Theatre in Review: Love and Information (New York Theatre Workshop/Minetta Lane Theatre)Caryl Churchill's new play is much less about love than information or rather the transmission of information. Churchill has taken note of the fact that we live in the Age of Nonstop Information, what with email, social networking, and the 24-hour news cycle, and, in dozens of bite-sized encounters lasting only a minute or two, she explores that deluge of data as well as the 1,001 ways -- amusing, dumbfounding, banal, and sinister -- that we communicate with each other. Two friends haggle over a delicious secret, which one of them at first refuses to disclose, then gives in, to their mutual delight. Two young women obsess over a magazine article divulging details about their favorite pop idol. "He was born at ten past two in the morning, and I was born at two past ten," one of them says, as if this implies a deep, mystical connection between them. Two torturers complain about the intractability of their unseen subject. "He'll get to where he'll say anything," one of them says with some exasperation. "We're not paid extra for it to be true," adds the other, blithely. And so it goes: A man and a woman share a picnic, with any hint of romance spoiled by the latter's description of her job as a research scientist, which involves taking baby chicks, injecting a "tiny amount of very slightly radioactive liquid into each side of the chick's brain," and beheading it. Then, she adds, "I drop the body in a bucket and take the head and peel back the skin and cut round the skull and there's the brain." A woman in bed announces to her male partner that she can't sleep. "My head is too full of stuff," she notes, adding, "I think I'll get up and go on Facebook." A young woman confronts her little brother with a bombshell announcement: "I'm just telling you, you might like to know Mom's not your mother. I'm your mother, Mom's your grandma, okay?" There is also communication denied; for example, an adolescent boy describes how, no matter what is done to him, his body cannot feel pain. It's a parade of revelations: Doctors breaking bad news to patients, political discussions ("Terror is a message," someone notes), informants spilling to the police, and executives who fire their employees via email. Disinformation is considered, for example, in a chat about the lies that led the US to invade Iraq. And the deadening effects of all this information is considered, as well: Two women discuss an earthquake, apparently as reported on television. "That black wave with the cars in it was awesome," one of them says, seemingly forgetting that this compelling image also represents death and destruction. One way of looking at Love and Information is to see it as a cabinet of curiosities, each scene a little exhibit illustrating another aspect of Churchill's rangy subject. Some of them are breezily amusing, and others are quietly shocking, the jumble of encounters both trivial and terrifying, keeping the audience constantly off-guard. Aiding in this endeavor is James Macdonald's lightning-quick production, which itself is facilitated by an ingenious production design. Miriam Buether's set, a white box decorated with graph-paper lining, is placed behind a proscenium lined in color-changing LEDs. When each scene ends, a black drop slides in to obscure the stage, and the LEDs function as audience blinders; within seconds, the lights come up on a new scene, often featuring large-scale scenic pieces such as a camping tent, stationary bicycles, or (most ingeniously) a bird's eye view of a bed. Peter Mumford's lighting plays no small part in effecting these transitions, and Christopher Shutt supplies an array of sound effects that include crackling flames, machinery, seagulls, a ticking clock, and others. Gabriel Berry and Andrea Hood have supplied highly apt costumes for an astonishing range of character types. The vignettes are expertly performed by a company that includes such familiar faces as Phillip James Brannon, Randy Danson, Susannah Flood, Noah Galvin, Jennifer Ikeda, Karen Kandel, Kellie Overbey, John Procaccino, Lucas Caleb Rooney, Maria Tucci, and James Waterston, among others. It's a marathon workout and a beat-the-clock speed test for this talented company -- they're constantly changing identities with only a few seconds to make an impression each time -- and they ace this test seemingly without breaking a sweat. That's not to say that Love and Information is consistently gripping. Not really a work of drama, it is also relatively structure-free. (The brief scenes have been grouped into six parts plus a coda, but I could discern no logic to their arrangement.) It's up to the audience members to sort through the episodes, making meaningful connections if they can; an overarching theme is the one piece of information Churchill declines to impart. Love and Information plays out over a single, two-hour act -- there is no intermission -- and eventually the law of diminishing returns kicks in. I found the first hour to be intriguing, but my interest devolved by degrees until near the end, when I was discreetly checking my watch. Churchill is in possession of one of the theatre's most singular imaginations, and her play has been given a first-rate showcase. Even so, Love and Information is a collection of puzzle pieces that never get assembled. We are left to sort through them ourselves, imagining our own solutions. In this case, it's not an entirely satisfying way to spend an evening at the theatre.--David Barbour 
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