Seascape

It's probably better to know as little as possible about "Seascape" at ACT before seeing it. It's certainly better not to know the big twist that comes right before intermission.

But unfortunately it's pretty much impossible to talk about the play in any detail without revealing the fact that, right before intermission, lizard people show up.

Yes, lizard people.

Edward Albee, Pulitzer-winning author of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," wrote "Seascape" in 1975, and at first this story of complicated and alienating romances at the beach seems fairly par for the course.

Sterling Bay Area actor James Carpenter plays Charlie, the jaded and frustrated half of the play's human duo, out on a day trip to the sea but unable to enjoy anything.

Carpenter sounds weary and insolent, his body language suggesting driftwood washed up on the shore.

In the other corner, Ellen McLaughlin is Nancy, Charlie's ceaselessly motivated and cerebral wife, who seems almost compulsively exerting.

Like the swirling movements of the sand and the waves, there's an almost visible push and pull in McLaughlin and Carpenter's standoffs.

Director Pam MacKinnon (ACT's new artistic director, here helming her first production for the company) keeps the play's momentum ably moving between them, although she can't quite prevent their ennui from rubbing off a bit on the show itself.

The beachcombing couple argue, reflect, learn, and come to a not completely satisfying reckoning with themselves and life, in the way that people in disaffected 20th century plays do.

It would be criminal to continue without bringing up the incredible, almost overwhelming set by by David Zinn, which towers over actors and audience alike, a note-perfect facsimile of coastal landscape.

Zinn's work is so ornate that it draws audible gasps and spontaneous applause as the curtain comes up. In a curious touch, the stage lacks any approximation of a sky, leaving the upper third of the scene open and exposing the backstage.

This is a bit jarring, but it has the additional benefit of giving space for the actor's voices to bounce around in, making it sound as if they're trying to speak loud enough for their words to escape a void.

"Seascape" almost seems to be on the verge of wrapping up by the time the lizard people enter, thus signaling that the real action is just getting started.

Sarah Nina Hayon (fresh off of ACT's engrossing "Sweat") and Sean Gallagher come in swaddled in Zinn-designed costumes that defy description, one part "Jurassic Park," two parts "Doctor Who."

These apparently amphibious creatures emerge from the sea hoping that life on land will cure their existential angst. If they'd seen any other Albee play they'd already know this was a non-starter.

Although their initial appearance is hysterical–Gallagher slides into the scene looking as if he himself is unsure this is really happening–it's deceptively easy to take the pair seriously, and Hayon in particular appears so natural in the role and the costuming that it's actually a little bit scary.

Naturally the two couples serve as foils for one another; the lizards are simultaneously fascinated and repelled by things like human biology, and Charlie struggles to explain the theory of evolution to them (poorly).

What in the world to make of this play in 2019, when its jilted 20th century attitudes about life seem increasingly dated, but its almost profane sense of mirth seems all the better suited for this period?

The weirdness, irreverence, and naked vulnerability of "Seascape" can't quite make up for the fact that the whole thing feels indulgent. Do we really take our common emotional baggage so seriously that we have to invent seaside monsters just to project our problems onto?

Even so, for all of its flaws, between Zinn's incomparable style and McKinnon's willingness to just let it all hang out here, it's hard to imagine a better or more fully realized version of this show than this, past or future.

"Seascape" runs through February 17 at A.C.T., 415 Geary Street in San Francisco. For information or tickets, call 415-749-2228 or visit ACT-SF.org.