Woody’s [rating:5] 

Geoff Hoyle wields invisible cigarette in “Geezer.” Photo: Patti Meyer.

Geoff Hoyle portrayed Mr. Sniff in the Pickle Family Circus in San Francisco, Zazu in The Lion Kingon Broadway, and a bevy of other characters I’ve cherished.

Now he’s portraying Geoff Hoyle.At least a carnival-mirror version of him (and his anxieties about death lingering in the wings).

His autobiographical solo show, Geezer, is again entrenched at The Marsh, an intimate San Francisco theater. In it, he combines mime, vaudeville, English music hall comedy — and transforms into a rubber-faced, rubber-bodied, one-man sound machine.

His lithe movements and physical one-liners are masterfully choreographed.

I smiled. I chuckled. I laughed out loud.

Clad in dark slacks and a red shirt, Hoyle friskily pulls elongated invisible hairs from his ear, nostril and chest before playing “Disease: The Video Game,” which becomes an organ recital that includes varicose veins, an enlarged prostate, gingivitis, degenerating spinal discs, diminishing eyesight, osteoporosis, arthritis and dementia.

But, believe it or don’t, he morphs all that into hilarity — even when proclaiming, “Warning: Your warranty expires in 90 days.”

“Is it death we fear,” he eventually ponders, “or just decline?”

But Hoyle’s body is so agile that he belies his 67 years — except for those moments when he whips out a hanky and wipes his sweaty brow and face. His mental agility lets him turn on a dime from skillful comedy to pathos-packed explorations of serious topics such as mortality.

And the death of his English typesetter father at age 60.

Hoyle, in fact, offers a breathholding moment in which one of his hands becomes his father’s, the other his own. The resultant clasp and bonding are pure poignancy.

His more comic instant personality transplants take the form of a blonde bombshell Latin teacher, an aging Minotaur yanked from Greek mythology, a squirrel in a school play, a metaphorical sparrow, and a whimsical glimpse at unrealized characters from a London sitcom and “Masterpiece Theater.”

The showstopper for me, though, was his interpretation of his belly becoming cat-like. My laughter, my wife’s and the crowd’s shook the rafters and then some. Printed words are inadequate to do justice to the sequence; a video might, however, since you then could see and appreciate it.

Hoyle, who studied in Paris with Marcel Marceau’s teacher, Étienne Decroux, also can make an audience squirm — as when he shows his own discomfort during a visit from his adult kids.

“Sit down,” he tells them, “so I can embarrass myself in front of you.”

Also a bit too close for comfort for geezers such as me is his railing against nursing homes. He focuses on the fictitious “Elderado, the elder commune,” drawing huge laughs along the way from a couple of antique jokes.

To wit: “Last night my wife asked me to go upstairs and make love. I said I didn’t know if I could do both.”

This 90-minute show is a re-run of one that debuted at The Marsh in San Francisco in March 2011. It’s still directed by David Ford, who also helped Brian Copeland and Charlie Varon develop their performance art.

But Hoyle is unique.

He can transform a wooden chair — believably — into the prow of a torpedo-endangered ship caught in a storm, a hospital bed and a walker.

Although he was born in Britain, he’s spent most of his life in America — emboldened by two years working with Ed, “the fourth of my artistic fathers” and a short tenure at a commune in the Ozark Mountains.

All his experiences appear to be fodder for his imagination. Boxing and stroking his shadow, for example.

But he covers each post-birth stage of life, his elastic face capturing each phase flawlessly.

Hoyle, who often makes invisible cigarettes real with his expert mime work, infrequently breaks the fourth theatrical wall and interacts with the audience. On one occasion, he asked my wife to tickle him. She was flummoxed, not knowing if he really meant for her to do it. He then mugged derision, which brought yet another laugh from the audience.

His tour de force — which deserves the standing ovation it draws — is often like attending a master class in mime and minimalism.

What Hoyle evokes is so strong that several people could found doubled over at any given point, and the convulsions of a few more turned their glee into pig-like snorts.

The show should be a must for anyone who cares about the aging process, most certainly any man or woman who’s noticed that first wrinkle.

Geoff Hoyle’s “Geezer” plays at The Marsh, 1062 Valencia St. (at 22nd), San Francisco, through Oct. 26. Performances: 8 p.m. Wednesdays and Thursdays, 5 p.m. Saturdays. Tickets: $25 to $50, (415) 282-3055 or (415) 826-5750 or www.themarsh.org.

Woody’s [rating:5] 

Mark Junek does reverse striptease in the role of Spike as (from left) Anthony Fusco (Vanya), Caroline Kaplan (Nina), and Lorri Holt (Masha) watch in “Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike.” Photo courtesy kevinberne.com.

