Odin's Horse

Struggling to follow up his smashingly successful first novel, hot young writer Arman follows his girlfriend, a Big Timber executive, into the boonies of the American Northwest. Prowling the backcountry for new material, Arman soon initiates a buoyant correspondence with Astra, a local eco-nut living high in the branches of a doomed sequoia. Astra’s idealism entrances Arman, who’s haunted by the fear that his words represent mere “talk.” But the practical demands of local timber workers and the shrewd, less-than-green convictions of his Frisco-bred girlfriend muddle his environmentalist impulses. In an era when Sarah Palin’s imaginary frontier still holds political sway, it’s refreshing to see playwright Koon grapple earnestly with the paradoxes of rural America.

But it’s hard to keep tales of authorial ennui engrossing, and Koon makes several mistakes along the way. His narrative jumps haphazardly among monologue, dialogue and even dream sequence with a rapidity that leaves the audience foraging for what’s at stake well into the second act. Even more destructively, the relationship between Arman and Astra occurs entirely over cell phone: The tactic underscores the thematic distance between talk and action but only isolates the audience from a saga of stasis meant to soar to Hamletian heights.

Kathy Arfken’s gorgeous, verdant set provides an invigoratingly layered backdrop to the static script. And Bahow’s steady direction imbues individual scenes with a nuance and structure that Koon’s work lacks overall.

The ambiguity and self-doubt that fuel Odin’s Horse finally overcome it. In this two-hour-plus production, it’s delightful to see moral complexity but wearisome to watch it unfurl.