Too bad it's Yale weekend.

Heresy? Maybe. But if so, there'll be a lot of heretics standing on the wrong side of footlights Friday and Saturday nights, at the Loeb, the Ex and the IOP Forum, looking out at rows of chairs whose rightful occupants are boozing it up down in New Haven.

For whoever didn't notice, back when the schedules were composed, this weekend is not exactly the time to launch daring theatrical experiments, like mounting two simultaneous productions of Twelfth Night at the Loeb. Or, for that matter, to continue daring theatrical experiments, like the completely rewritten and updated version of Hair at the Forum, slated to conclude its two-weekend run.

Double Duty

The folks who thought two simultaneous productions of Twelfth Night would be an educational experience for all involved haven't changed their minds. But some of them have broader definitions of "educational" these days after six weeks of mixups and overlaps between Sam Samuels' production, entering its final weekend at the mainstage, and Paul Warner's rendition, going up Thursday night in the Ex.

The first hint of trouble came when the Ex show finished preliminary auditions and posted a callback list--and the callbacks began showing up at mainstage auditions, which were still in the first round. "Nobody knew where to go when. It was chaotic," recalls a mainstage production person.

Then there are the differences between the two productions--the most interesting aspect of the experiment, to be sure, but a source of infinite confusion all the same. Samuels' production, big and ornate, is patterned after a 1940s movie, along the lines of The Philadelphia Story or Bringing Up Baby. In the sumptuous settings and romantically stylized plots of these classic Hepburn-Tracy films. Samuels sees a modern theatrical framework that suits Shakespeare's comedies. His production, based on this motif, bursts with the jest and joys of love, as various sets of lovers "cast off their masks and earn the right to marry."

Meanwhile, Warner's cast and crew have been concocting a production which will highlight love's fears, pains, and isolation. Wandering through Shakespeare's disguises and wordplays, these Twelfth-Nighters will don more aod more masks, not shed them, in a bright mirrored "cabaret" set designed to emphasize their loneliness.

The contrasts in interpretation are, as intended, the most fascinating aspect of either production, especially for those audience members--assuming they're in town--who take advantage of a Friday or Saturday matinee to see the two shows back-to-back. But all has not been smiles and miraculously enlarged perceptions of drama. For instance, someone called up Ex publicity manager Amy Sloane to complain, about a poster which, he complained, didn't reflect the show's spirit--a lush cinematic panorama with a full moon shining on two lovers by the seaside. Of course, the small print identified it as a mainstage poster. Sloane, exasperated, would up arranging for extra publicity to sort out the muddle.

Then, too, there were rehearsals, which, not surprisingly, have overlapped more and more as opening nights approached. The Loeb is only so big, and when both shows rehearse every night, possibilities are limited. Observes Samuels. "There were a surprising number of nights when we were rehearsing the same scene in adjacent rooms--and, for some reason, they always seemed to be louder."

Torch the Kiosks

Hair, directed by Thania Papas at the IOP, will finish its run this weekend, after what may have been one of the most irritating poster campaigns in Kiosk history.

Now, we're not blaming the Forum, or the Hair folk for that matter. With enough money for that many rounds of postering (three, I think) someone had to go overboard. Someone had to thing of putting up a lot of 8 1/2 x 11" sheets, each with one word from the epic string of hair-adjectives from the title track--braided, spangled, spaghettied, bushy, curly, and so forth.

It's creative, but pity the poor student who innocently passes a pink sign which orders. "FLOW IT." Thinking of other things, he continues on his way, passing, soon, a chartreuse legend: "BRAIDED." He losed his train of thought and regains it in time to be accosted by a purple "spaghettied." At this point, everything snaps, and the hapless pedestrian howls. "What the hell is this?" Another pedestrian passes him and throws over one shoulder, without slowing down. "Hair." "What?" "Hair."

Publicity, it may be. But is it advertising?