A lot more than once.

No, I didn’t wet myself. But it was a close call during the Berkeley Rep production of the comedy that won this year’s Tony Award as best play.

The Big Apple run starred Sigourney Weaver and David Hyde Pierce. I can visualize their performances as two of the three title siblings named after Chekhov characters.

But director Richard E.T. White conducts his ensemble of actors as if it were a jazz sextet, staging one solo riff after another to extract loud laughter from the audience as easily as a teenager might Google just about anything.Witness, for instance, the brilliance of Mark Junek’s physical antics when his character, the twentysomething boy-toy Spike, does a reverse strip tease.

Or Sharon Lockwood’s breakout as Sonia, imitating Maggie Smith emoting in a screechy British voice on the way to the Oscars (while prancing in a tiara and blue gown on which no more sequins would fit).

Or Heather Alicia Simms’ star turn as Cassandra, a voodoo pi

n-pricking prognosticator, or Anthony Fusco’s Old World passivity as the bearded Vanya.Nor should the other performers be ignored. Both are top drawer, Lorri Holt as narcissistic B-movie star Masha (“I just feel old and vulnerable”) and Caroline Kaplan as wannabe actress Nina, who’s attracted to Spike (“He is so attractive — except for his personality, of course”).

Playwright Christopher Durang’s wit and cleverness can be as swift-paced as a Louis C.K. standup routine, and as omnipresent as his allusions to Shakespeare, the Beatles and Disney’s seven dwarfs.

Durang even spoofs his own reverence for his favorite 19th Century playwright.“If everyone took anti-depressants, Chekhov would have had nothing to write about,” intones one character. “I hope you’re not going to make Chekhov references all day,” pleads another.But the seriousness that lies underneath is countered by the buffoonery that’s pervasive.

Indeed, “Vanya” is an homage, with frequent references to “Three Sisters,” “The Cherry Orchard” and “Uncle Vanya” but if you’ve never seen or read anything by Chekhov you’ll still enjoy the banter, set pieces and character development — not to mention the marvelous costuming by Debra Beaver Bauer (look particularly for the dwarfs), note-perfect sound design by Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen, and the lone set by Kent Dorsey that replicates an upscale country home in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where Durang actually lives.

Durang’s characters are skillfully drawn. Sonia and Vanya feel their lives have passed them by, having spent 15 years caring for their Alzheimer’s-plagued parents.

She’s never reconciled her being adopted, and is usually sad and angry, a throwaway spinster who “can’t do anything right.” He laments his life, too, and relishes raving about the glories of yesteryear and the dreadfulness of today’s culture.

Like much of Chekhov’s work, “Vanya” emphasizes people and relationships rather than plot — with everyone working in unison to make sure the audience feels the play is much shorter than its two hours plus.

And when the characters become stagehands and move furniture between scenes, their actions appear to be seamless part of the play.Durang, who is gay, has had a history of dealing with homosexuality, Roman Catholic dogma and child abuse in his previous work (which included “Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All for You” and “Beyond Therapy”).This one skips the dogma and abuse.

Samuel Beckett, creator of “Waiting for Godot,” is known as the father of the Theater of the Absurd. In a sense, Durang might be considered his stepchild, romping in the same playground although his humor and personages are less abstract, more grounded, more rooted in reality.

Despite all the mugging and over-the-topness.

“Who’d you recommend this show to?” my wife asked me as we left the theater, continuing a verbal game we’ve played for years.

“Everyone,” I replied — “without hesitation.”

“Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike” plays at the Berkeley Repertory’s Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison St., Berkeley, through Oct. 25. Night performances, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Wednesdays and Sundays, 7 p.m.; matinees, Saturdays and Sundays, 2 p.m. Tickets: $17.50 to $89, subject to change, (510) 647-2949 or www.berkeleyrep.org.

Woody’s [rating:4.5] 

Hannah peeks through maze from the top. Photo: Woody Weingarten

My granddaughter owns a short attention span — except when she’s fascinated.

And then the 6-year-old, like most kids her age (or younger), insists on repeating whatever’s grabbed her, again and again and again. Her recent visit to the new Exploratorium is an unequaled for-instance.

She had nearly as much fun as horsing around with her new rescue puppy.

Hannah had been to the old science museum building in the Palace of Fine Arts multiple times, and loved it. But this time her squeals of delight were louder, her giggles more effervescent.

Repeatedly.

Once upon a time she raced from one exhibit to another, testing each for about half a second. But she was only 5 then. Or 4. Or 3 the first time we took her.

Now, she’s exponentially more mature.

Can the word “sophisticated” fit a first-grader? Yes, of course (though I grant a substantial bias in Hannah’s case).

