Some things never change.

Overachiever? Now in her mid-30s, Distefano is a well-regarded actor, writer, director, producer and teacher, all while being the mother of a 12-year-old girl.

Troublemaker? Though she no longer sneaks out of the house only "to get caught doing stuff I wasn't supposed to be doing," Distefano still bears a resolute rabble-rouser attitude toward the status quo. As the founding artistic director of Brat Productions she's made it her business to shake up popular conceptions of what theater can and should be, by presenting unconventional, and at times incendiary, performances in such unlikely locales as bars, rock clubs and pool halls. "It's bringing theater to the people. It's a step up from street theater," she says.

Last year, when she wanted to present an all-female version of the musical Grease but was legally barred from doing so by the man who owned the rights to the play, Distefano created a "play in protest" titled Grease and Desist: The Unauthorized '50s Musical.

Where other people see obstacles, Distefano finds opportunities for "creative solutions," some of which are bold and brash, and others simply practical. "Just make it happen," she says.

Makeup by Victoria DePaul. Wig by Jon Carter. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

"I was an undergraduate student when I became pregnant with my daughter, Frances, and I refused to be defeated. I dragged her around with me and breast-fed her in my classes and then went back for grad school and got a degree without any money."

As anyone who has laughed himself silly watching her antics when hosting a Fringe Festival cabaret can attest, Distefano retains her love of being loud and raucous. Even so, she's an intensely serious artist who has won a Barrymore Award, an Independence Foundation Fellowship in the Arts and a Leeway Foundation grant.

Nick Stuccio, producing director of the Live Arts/Fringe Festival, which has presented numerous Brat shows, says Distefano is "visceral and raw," both as a performer and playwright. "She doesn't mince words. She's very real. ... The woman is just fearless."

Distefano begs to differ on one of those counts: "Everyone thinks I'm fearless, and I find it very flattering, but I'm like, 'No, I only did that because I have a fear of being unsuccessful or of being a broke deadbeat waitress for the rest of my life.' ... I have a fear of being boring, and a fear of not being exceptional, and that makes me take huge risks, because the other option is being ordinary."

Ordinary just won't do for this former "Army brat" — hence the name of her theater company — who moved around a lot as a kid and consequently developed sharp social skills that enabled her to learn "how to make myself popular in a week." She wound up in Philadelphia to study theater at Temple University.

Distefano was still an undergrad when she launched Brat Productions with a bunch of fellow student actors. Their first show was A Midsummer Night's Dream, put on in a Queen Village courtyard. Then came Eye-95, a white-trash rockabilly punk rock musical featuring cheerleaders, go-go dancers, a puppet named Big Fat Fucker and Frito pies. It was a hit at the very first Philly Fringe.

"I think it embodied the festival," says Stuccio. "It was immediate, improvisational, unexpected and in the context of 10 years ago it did not belong in the 'legitimate' theater. It was kind of a performance art piece, and people loved it."

Over the past decade, about 30 more Brat shows have ensued, including a repeating, 24-hour nonstop presentation of Eugene Ionesco's The Bald Soprano; Naked Cocktail, a delirious cabaret featuring giant foam-rubber insects; McPherson Fest, a series of plays by Conor McPherson performed at Fergie's Pub; and Popsicle's Departure, 1989, a one-woman show that Distefano wrote and starred in at the 2004 Live Arts Fest.

Along with demonstrating her versatile acting chops — she played both a man and a woman in it — Popsicle's Departure gave Distefano a chance to showcase her prowess as a playwright with an acute ear for the way people think and talk; her dialogue was naturalistic and true-to-life. And though much of the play was acerbic and funny, it was balanced by moments of pain and poetry.

"As an actor and a writer Madi has this ability to be totally irreverent and totally rough around the edges," notes Matt Pfeiffer, who directed the show. "And yet she's not sacrificing a keen intellect, which sort of encompasses who she is in total."

Distefano stretched herself artistically with Popsicle's Departure and that experience, combined with its critical acclaim, proved a turning point. "I had so many notes written to me saying, 'Nothing has ever resonated with me that way.' So it empowered me as an artist. ... I felt I could do more of this, creating things from scratch, and I've certainly been experiencing more success as an actress."

That success includes appearing in two productions at the Walnut Street Theater. It has also led to Distefano stepping down from her administrative role with Brat Productions in order to focus more intently on acting and writing. She is currently working on a new play, Sweetie Pie — "a modern-day Oedipus ," to be produced by Azuka Theater.

Meanwhile, she's still got some Brat in her. Hence EYE-95 re-tarred on this year's Live Arts bill, which, she stresses, is not a remounting of the original show, but rather a new play, with new songs, that retains certain elements of the original Eye-95. Instead of being produced on a shoestring budget, this version has the assistance of money and expertise from Live Arts. The original show was staged by aspiring student actors with plenty of enthusiasm but not a heck of a lot of experience. EYE-95 re-tarred benefits from input by "people who've been working in their respective fields for a while," like Aaron Cromie (puppetry and effects), Matt Saunders (set design) and Kate Watson-Wallace (choreography).

It'll still be a romp, for sure, albeit a more refined one.

"The charms of the first Eye-95 were that it was in-your-face, it was really fun, and it was without apology. There's nothing wrong with that. But it was real sloppy," recalls Distefano. "This version is more carefully crafted. I can't shy away from the fact that I've learned more as a writer, as a director, as an actor; I can't undo that learning. I can't use clip lights, because I know better. But that doesn't mean I can't put a clip light somewhere because it's just so perfect in that DIY sense. But that's an informed decision.

"And there will be people — I'm ready for it — who will say, well, it just didn't have the charm of the first Eye-95, or it wasn't as cool as the first Eye-95. But you know what? It's not the first Eye-95. It never will be again. That's why theater is different than film, where you can just rent the original version. You can't re-create it."