Red Ink Theatre's angsty autobiographical monologues deal with the standard twentysomething subjects: childhood traumas, bad college breakups, sexual frustration. But this fiercely talented quartet of writer/performers have crafted lean, literate, tantalizingly unresolved pieces full of effortless poetry. Nathan Stoner, for instance, remembers the "upturn" in his long-lost boyfriend's mouth growing "softer and more spearmint with each kiss." And unlike many monologuists tackling similar material, these performers seek neither pity nor personal catharsis, but simply bear witness to their own worst impulses. Brian Bush compulsively hires prostitutes, Erin Lane (who also directs) obsesses over a self-esteem-crushing boyfriend, Ann Schlegel recounts moments of sobering sexual degradation with volcanic fury. The show is set in an el car, but compelling performances render that forced and unnecessary contrivance nearly irrelevant. --Justin Hayford
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