‘Mango, Mango’ Falls From the Tree

Debra Ehrhardt’s solo show “Mango, Mango,” staged by David Groh at the Lee Strasberg Theatre, benefits greatly from the star’s physical charms. Dressed in a form-fitting, light orange top and blue jeans, she looks like she’s auditioning for a wet T-shirt contest.

Her attractiveness, sunny demeanor and melodic Jamaican accent are not enough to overcome the limits of her acting skills. The script, based on her own experiences, is little more than a series of stories that might be amusing if told one at a time at a party. Strung together, the stories grow tiresome quickly and never merge into a meaningful whole.

Recalling an innocent moment when she longed for a mango ripening out of reach on a tall tree in her backyard, Ehrhardt chatters about her childhood. In Jamaica, she finds a strange power in her femininity--a boy will pay to show her his private parts and give her more money if she touches them. Yet when she later describes the nauseating horror of being forced to manually stimulate her pastor, these two events are not tied together but allowed to float as if they happened to two different people.

Not only is the script devoid of reflection, but it’s neatly tied into a pat conclusion. Nothing of the sensual sweetness of a mango or its satisfying, slippery texture characterizes “Mango, Mango,” which is saccharine, superficial and not short enough.

*

* “Mango, Mango,” Lee Strasberg Theatre, 7936 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood. Wednesdays-Thursdays, 8 p.m. Ends April 20. (323) 655-TKTS. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.