Theatre Exile presents Itamar Moses’s ‘Completeness’

At one point, computer-science major Elliot (James Ijames) leaps energetically from bed post-coitus to explain the “traveling salesman problem,” his field of study’s theoretical white whale, to his new flame, molecular biologist Molly (Mary Tuomanen). Using a whiteboard conveniently embedded into the walls of his room — the lightbox set is by Colin McIlvaine, after a design by Darcy Scanlin, with moody lighting from Alyssandra Docherty — he breaks down the heuristic and how it relates to polynomial time, algorithms, and computational completeness. Since Molly doesn’t grab her clothes and run screaming into the night, I guess we’re supposed to find this intellectually and sensually stimulating.

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But like so much in this undercooked one-act, directed with a rather heavy hand by Matt Pfeiffer, the scene drips with an off-putting sense of performative cleverness. Unlike the best works of Stoppard, which can make complex theories feel as vibrant and unforced as everyday conversation, Moses seems overly intent on showing the audience his research acumen. Like an overeager student, he crams a textbook’s worth of arcana into the play’s 90 minutes, without a sense of cohesion or even full understanding of the subject matter.

And unlike the best works in the romantic-comedy genre, the relationship between Elliot and Molly — to say nothing of their various other suitors, all played with a general lack of specificity by Claire Inie-Richards and Justin Rose — lacks effervescence and pathos. They meet cute (in their university’s computer lab, natch), screw cute, fight cute, dump cute, and reconcile cute. But Moses never gives us a sense of what motivates their complicated attraction to each other.

All you’re going to learn

Instead, he defines them through glib dialogue that sounds less flirty than cringe-inducing. (Molly to Elliot: “Having sex without first examining the genitals is like biting into a piece of fruit without looking at it.” Geez.) Ijames and Tuomanen are both interesting, charming performers; they throw themselves into their roles, displaying comfort with the script’s scientific jargon and a desire to broaden their essentially flat characters. But even the most talented actors can only do so much when playing roles crafted with little distinction.

Near the play’s end, as it becomes clear that we know all we’re ever going to about Elliot and Molly, Moses inserts a metatheatrical red herring that stops the show in more ways than one. I won’t reveal what he does, except to say that it’s meant to disorient the audience and seem daring. In reality, it merely tries our patience, and suggests a playwright who’s written himself into a dramaturgical corner and sees no other way out.

Completeness contains the elements that could be used to make a better play, a rom-com with rigor and sharp teeth. But like the algorithm Elliot unsuccessfully builds to impress Molly, it also includes too many fatal errors.