Theatre in Review: Infinite Life (Atlantic Theater Company) This will be brief, as the production closes this weekend before moving on to the National Theatre in London. I was bumped from an earlier performance by a case of COVID in the cast and rescheduling is always arduous at this time of year. But I'm very, very glad to have caught Infinite Life, the latest exploration of the unspoken by Annie Baker, one of our leading specialists in lost souls; crushed by life, her characters often seek affirmation or pleasure -- enrolling in an acting class in Circle Mirror Transformation or checking into the haunted B&B where John unfolds -- without finding much success. Other Baker plays, like The Flick and The Antipodes, focus on workplaces where labor brings little satisfaction. Taking a different tack is Infinite Life, set in a Northern California clinic where patients suffering from chronic pain or grave illnesses take part in treatments consisting of water or juice fasts, in some cases lasting two weeks or more. (The idea is to purge the body of disease-causing toxins.) That it is a dubious regimen, producing nothing more than a general lethargy among the starved inmates, is beside the point. For the members of this community, most of them women, conventional medicine has failed, and they'll try anything. Not for nothing does the script allude to an increasingly toxic world shaped by pesticides, poisons, and wildfires; the entire world seems to be in need of a good emetic. Baker has little or no interest in a plot and her characters reveal themselves largely by indirection; nobody impregnates a pause like her -- the late Harold Pinter is her only rival -- and, as in her other plays, Infinite Life is filled with silences that reverberate with unexpressed thoughts and feelings. Playing these scenes demands a remarkable level of precision from the company -- especially when it comes to nailing bizarre, out-of-left-field laughs -- and, happily, director James Macdonald has assembled some of New York's finest for the task. Although very much an ensemble, the action turns on Christina Kirk as Sofi, who is dealing with chronic bladder pain (which mars her enjoyment of sex), the collapse of her marriage, and a frustrated love affair; providing an underlying note of tension is her ongoing flirtation (sort of) with the startlingly fit Nelson (Pete Simpson) -- the one male in attendance -- who is, nevertheless, suffering from a bad bout of colon cancer. (That such a fling is even contemplated tells you something about the human need for contact in even the most extreme circumstances.) But everyone else shines, too: Marylouise Burke as the aged, prudish Elieen, whose ambivalent relationship to the Christian Science faith gives her a unique point of view; Mia Katigbak as Yvette, nonchalantly delivering a stunning monologue about her cascading medical problems; Kristine Nielsen as Ginnie, the truest believer in the group; and Brenda Pressley as Elaine, making the most of a hilarious story about a cousin who "narrates pornography for blind people." Out of their seemingly random conversations, Infinite Life becomes an almost transcendent meditation on the urge to keep going even as our bodies betray us. It's a singular achievement that, ironically, is also a kind of weakness: Even when performed in a deadpan, throwaway style -- the characters are, after all, exhausted from lack of nourishment -- the play forces us to contemplate physical decay and death in such plainspoken fashion that one can't help but rebel; we are asked to consider the unthinkable for rather too long. This, I think, explains why the last twenty minutes drag a bit, along with the fact that Baker struggles to find an appropriate conclusion, nearly always an issue with her.dots has fashioned a seedy-looking terrace that suggests the clinic's former life as a roadside hotel. Isabella Byrd's lighting is fluent at suggesting various times of day but steel yourself for snap cues that, without warning, flood the stage with sunlight, causing one to flinch. Ásta Bennie Hostetter dresses the company in loose-fitting athleisure wear that feels just right. Bray Poor's sound strongly suggests the life of the city just beyond the upstage fence. As Eileen's closing speech makes clear, the body is both glorious and a traitor, a source of intense joy that will turn on you in a second, leaving you taking inventory of your own ruin. Healthy or not, we can live only in the moment, never knowing what is coming, and maybe that's a good thing. Among our playwrights, only Baker can illuminate such transient episodes with such feeling and insight. I don't know how she does it. --David Barbour 
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