Theatre in Review: King of the Yees (Signature Theatre Company)Francis Jue is carving out an entirely new career for himself. In Yellow Face two seasons back, he won a Tony Award for playing David Henry Hwang's irrepressible, interfering father, who ends up mired in political scandal. In King of the Yees, he plays playwright Lauren Yee's irrepressible, interfering father, who, yes, ends up mired in political scandal. Authors with pesky parents, take note: Mr. Jue's services are available. The resemblances end there. Yellow Face is an elegantly plotted farce with an angry undertone. King of the Yees is sheer craziness with a sketch-comedy heart and a plot that pinwheels in many directions before arriving at an emotionally satisfying conclusion. At the start, actors playing Yee and her dad, Larry, enter, announcing that the evening's entertainment is a two-hander based on a true story. Already we're confused because we're looking at David Shih and the program says Jue is playing Larry. Then the "real" Larry (Jue) takes the stage, followed by the "real" Yee (Kelly Marie Tran), desperately trying to hustle her father offstage. Lauren has good reason for concern. Larry is surprised to hear she has written a play about him, detailing her alienation from the traditional, male-dominated, Cantonese-speaking world of San Francisco's Chinatown. He is further shocked to learn she is moving to Berlin with her Jewish husband. And, in what amounts to a true sharper-than-a-serpent's-tooth moment for Larry, he learns she is, at best, ambivalent about having kids. Then again, Lauren is appalled to learn that Larry has quit his job at AT&T to campaign full-time for Leland Yee, a real-life California State Assemblyman. Larry's devotion to the politician's cause is based on their shared last name -- they are not related -- which also explains his enthusiastic participation in the Yee Fung Toy Family Association, one of many such Chinatown social institutions. "We're not like the Wongs; we don't just grow on trees, you know," he says, authoritatively. Most of the play's first act amusingly tracks Lauren's growing distress as her modest family play devolves into chaos, being overtaken by a traditional lion dancer, a musician playing the erhu (a Chinese string instrument), hecklers in the audience, and many allusions (complete with lightning bolts and thunderclaps) to a local enforcer known as Shrimp Boy. But when news breaks about Leland Yee's indictment for corruption and arms trafficking, Larry, fearing for his reputation, disappears, and, to retrieve him, Lauren must undergo a bizarre odyssey that includes tangling with dancers, dance lessons, a search for the town's most potent whisky, and visits from the spirit world. Of course, Jue has a ball as Larry, whether holding forth about the importance of community, advising audience members to put down fake addresses on their voting application ("Nobody ever checks"), and overseeing the disorder that overtakes Lauren's play. (Wait for the moment he scoffingly dismisses her Yale degree; you'd think she'd attended typing school.) Tran is an adept foil, struggling to stay calm as her play is wrestled away from her, and, later, enduring one indignity after another while racing against the clock to find her father. Much of the play's fun, however, comes from the supporting trio of Shih, Jon Norman Schneider, and Maureen Sebastian. Sebastian and Shih, their jobs co-opted by the "real" Lauren and Larry, cool their heels backstage, shooting the breeze and complaining about the actor's lot. In their most uproarious bit, they tutor each other in Chinese and Korean accents. (A correct Korean accent involves reacting to trauma with a face frozen by plastic surgery, she notes, offering a potent demonstration.) Shih also appears as the equally menacing and bone-headed Shrimp Boy while Sebastian scores as a hard-bargaining liquor-store proprietor and an aggrieved activist who wants to know why Yee's script doesn't "tackle the bigger questions facing Chinatown." Schneider enjoys a mini tour-de-force as a chiropractor with alarming facial hair and take-no-prisoners bedside manner, and as the Model Ancestor, the much-revered progenitor of all the Yees, here reimagined as more a shade-throwing creature of the catwalk. All three have a high time as the Lum Elders, ghostly presences who manifest themselves as cranky retirees with a collective taste for fortune cookies. Although King of the Yees could probably lose about ten minutes from its first act, director Joshua Kahan Brody keeps the action in hand, maintaining a buoyant atmosphere throughout. Scenic designer Krit Robinson artfully manipulates the stage, creating smaller and larger playing areas for various locations and calling up rows of attractive Chinese lanterns when needed. Jiyoun Chang's lighting matches each of the script's swerving moods with an array of color and movement strategies. Michelle J. Li's costumes include an elaborate lion dancer outfit and an ensemble for the Model Ancestor, who, as it happens, prefers miniskirts and heels. (Tommy Kurzman's wig, hair, and makeup designs are enormously helpful in helping Schneider, Sebastian, and Shih swap out various identities.) Fan Zhang's sound design takes in news reports, traditional Chinese music, and a dance remix that includes hip-hop, "Single Ladies," "All That Jazz," "Thriller," and a bit of A Chorus Line's opening number. Yee's previous plays, The Great Wall, Cambodian Rock Band, and Mother Russia, are said to be about the intersection of totalitarianism and pop culture. Although they have their good points, here, applying the same pop lens to her family conflicts and identity issues, she strikes gold. Before King of the Yees is over, Lauren will learn to appreciate the chain of ancestors that binds her to the past, and Larry will understand his daughter's thirst for independence and the depth of her affection for him. It's a win-win, for them and the audience. --David Barbour 
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