “Earnest.” Ryan Briggs is largely responsible for the delivery of the bulk of the play’s most famous satiric lines, lines like, “The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous.” Replete with the ostentatious dress of a dandy, Briggs is sufficiently Wildean as Algernon but occasionally fails to connect with the audience as well as other cast members, perhaps out of his character’s perceived intellectual aloofness and commitment to utter foppishness.

While the male duo sets the plot in motion, it is the female characters who bring real color and vivacity to the show, both in costumer J. Darrell Maines’ jewel-toned frocks and the relish with which they embrace Wilde’s hyperbolic parody of high society women. Gina Scott-Lynaugh is tyrannically haughty, wretchedly domineering and love-to-hate-her loathsome as Lady Bracknell. And Dara Jade Tiller and Christina Ritter nail passive-aggressive faux formality when their characters, Gwendolen and Cecily, discover they are rival fiancées to Earnest.

Kirchner teamed up with her lighting designer, W. Todd Pickett, to design the set, an impressive revolving stage that drew a few gasps when a surprised audience saw the first rotation.

Speaking of the audience, the Saturday night crowd I was a part of did not react much to the funnier moments in the script. The first laugh-out-loud moment came not after one of Wilde’s famously wry, sardonic quips, but only after one of the main characters sat on top of another one in a bit of injected slapstick, indicating that despite Kirchner’s best efforts, the audience just may not be that into 19th-century period pieces. Audience speculation aside, the show remains solid, fun, and most important, Wilde.

“We’re still here!” Actors Guild of Lexington managing director Kimberly Shaw exclaimed in her curtain speech on opening night of Beguiled Again, a musical revue of the songs of Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart. Yes, Actors Guild is still here — but just barely.

AGL has had a rough summer of financial troubles and personnel changes, but the season opener feels like the kind of show that is held together with blood, sweat, duct tape and a lot of crossed fingers. Technical elements seem hurriedly and thoughtlessly assembled and while the six-piece ensemble of performers has the pipes to do the music justice, they falter as actors, lacking the necessary verve and charisma to effectively sell the show to the audience.

Featuring more than 50 Rodgers and Hart selections that span the duo’s Broadway and Hollywood career, Beguiled Again’s greatest challenge is its very format: the musical revue. With no plot, no back story, no real characters even, the show relies on music and spectacle alone to make its case. A few cheesy skits serve as transitions from one song grouping to another, often linked by theme. Because a musical revue does not have a storyline to keep the audience engaged, to succeed it must rely entirely on a strong directorial vision, flawless technical design and performers who really know how to work a crowd. As of Friday night, none of these elements had begun to jell.

Stephen Currens’ directorial vision lacks polish and originality and fails to compensate for obvious weaknesses. For instance, knowing that the performers cannot carry the thrust of the show themselves (a bright and captivating Sarah M. Matthews being the notable exception), why not indulge in some glamorous spectacle to keep the audience entertained? How about sparklier costuming or more visually engaging set and lighting design? Eric Seale’s set design offers a simple enough premise: A three-piece band is flanked on either side by suspended large mirrors that smack of Broadway dressing rooms. I am no carpenter, but something in their construction seems largely unfinished, a trait that intermittently plagues other aspects of the production. For example, there is more than one instance in which the performers simply stand and sing with their arms to the sides, indicating to me that perhaps some choreography remains to be added.

Speaking of things to be added, I was flummoxed by the presence of a large projector screen suspended behind the band. The words “Beguiled Again” are brightly displayed in a funky, neon-sign font. I was expecting visual images to be projected during the show, perhaps some New York scenes during Broadway skits or whatever might correspond with the show’s shifting themes. But there was never anything else projected onto the screen except for the word “intermission.” Why go to the trouble of adding this element without using it? Why not just make a real sign instead?

The show is not all bad, just wildly uneven, with peaks and valleys that range from soaring vocal harmonies and solos rendered with aching tenderness to stilted choreography and ho-hum filler pieces that are executed without confidence or heart. Some scenes, like the show’s opening number, seem downright student-y. Perhaps it was David Probus’ washed-out lighting in the opening numbers, but a few of the actors had the deer-in-the-headlights look of stage fright and seemed to be literally just going through the motions. Their stiff nerves seemed to thaw as the show gained momentum, and by the second act, scenes like the show’s rousing finale elevated the production to more professional levels.

If Currens and company can get the remainder of the show, which runs through Oct. 4, on par with its better moments, Beguiled Again might experience a revival. Otherwise, it is a rough but tenacious testament to determination. Yes, despite a host of obstacles, the show did go on. That's about it.

There's one thing you can definitely say about the folks at Balagula Theater: they are not afraid to take on challenging material.

