Lisa (Masha O. Godina ’08) tries to guess the mystery of her birthday gift from her father (Daniel J. Rienhart ’09), in a skit in “An Adult Evening with Shel Silverstein.”

Contemplative, slightly disturbing, and thoroughly charming, “An Adult Evening of Shel Silverstein” successful conveys a feeling comparable to the experience of reading a Silverstein book

Most people do not associate author and poet Silverstein with political commentary, cocaine use, or words too vulgar to be printed here. However, all of these realms, as well as Silverstein’s more well-known arena of warped childhood fantasy, were merrily and masterfully explored onstage in the Loeb Experimental Theater this past weekend in “An Adult Evening of Shel Silverstein,” directed by Diana Y. Wan ’08 and Sarah W. Tseng ’08, and produced by Aliza H. Aufrichtig ’08, who is a Crimson editor, and Ximena S. Vengoechea ’08.

The performance consisted primarily of writings adapted by the show’s staff into a series of unrelated scenes.

The humor in the raw material, familiar to anyone who read Silverstein’s works as a child, was complemented by Wan’s and Tseng’s wise directorial choice of a subtle, honest approach to portraying characters. It filled the performance with the kind of humor that pleasantly snuck up on you, transforming the shockingly absurd elements in Silverstein’s works into something that amused because it seemed plausible.

This subtlety was apparent from the opening scene, “One Tennis Shoe,” in which Michael I. Levin-Gesundheit ’08’s earnestness in the role of Harvey lent humorous believability to the appearance of absurd objects such as a purse filled with cooked oatmeal.

Both directors and actors are to be commended for their ability to walk the fine line between zaniness and implausibility. Particularly arresting were Michael R. Von Korff ’07’s wacky performance as a madcap duck enthusiast in “Duck” and Ellen C. Quigley ’07’s mercurial shifts in emotional expression as the cagey, egotistical Jen in “The Lifeboat is Sinking.”

Carolyn A. McCandlish ’07 is also to be praised for her acting range, playing both the titular role in a recitation of the poem “Sarah Cynthia Silvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out” as an utterly psychotic little girl, and the role of old, bitter, jaded Nellie in “No Soliciting.”

Possibly the darkest and most disturbing scene was “The Best Daddy,” where Lisa (Masha O. Godina ’08) tries to figure out whether her 13th birthday present from her father (Daniel J. Rinehart ’09), which is covered in a bulky patchwork quilt, is in fact alive or dead. Godina displayed an intense wide-eyed innocence that skillfully avoided caricature. Somehow, the horror of contemplating whether or not Lisa’s sister is dead, and whether her father killed her, did not spoil the tenderness and light-heartedness present in the rest of the show.

The pinnacle of absurdity—and I mean that in the best possible way—was the show’s final scene, “Thinking Up a New Name for the Act (Meat and Potatoes).” It encompassed a lengthy and impassioned argument, several sexual puns, and three musical numbers (one “West Side Story” medley, one takeoff on “All That Jazz” from “Chicago,” and one on “Chicago’s” “Cell Block Tango”)—yet the only words spoken were, as the scene title insinuates, “meat and potatoes,” endlessly repeated.

At first this concept seems like an indulgent expansion of an actor’s exercise in which an entire conversation consists of one word used with varying inflections, but the genius of Wan’s and Tseng’s directing was to infuse the three spoken words with meaning beyond the actors’ inflection. In one instance, this meant equating parts of their own body or that of another actor with either meat or mere potatoes in sexual jokes; in another, it meant actor Olivia E. Jampol ’09 stabbing actor Sean P. Bala ’09 with a steak knife, as if he really were a steak.

This scene’s musical numbers were enhanced by dramatic lighting by Eleanor M. Campisano ’08 and delightful choreographic parodies by Sachiko A. Ezura ’08.

Set Designer B. Britt Caputo ’08, who is a Crimson editor, and Assistant Set/Tunnel Designer Alice N. Lee ’09 deserve praise for their versatile, quirky yet seemingly lived-in set, and for the entrance “tunnel” constructed of wooden flats painted to resemble giant pages of Silverstein’s books, replete with hand-drawn illustrations in Silverstein’s distinctive style.

Despite the lack of logical plot connections between scenes, the number of recurring themes and motifs—communicating through printed signs, treasuring things that are typically considered trash, killing one’s loved ones, and questioning the nature of things hidden under or behind literal and metaphorical surfaces—created a sense of coherence.

—Staff writer Marin J. D. Orlosky can be reached at orlosky@fas.harvard.edu.