Even before the show officially begins, it becomes clear that Sonia C. Coman ’11’s “Leah” intends to break the mold. Cast members lie under blankets on stage, surrounded by large panes of translucent plastic. Meanwhile, “Theater Manager” Andrew N. Shindi ’13 introduces the play as “Sewing in Springtime,” a production which begins with the cast engaging in synchronized, choreographed sewing.

Compared to what is to come, however, this opening sequence is practicallynormal. Moments into the performance Margaret C. Kerr ’13, playing Leah, interrupts the play-within-a-play with an abrupt “Stop! Do my play!” before handing the manager a script—successfully hijacking the evening.

Thus begins the main event, a one-act play by the character Leah that offers an absurdist, fractured reinterpretation of her own past, present, and future. “The show will reinforce theater as a locus where reality and dream meet. In that realm, absurd talk is the wisest decision,” claims the synopsis. The play, which ran from March 25 to 27 in the Loeb Experimental Theater, takes that mission statement to heart.

Though that “absurd talk” may obscure any deeper meaning, the experience alone is bizarrely engaging. Characters merge and switch roles, slip without warning into gaudily staged dance routines, and ramble about six-foot moles and eating paper as the story follows Leah from traumatic childhood music lessons to the death of her husband, making all sorts of incomprehensible pit stops along the way.

Absurd it most definitely is, and attempting to figure out exactly what it’s supposed to mean is liable to result in a throbbing headache and not much more. But the play succeeds by not taking itself too seriously—the play-within-a-play format allows the cast to repeatedly break the fourth wall, and they offer a touch of self-conscious humor that avoids any potential frustration with the production’s opaqueness. Maupassant (Philip Y. Gingerich ’13), installed among the audience members, occasionally cheers on, shouts at, and has conversations with those onstage, while the theater manager, as Leah sobs over the body of her dead husband, exclaims exasperatedly, “Shut up! Who cares?”

From the monstrous papier maché mole that is suspended over the stage for the duration of the performance to a flaming-red lobster, remote controlled, the production’s staging provides an extra layer of madness to complement the actors’ efforts. While the props fit this manic mood, the sound accompaniment—mostly composed of indie rock acts like The Antlers—often feels overwrought. Tunes like The Antlers’ “Bear,” whose lyrics chronicle the effects of an abortion on a couple’s relationship, make for an incongruous backdrop to the more animated plot.

The actors themselves, after a somewhat hesitant start which reflects the utter self-confidence required to say lines like “I heard my own name too late… I never got accustomed to it,” by-and-large settle into their roles. Ilker Oztop GSAS ’12 , in particular, stands out playing both Leah’s husband and her son. The hip-gyrating, dance routine that introduces the son exemplifies his performance, elevating the script’s ludicrous dialogue to even more absurd heights with a frenzied, hyperkinetic energy. Kerr, too, handles her challengingly multifaceted role with panache, navigating dramatic peaks without overplaying them.

The façade does occasionally crack. Especially during the play’s less frantic segments, the actors seem to lose the thread of carefully-constructed madness, and become far less convincing as a result. The slightest note of hesitation in such a surrealistic production is enough to shatter the necessary suspension of disbelief. But since so much of “Leah” is spent in a high-energy, melodramatic atmosphere, these slips are more infrequent blemishes than a serious problem.

By the time the production loses control completely, as the actors toss away the script and start exhorting audience members to get out of their seats and “change!” it’s difficult not to be won over by the production’s whimsical chaos. It is unclear whether, when the layers are peeled away, “Leah” maintains coherence. While it provides plenty to think about, and the ending sheds some light on the play’s central meaning, there are still multiple interpretations to choose from—and it’s not evident that any individual one will fully explain the play’s complexities. The great benefit of absurdism, though, is that comprehension—or even coherence—doesn’t really seem to matter.

—Staff writer Daniel K. Lakhdhir can be reached at daniel.lakhdhir@college.harvard.edu.