12 Ophelias

Poor, drowned Ophelia wanders the afterlife, which is more Carroll’s Wonderland than Elsinore, even if Hamlet and Gertrude are wandering around, too. Also on display: a Tweedle-ish R and G (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern) and roving musicians who resemble live flowers.

Everything looks lovely in this Midwest premiere of Latina writer Svich’s 2004 play. Joseph Riley’s charming set of blue cobwebs, tree roots and wading pools befits a young girl’s purgatory. Gina Patterson’s lights are canny and graceful, whether shadowing the musicians in the balcony or transforming R and G from fools into mermaids with a halo. If you came only to the preshow, checked out the space, and watched the excellent musicians singing folk ballads and dipping their bare feet into water, it would be money well spent.

So it’s a surprise and a shame that with so much to play with, 12 Ophelias is no fun at all. The very loose plot involves our heroine revisiting moments of her short, sad life (albeit in a surreal, cracked-mirror way) and coming to the conclusion that, well, Hamlet wasn’t very nice to her. This final revelation comes off as profound as Kelly Taylor’s “I choose me” moment. It’s hard to care about anyone onstage. The game actors shout their lines meaninglessly, which is not necessarily their fault. In love with its own nonsense, the script needs taskmaster direction; instead, it apparently received only encouragement. The goal is operatic, the result shrill.

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