Anyway, this time she lingered at exhibits. And tested each gain, again and again.

“Self-Centered Mirror” shows Hannah and her grandpa. Photo: Woody WeingartenAnyway, this time she lingered at exhibits. And tested each again, again and again.

She didn’t tire until the beginning of our fourth hour.

Like a white-haired roadie, I trailed her as if she were a rock star whose latest single had just gone viral. And I managed to experience much of her hands-on, trial-and-error experimentation from an analogous child’s-eye-view.

I left believing that had I looked close enough, I could have seen her mind expand.

The new Exploratorium, like the old, is an interactive, two-story science museum. But this one’s indoors-outdoors, a 330,000-square-foot facility with three times the space.It has 40 new exhibits and 560 carryovers, gratifying each of the senses except taste (and that craving might be satisfied at the posh 200-seat buffet-style Seaglass Restaurant or a tiny takeout café, “the seismic joint”).

Because the facility’s bigger, it doesn’t feel cramped or crowded. And it seems a bit less noisy (as well as somewhat less exciting).

But Hannah didn’t think about any of that.

She was too busy running back and forth between two displays — “Self-Excluding Mirror,” which reproduced images but somehow made the person in the center disappear, and “Self-Centered Mirror,” which replicated the viewer over and over.

Before that, near the entrance, she’d became entranced with “A Drop to Drink,” featuring a miniature hand she could manipulate robotically to fill a miniature cup with a lone drop of water, and “Black Sand,” an exhibit that showcased countless metallic pieces that stuck together magnetically. A few times during our visit she returned to both stations.

Hannah enjoyed exhibits carried over from the old building.

One favorite — where images and colors changed when we waved our arms, kicked out our legs and wiggled our torsos. Another was a screen crammed with pins that made different hand shapes and designs as she moved her fingers underneath.

Another echo came as Scott Weaver guided ping-pong balls through his panoramic view of San Francisco and vicinity made from “105,387 and a half toothpicks.” We’d seen it before, at the Marin County Fair, but loved it still.His art-piece only took 37 years to finish.

Hannah was also taken with “Tidal Memory,” its 24 columns of water representing 24 hours of tide data.

I, meanwhile, enjoyed playing “The Visible Pinball Machine,” which showed the machine’s innards. And all of us marveled at “Gyroid,” an outdoor climbing maze Hannah crawled through and atop while we watched.

Leaving, Hannah gleefully said she liked running into and out of an “orange and white spinning circus-tent thing,” spinning a plastic ball on a column of air, and changing the course of a simulated tornado.It’s truly impossible to even mention all we experienced, much less what we didn’t do (like check out the second floor and its observation center).

But we did recognize the Exploratorium features displays for virtually every age, ranging from some aimed at preschoolers to some so technical a doctorate in an esoteric scientific endeavor might help.

I think that translates, in effect, into something for everyone.All that’s required is sufficient time.

Oh, well, there’s always next time. Or the time after that. Or the one after that. Or…

The Exploratorium, Pier 15, San Francisco, is Tuesdays through Sundays, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.; Wednesdays, 10 a.m. to 10 p.m.; Thursday night After Dark cash-bar event for those 18 and older, 6 to 10 p.m. Tickets: $10-$25. Information: (415) 528-4444 or www.exploratorium.edu.

Woody’s [rating:5] 

San Francisco Symphony conductor Michael Tilson-Thomas

Violin soloist James Ehnes

My wife last heard George Gershwin’s “An American in Paris” played in the flesh 49 years ago in Manhattan.

I heard it in-person much more currently — 33 years ago — also in New York.

Sadly, neither of us can remember a thing about those concerts other than we were there. But the San Francisco Symphony version we caught recently, with Michael Tilson-Thomas conducting with his usual exemplary zeal, is apt to linger in our memories a long, long time.

And not because the music stand of a musician in the last row slipped down with a clunk before the Davies Hall concert began.

But because the performance was as luscious and joyous as the first bite of a truffle.

And then some.

The audience agreed. It gave the musicians — and MTT, of course — a standing ovation.

Tilson-Thomas conducted it at a good clip, conjuring up all the vibrancy possible from Gershwin’s instrumental dialogue — aided, naturally, by the incredible finesse of San Francisco’s finest music-makers.

Together they painted a melodic portrait that evoked the same images and feelings Gershwin must have experienced in the vital, avant-garde Paris of the 1920s.

MTT didn’t settle for just Gershwin, however.

He constructed an amazing program that beguiled the audience, starting with “The Alcotts,” a six-minute rendition of an unexpectedly sweet Charles Ives movement from “A Concord Symphony” — replete with passages that hint of church hymns and Beethoven’s Fifth.

