Inis Nua presents Stef Smith's 'Swallow'

Anna (Corinna Burns), Rebecca (Felicia Leicht), and Sam (Samy el-Noury) speak directly to us for the 75-minute play's first 10 minutes and often later, sometimes narrating their scenes with one another. Each is a lonely, damaged soul. Rebecca's breakup with her violent husband leaves her depressed. Sam, assigned female at birth, prepares to live life as a man. They meet by chance, forming a tentative friendship with predictable problems.

Anna, however, makes for a unique case. She hasn't left her apartment "in two Christmases," no longer washing and barely eating while dismantling her possessions to make art pieces, including a giant nest, "a place to rest until I'm ready to go out again."

Helping and being helped

All three performers, directed by Claire Moyer (who staged Inis Nua's Spine last season and Radiant Vermin this past fall), are fiercely committed, from their Scottish accents (coached by Leonard Kelly) to their ability to switch suddenly yet effortlessly from first-person intensity to third-person commentary. Inis Nua's production in the Drake's proscenium space includes Meghan Jones's hauntingly beautiful abstract set of grayish, weathered wood platforms, plank floor, and windows, which allows the script's many location shifts, delicately lit by Angela Coleman. Rowan Darko and John Kolbnski's sound design underscores scenes with subtle high-pitched whines and low rumbles that add to the tension.

Smith's poetic writing, especially Anna's stream-of-consciousness monologues, suggests that life's pains and struggles make us more alive. It's not until Anna takes responsibility for another living being that she can even contemplate opening her door. "It's different, not being alone," she realizes. Rebecca and Sam's problems are more typical, but no less genuine and involving: "I'm pretty sure my vagina's an idiot," Rebecca complains.

Swallow's lost souls realize that helping others is their best medicine, even though, paradoxically, asking for desperately needed help is a bitter pill. Perhaps who we are is defined by who we are with. Bravery might just mean taking a single step -- the one that seems impossible.