The show looks good. Much thought went into its isolated light areas and stage pictures (although everything on the three-quarter thrust stage is played proscenium). I'm sure, too, that some of the piece's more clever bits of business and en masse choreography that now seem a bit fuzzy will gain some precision as the show's run continues.
Unfortunately, though some of the performers are likable and, no doubt, talented in their own right, no one displays the specific kind of vocal and physical gifts required to broaden this kind of text, such as it is. There's no snap to the fleeting impersonations, and the ideas with the most potential (singing personal ads; a three-headed dating service advisor) are never sharply realized; the lack of bite makes the actors come off like they're working through something that's really been getting them down. As a result, the evening seems not avant-garde, but rather like a particularly ambitious episode of Zoom, or (for those of you not raised on '70s PBS) drama therapy for earnest adults, replete with cries of "Who am I?" It doesn't help that Kresny has her cast perform as if they're inventing the wheel. Every elliptical phrase, every smirk, every elbow seems burdened by the importance of its mission, and even the silliest moments have a forced whimsy about them.