Then, soloist James Ehnes, whose lightning-fast bow was a visual blur at the same time he created stringed exactitude, drew a standing ovation for his artistry on Samuel Barber’s ”Violin Concerto, Opus 14.” Some pundits have found the explosive, ultra-fast third movement disconnected from the first more pensive two, but Ehnes made any previous criticism vanish.

My wife commented of the “Presto in moto perpetuo,” only half in jest, that “his virtuosity made Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘The Flight of the Bumblebee’ sound like it’s flying in slow motion.”

MTT gently pushed Ehnes back on stage for an encore. Niccolò Paganini’s “Caprice No. 16” earned him another standing ovation.

Tilson-Thomas also paired George Antheil’s “A Jazz Symphony,” a multi-faceted pastiche from 1928, with the Gershwin closer, suggesting Antheil was “deliberately out there, to delight and provoke.”

He urged the crowd to “fasten your seat belts — here it goes.”

The piece, with layered textures, colors and rhythms, with musical pauses as effective as those in a Harold Pinter play, included blow-your-mind riffs from trumpeter Mark Inouye and pianist Robin Sutherland.

One muted horn segment infused its bluesy strains in my mind and heart at once. A brief clarinet segment duplicated that impact.

An ad campaign of the ‘70s and ‘80s repeatedly proclaimed that “When E.F. Hutton talks, people listen.” I suggest the slogan be updated for the 2013-14 season: “When MTT conducts, everyone listens.”

His work so inspired my spouse, in fact, she rushed home to frolic with “An American in Paris” on our Yamaha piano.

She’d never played it before but thought it “would be fun.”

It was.

For her and me.

But in good conscience I must admit the symphony did it a teensy-weensy bit better.

Maybe, dear, it was just because they’d rehearsed.

If you missed this performance, you might want to catch one of these upcoming concerts: “MTT and Jeremy Denk: Beethoven, Mozart, Copland,” Nov. 7-10; Natalie Cole and the symphony, Nov. 25; Dianne Reeves with the orchestra, Dec. 11; Burt Bacharach and the symphony, Dec. 13; “MTT and Yo-Yo Ma,” Feb. 28. Information: (415) 864-6400 or www.sfsymphony.org.

Film newcomer Thomas Simon stars in the title role of “The Zigzag Kid.”

Nono is an exceedingly spirited, exceedingly imaginative Dutch kid who draws attention through mischievous stunts — particularly when they don’t work.

But he can be disarming.

And so can “The Zigzag Kid,” the coming-of-age film in which Thomas Simon stars as Nono, a 13-year-old two days from his bar mitzvah.

“Zigzag,” the opening-night entry of this year’s San Francisco Jewish Film Festival, will play at the California Theater in Berkeley on Aug. 6 and at the Rafael Theatre in Marin on Aug. 12.

The movie’s storyline is deceptively simple: Nono wants to emulate his dad, whom they both steadfastly believe is the best police inspector in the world, and in the process searches for details about his mother’s death.

Adventures ensue.

Although that may not sound wholeheartedly enchanting, when you add the slickest thief in the world; the inventive secretary-girlfriend of the boy’s father; and a seductive chanteuse marvelously portrayed by Isabella Rossellini (who’s looking more and more like her mother, Ingrid Bergman, as she ages), you find yourself devouring a cinematic stew spiced to please.

The 95-minute film — a fast-paced, subtitled Dutch-Belgian detective puzzler — contains way more whimsy and fantasy than a viewer might expect.

Plus amusing umbrella hijinks. And disguises. And chases.

With a modicum of poignancy.

And that leaves no room to talk about the charming flick’s top-notch production values.

Purists may object to the movie’s blurring of good and bad, but the movie’s magic will make that mindset disappear quickly for most filmgoers.

The SFJFF, the world’s first and still largest Jewish film festival, this year — its 23rd — is screening 74 films from 26 countries in nine Bay Area venues.

Berkeley and Marin screenings both will include an outstanding documentary, “Dancing in Jaffa,” which traces a world-class dancer’s efforts to teach dance to Jewish-Israeli and Palestinian-Israeli youngsters and then pair them in competition.

Another Marin highlight, which also will be shown in Oakland, is “The Trials of Muhammad Ali,” which explores issues of race, identity, power and faith.

A total of 39SFJFF films were slated for the California Theatre, 2113 Kittredge St., Berkeley, between Aug. 2 to 8. Thirteen films will screen at the Rafael Theatre, 1118 Fourth St., San Rafael, between Aug. 10 and 12. Festival information can be found at (415) 621-0523 or www.sfjff.org.