Am I crazy? In five days of New York theatergoing, I used four of the available performance times to see shows that were recently in Southern California.

I often enjoy seeing shows a second time – or even more often if the context or the concept has changed. But that certainly wasn’t the case with The Drowsy Chaperone, a hit at the Ahmanson Theatre last fall. The Broadway incarnation of this slyly postmodern take on a fictitious ’20s musical is virtually a carbon copy of the L.A. version. However, there’s one site-specific detail that provides an extra fillip of amusement.

After the show’s lonely narrator fantasizes about the heyday of Broadway’s Morosco Theatre, he rues the fact that it was demolished in the ’80s to make way for a modern hotel. In fact, we’re in that same hotel. The Marquis Theatre, Drowsy’s venue, is part of the establishment that occupies the former Morosco site. When you hear the narrator’s criticism, you immediately recall the obstacle course you traversed on the way in. The box office and lobby areas of the Marquis are a case study in user-unfriendliness.

Drowsy’s chief competition in the awards for best new musical this year was Jersey Boys, another import from Southern California. This biographical Four Seasons musical, which uses the group’s hits as its score, originated at La Jolla Playhouse. Des McAnuff, who announced last week that he’s stepping down as artistic director of the playhouse – for the second time in his career – staged Jersey Boys with such a stylish pop-art sheen and such appealing performances that it’s easy to forget the script is standard-issue. The evening almost feels like a great concert. I’ve never seen an audience linger so long after the curtain call in order to hear the band perform the exit music.

The current Broadway revival of Sweeney Todd also sometimes resembles a terrific concert more than a traditional staging. The actors double as the orchestra, deploying a variety of instruments. When they’re singing and acting, they often look straight at the audience, not at each other. The set is spare and modular. The attention is focused on Stephen Sondheim’s magnificent score, occasionally at the expense of Hugh Wheeler’s intricate book about a barber’s passionate search for revenge.

John Doyle’s staging shouldn’t be someone’s first experience of Sweeney. Novices might not understand every turn of the melodramatic story. East West Players’ L.A. revival earlier this year brought more clarity to the tale. But Sweeney fans will be delighted in New York, even if Patti LuPone is on vacation, as she was last week. Her replacement, Judy Kaye, is very good, and the shaved-headed Michael Cerveris’s dive into the title role is menacing and memorable.

Talk about darkly humorous horror stories in the Sweeney vein – Martin McDonagh’s The Lieutenant of Inishmore is dropping jaws nightly on Broadway. It hasn’t played L.A., but here’s hoping that one of our better-endowed companies has the guts for it – and the special-effects expertise.

Inishmore is ostensibly about Irish terrorists. Hitting closer to home is Stuff Happens, David Hare’s dissection of the decisions that led to the Iraq war. Daniel Sullivan’s staging, which closed Sunday at the New York Public Theater, was decidedly different from Gordon Davidson’s American premiere at the Mark Taper Forum last year.

The Public audience, smaller than the Taper crowd, was split into two parts who faced each other across the stage. We could monitor each other’s reactions. The experience was closer to that of a town meeting, befitting Hare’s conclusion that we get the government we deserve. The script was updated with 2006 references, so it still felt hot off the presses.

I’ll save my thoughts about a couple of other shows for the day when they arrive in L.A. They will, eventually. Manhattan theater has the concentrated investment money and geography, but L.A. has just as many professional productions, if you know where to look.

06-29-06