If you don't know the story, it goes something like this (no spoilers, I promise): Wormwood, neophyte fiend and demon tormentor, gets his first job stealing Mike's soul. But being such a dunce at the whole evil-devil-thing, he needs uncle Screwtape to give advice. Lots of advice. Too much advice? Controlling? While it may not be your Grandmother's C.S. Lewis, Warehouse Theatre's, Screwtape still offers plenty to chew on. (And no, I'm not talking about the oft-threatened feast of defunct demons.)

Let's start with the adaptation, which appears to be an interesting contortionist exercise by James Forsyth. The script almost seems a reaction against demon Screwtape's (in)famously arrogant pontifications. Forsyth has cast-off the epistolary structure in favor of forcing a rather castrated Screwtape to bungle his way through the "adventures" alongside his nephew Wormwood. The result is a script that can't seem to decide where (or how) to cast its fiendish gaze. It's not satirical. It's not absurd. It's definitely not real. It's . . . ?

This is not to say anything against the actors charged with playing these conflicted roles, or the fantastic designers. Shannon Robert turns in a fun and functional set worthy of Wonderland's rabbit hole. April Schaeffer deserves double applause, both for the show's electric choreography (these sections spoke more to Lewis' point than most of Forsyth's text--I found myself wishing for an entirely dance-based riff on Screwtape) and for her own beautifully stylized Milly. Roberta Barnes (Slumtrimpet the demon sexpert) and Michele Labar (Mike's [s]Mother) followed suit with their own hyperbolic performances.

Jason Adkins provides a disconcertingly normal (disillusioned, often discouraged) chap for the devils to torment, and Tara Sweeney excels in a particularly difficult role--one that could have easily run into a saintly sweet and surface-y lampoon. Instead, her overtly Christian Judy comes off as refreshingly complete. And one last brief note of kudos to Miranda Notus: the small character Queenie who absolutely commanded her scene and my attention. I hope to see more from her soon.

Then of course, we have the demons. Screwtape (Kevin Treu) and Wormwood (Daryl Ward Phillipy). Both exerted tremendous force and energy on the text and on their "patient." Phillipy even pulled off some grand laughs. But unfortunately for the poor devils, I think the adaptation lacked an essential verve, a vital energy, of belief. At every turn the text undercuts the spirits (incompetent fools), and steals the heart of what could be two delicious villains. I mean, we all know, wink, wink, that devils aren't real. Right? Well, at least for the space of an evening, let us feel their full and fallen glory.

And as for Lewis' theology--well, I'll let the seminary students duke it out on that one. Did or didn't Forsythe remain true to Lewis' doctrine of the soul? Your answer will depend on two things: just how closely you attend to the surprise ending(s), and how much trust you (foolishly?) put in the original Screwtape as a reliable narrator of his own tail. Uhm...tale.

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James Forsyth's "Screwtape," adaptated from C.S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters
Presented by Warehouse Theatre, 37 Augusta St., Greenville (864) 235-6948. Through December 18. Tickets $25. Students $15.

Lala Levy would love to be Scarlet O'Hara. Or write about her. Or at least watch her at the movies all day long. Lala's family would just like her to find someone to take her to Ballyhoo--the premier social event for Who's Who among the Southern Jews in 1939. What nobody wants is for a stranger from New York to upset their whole family with prickly issues of racism among their own. Alfred Uhry's "The Last Night of Ballyhoo" at Centre Stage is a hilarious look at how we all, no matter the race, discriminate against each other.

And since we're discriminating, I have to confess to some myself: The men are far and away the treat of this production. Straight man, heartthrob, and deliciously exaggerated scoundrel, they are all a delight to watch. Peter Haloulos plays the charming and ever put-upon Adolph Freitag--an elderly gentleman living with his two sisters and two nieces. His performance is lovable and true. Chris Cashon is completely beguiling as Joe Farkas, the stranger in their midst, "the other kind" of Jew, and Matthew Merritt plays such a believably affected rapscallion (Peach Weil, the blue-blood Jew of Louisiana) that you can't help but fall in love with him.

Among the women, Kelly Wallace consistently kept the laughs coming for her airy and charming Reba Freitag. And as for the rest, make no mistake, each came into her charming own in the second half of the play. Unfortunately for the actresses, Uhry charges his women with bearing large swaths of exposition and introduction in the first half of the show--exposition that hadn't quite found its way into the heart. But post-intermission, when all that back-story was out of the way and we knew who went with whom and why and what exactly was the matter with the odd duck Lala and the family mattress business and relations for two generations back, then the actresses found their cores and gave the men a run for their money (literally--lavish ball gowns, fits of hysteria and fainting, expensive deserts, and why on earth it is that women always go to the bathroom in groups).

Of course it's deeper than that, since what we're laughing about are issues of division, discrimination, cultural identity, war. But Uhry woos us with so much humor (who can't laugh at the delectable "Gone With the Wind" jokes? Or the age-old Christmas/Hanukkah quips?) that we find ourselves laughing to a broader compassion for our fellow men (and women).

So here's my advice to you. Grab someone you love (take a lesson from Boo Levy, and let nothing stop you), grab some tickets, and luxuriate in Rick Connor's comforting set. Listen well in the first half, laugh and laugh (and learn a little), and look forward to a little holiday romance with your special someone.

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Alfred Uhry's "The Last Night of Ballyhoo" Directed by Chip Egan. Set: Rick Connor.

Presented by Centre Stage, 501 River Street, Greenville, SC (864) 233-6733. Through December 18. Tickets $25, with discounts for seniors and students.