Woody Allen’s Getting Even and its follow-up Without Feathers were collections of short stories and plays published in the late 1960s by the comedian just as his star was on the rise. This is vintage Woody, with some really oddball humor. It is loaded with seemingly random observations that skewer religion, philosophy, and sex, three of Allen’s favorite targets. Some of the short stories read like short plays, and the short plays can be easily mistaken for short stories. Under the auspices of North Valley Community Playhouse, Director John Bellian has mounted two of Allen’s plays and three of his short stories to a very disappointing result. Were it not for the second act, which many might not get to if they are driven off by the first, this production could be accused of putting the “non” back into non-contract theatre.

While very funny, Allen’s work is also very stuck in a time and place, New York in the 60s. Bellian has done almost nothing to attempt updating or moving the locale, so Brooklyn College, Hong Fat Noodle Company, and spending $50 a night to stay at the Eden Roc in Miami remain. One actor near the end drops in a reference to Paradise Valley, rather disconcerting after all of the other mentions of long ago departed 1960s and New York references. It’s not a problem for me, since it’s all the familiar territory of my youth, but anyone under the age of 40 who isn’t from the tri-state area might feel lost.

Worse, a lot of the performances and blocking are all over the map. The opening scene, a ten minute play entitled Death Knocks in which Death drops in to take away Nat Ackerman of Long Island but gets wrangled into playing gin rummy instead is played by Justin Ison and Brandon Noel with a – pardon the pun – deadpan that leeches it of humor. They barrel through the scene, never taking the time to bond. It’s a hint of what’s to come. Allen’s take on the “Count Dracula” myth is turned into an embarrassing sham of overacting, non-existent comedic timing, and laughable costuming. Rand Lyons chews the scenery as the Count, Noel and Deborah Hildebrandt try to cover their bumbling with broadness as a Baker and wife, then Ison’s Mayor bumbles into the Hungarian setting dressed as a British Lord with his drunken wife (Erin Del Rosso) stumbling behind. It becomes an excuse to use some flash paper to underwhelming result. Thankfully stripped from the show is a performance of the story “The Whore of Mensa,” leaving the finale of the first act “Mr. Big,” a metaphysical noir farce that might work if I could believe that anyone on the stage knew the difference between Emmanuel Kant and Clark Kent. While some of the performances actually involved recognizable acting, such as Noel’s Kaiser, it is painfully obvious that Amy Jean Page and many others of the ensemble might just as well have been spouting pops and squeaks as the names of the great thinkers.

Intermission offered a difficult choice: more potential mauling of one of my idols or a nice drive home with the top down, taking the scenic route. I was reminded, though, that “Hope is the Thing with Feathers,” and I’m always ready to be plucked. I was lucky this time around, because the second act, while still disappointing, was not even half as disappointing as the first. God (A Play) is Allen’s Peer Gynt, a play that is a great read but seems impossible to mount. This time around, Ison and Noel showed some strong comedic timing and camaraderie as Diabetes and Hepatitis, Greek playwright and actor team seeking to win the Athenian festival but unable to come up with an ending for the play. Their desperate attempts at finding one lead to conversations with the playwright of their play (a phone call to Woody Allen), discussions with and the involvement of a Brooklyn College pseudo in the audience named Doris (Del Rosso, this time redeeming herself with her perky performance), and a confrontation with the concept of deus ex machina. Granted, the God Machine Bellian introduces is beyond pitiful, but there’s some good comedy leading up to it. If this one act had been the entire evening, it might only have been a letdown rather than a meltdown.