Liz Duffy's 'Or,' at Hedgerow Theatre

Hedgerow Theatre’s production, directed by Aaron Cromie, articulates Adams’s serious concerns about women’s rights in a male-dominated society, which Adams frames in the context of the Restoration period’s sexual openness (something left out of most textbooks). Cromie’s direction also spotlights Adams’s farcical approach: he uses two performers to play a variety of roles in a hectic quick-change, door-slamming example of stagecraft magic.

Three actors, many characters

Kittson O’Neill plays Behn as a self-assured, independent woman who, imprisoned for poverty, charms Charles II into a mutually beneficial affair. Charles, you will recall, not only restored theater after the Cromwell regime’s ban, but allowed women to act for the first time (Shakespeare had been limited to men and boys by law). Behn is an insecure writer, however, charged with creating a new play for the Duke’s Company. Can she finish it in one night? Will it be any good?

Most of the 90-minute play occurs in Aphra’s modest rooms. Brock Vickers plays both the king and Aphra’s ex-lover William, who she thought was dead and who is wanted by the authorities. Charles and William avoid meeting because William hides in the closet, while Charles retreats to Aphra’s bedroom. He frolics there with Aphra’s friend Nell Gwyn, an aspiring actress played by Allison Bloechl, who also plays Aphra’s servant Maria and Lady Davenant, who runs the Duke’s Company.

All these characters barely miss running into each other, a feat we can credit not only to these nimble actors, Cromie’s staging, and Adams’s inventive script, but to Zoran Kovcic’s sturdy set design and Licia Guilday’s period costumes. They make it easy to believe that more than three actors are on stage. Through all this frantic action, Aphra tries to write her play.

Between two titles

O’Neill’s Aphra understands her society’s limitations, but works around them. “The only sensual sin,” she tells Nell flirtatiously, “is to take what isn’t freely given.” They both know that women need “keeping” — by a male patron who can protect and fund them — but they believe they can make favorable arrangements despite cultural obstacles. “The world is changing,” Nell says hopefully; over 300 years later, we’re still working toward equality and freedom.

The play’s title refers to those annoying dual titles written to explain a play’s meaning, which Lady Davenant rails against in the play. Shakespeare did it (Twelfth Night, or What You Will), and Sarah Ruhl does it today (In the Next Room, or The Vibrator Play). Adams’s title, Or (which includes the errant comma), serves as playful commentary, suggesting that Aphra Behn is that mysterious force linking two ideas — woman and playwright, perhaps — neither of which fully defines her.

It’s simple yet complex, weird but functional, poetic yet practical — sort of like Aphra Behn herself in this fascinating introduction to an overlooked, somewhat mysterious, altogether unique woman.