Performance: Drink and drama

When it comes to live theater, booze can't hurt. That's not a diss -- just a keen observation. The stereotypical knock against theater is that it's too stuffy.

Thirst Theater throws these criticisms out the window. How? Its creators have ditched the traditional stage for a venue that can make anyone feel comfortable -- a bar. After a two-year hiatus, Thirst is back, this time at its original venue, Joe's Garage in Minneapolis.

Every Monday through March, the Thirst crew will put on five short plays while the audience drinks, eats and, hopefully, gets in on the action. The playlets dramatize the annoying conversations, lovers' spats and bar fights we've all witnessed while out on the town. It's kind of like eavesdropping, but Thirst turns voyeurism into high art.

The show was created in 2004 by Twin Cities theater vets Tracey Maloney, Chris Carlson and Alan Berks. The new run includes almost a dozen playwrights and 28 actors. This isn't a ragtag group staging plays in a bar because they can't get work elsewhere. Maloney, for example, is a familiar face at the Guthrie, while playwright Craig Wright has written for "Lost" and "Six Feet Under."

Thirst's edginess starts with its creative process. Each playwright has to write his or her piece in one sitting, and it must take place in a bar. The actors can rehearse only twice before showtime. And there are no directors.

About 50 bargoers are seated for each show on Joe's upper level. The playlets often begin suddenly and sometimes at the table right next to you. The actors will storm about the room, dodging servers and pounding on tables. You might even see a little blood (i.e. ketchup).

"Any of you see what happened out there?" a guy in backward baseball cap asked the crowd two weeks ago.

He had proof of the skirmish: the other guy's tooth, wrapped in a bloody napkin. "Here, pass it around," he said, as people were munching on salads and biting into Joe's specialty burgers.

Some of the playlets are slow talkers. Others are action-oriented like this one. A couple of the pieces became too esoteric for my taste. In these cases, I simply washed down the artsy-fartsyness with a Surly. The popular Brooklyn Center brewery is sponsoring the show and offering $3 pints and $4 cans. Between playlets, the actors promote the beer with hilarious tongue-in-cheek diatribes against commercialism that only serve as gushing ads for "a product as uniquely delicious" as Surly.

The show's players see Thirst as a way to stretch their acting chops in a setting that is spontaneous and raw. "It's the most terrifying venue," Mahoney said. "It's scary because you have nothing to hide behind. No costumes. No lighting."

One of the show's new actors, Emily Zimmer, said she likes to go onstage feeling "safe and prepared." She described Thirst as "dangerous," but in a fun way.

So after each show wraps, what do these thespians do with themselves?

Coming from him, that almost sounded Shakespearean.