The debut production of the theater's first full scale season features the work of a playwright who most artistic directors shy away from: Samuel Beckett. A noted existentialist whose dramatic works have been billed "Theater of the Absurd," Beckett's approach to play writing includes long strands of silence, trailing fragments of words, potent symbolism, minimalist settings and a disconnection from the usual precepts of time and place.

Beckett's unusual approach to theater may have earned him a Nobel Prize, but that does not mean it is easily accessible for audiences or theaters. As such, mounting any production of Beckett is a considerable creative and financial risk, but Balagula Theater proves up to the task in its latest production, B for Beckett.

The production is actually a series of three plays that, according to the program notes, are "meant to be viewed as a single show that runs without intermission to preserve the integrity of Beckett’s world." Two short plays, Play and Not I bookend the lengthier, meatier Endgame, widely considered one of the playwright's most important works.

Keen direction, carefully executed acting, and sensitivity to the material's weighty themes are hallmarks of this show. Whether anyone understands what is actually happening in the plays is another matter.

Beckett's work is made to be experienced more than understood. The plays' themes and emotional impressions endure long after their specifics have evaporated. So, perhaps it is best to judge this production of Beckett by his own criteria. He hoped that his plays would "work on the nerves of the audience, not its intellect," and in Balagula's case, they certainly do.

Each of the three shows has a different cast and director, but themes and emotional tones are consistent from one play to the other.

The futility of meaning, of striving towards meaning and even love, is explored in the first piece, Play. Directed by Ryan Case, three actors – one male and two female – are placed within oversize, misshapen, ashen urns. The audience sees only their faces, also grayed and ashen in appearance. The three faces, all of the actors' bodies that we can see, suddenly begin talking all at once, similar to a Greek chorus, but more discordantly. They begin to speak separately, each taking a turn to speak only at the exact moment that a spotlight shines directly on the face.

Turns out, the trio is linked through adultery. The man and two women, one his wife, the other his mistress, each tell his or her part of the tale in quick, gasping fragments of dialogue. The man tried, at different times, to be with each woman, and each attempt failed, leaving all three disappointed and empty. Missy Johnston, Robbie Morgan, and Christopher Rose do an excellent job with the dialogue and deserve particular praise for sharply timing their verbose delivery with the quickly shifting spotlight. Once or twice though, the lines and the spotlight did not match up, a noticeable but minor distraction.

Case's emphasis on the death of their relationships, of the decayed attempt to sustain meaning and connection, provides a fitting segue into Endgame.

Directed by Adam Luckey, Endgame is the longest selection of the evening and what most theater goers will probably find the most satisfying – if for no other reason than that it is more traditional theater. Set in what seems to be a post-apocalyptic future, Endgame focuses on one of humanity's few, perhaps only, survivors. Hamm is a blind, homebound man who orders around an assistant, Clov. Hamm’s parents, Nagg and Nell, do not have legs and live behind him in two trash cans. The world as we know it no longer exists. There is no sun, no waves on the ocean, no animals or people, nothing of life beyond the walls of his home. Actors Pete Sears and Nick Swarts develop palpable chemistry and tension between Hamm and Clov respectively. Though the pair's relationship has long since turned from fondness to reluctant toleration and indifference, they are psychologically interdependent on one another. That is, until Clov finally leaves him.

Luckey's interpretation of Endgame definitely "works on" the audience's nerves and emotions. An escalating sense of desperation, futility, and loss permeates the show. Gareth Evans and Natasha Williams set design underscores the desolation of someone, in this case, Hamm, barely hanging on in a world that has largely moved on. Windows are covered with dilapidated old lace and burlap. Tree branches are held together with chains, suggesting humanity's strangling of nature.

Sears delivers some of the finest monologues of the evening and Endgame’s quiet exit proves a welcome entrance for the show's final installment, Not I.

Natasha Williams directs Ryan Case in this short play that is perhaps the most challenging material of the evening. Case plays a character simply called Mouth. Draped in a black robe, only Case's hands and mouth are visible, shining glow-in-the-dark bright under the strobed blacklight that pulses throughout the monologue. Mouth is a character, likely a woman, who has lived most of life alone and in silence, except for key memories and events that she attempts to trace back via memory. With only the mouth illuminated, Case emphasizes the frenetic pacing of thoughts and memories, the desperate gasping for self-understanding that is, if nothing else, deeply troubling.

Like the disconnected, floating heads of Play, Not I emphasizes Beckett's insistence that modern humans are fundamentally disconnected, not only from one another, but from themselves. Language, meaning, life itself is fragmentary and confusing at best. There is no cure for this in Beckett's world, just resignation and latent acceptance.