The brain is a beautiful device, a lightning storm in your skull capable of storing information by the terabyte, its neurons exploding in electrical frenzies during the most mundane tasks. The Private Lives of Eskimos (or, 16 Words for Snow) by Ken Urban follows a brain burning from the inside out.

The death of his sister has left Marvin (Aaron Allshouse) with information overload. Her final words, a voice mail spoken from a train attacked by terrorists, haunt him. He's an isolated man, shrugging off his girlfriend's concern and feeling alienated from his shrink and coworkers. His only friend is his sister's old cell phone. When it falls into the hands of a mysterious woman (possibly an Eskimo), Marvin obsesses over her, bringing more danger and pain—and a little unexpected bliss—to his fractured world.

Urban writes the play from Marvin's shell-shocked perspective. The characters surrounding him chant in spam while imaginary Eskimos loom behind them. Conversations break into text from Nigerian-prince scams and ads for Viagra. Marvin becomes a pitiful thing, borderline disgusting, as his ability to process information dissolves and he loses track of time, names, and conversations. Allshouse snarls, cries, and moans to great effect—his earnest phone-sex exchange, in which he furiously masturbates while calling the mystery woman, is both hilarious and eye-avertingly uncomfortable.

Artistic director Ron Sandahl's simple set is effective, focusing the production on Allshouse's conflicts while Eskimo ghosts glide in and out of view. The cast of four plays costume musical chairs; whoever isn't onstage is switching into secondary-character or Eskimo clothes. Lisa Viertel commands the stage as a KGB-esque detective who is also trying to find the mystery woman, and as Martin's coworker and "fucking office-amigo," Tom (Josh Hartvigson) brings a nice dose of comic relief to the otherwise brooding production.