On the Verge, or the Geography of Yearning

The travelogues written by Victorian female authors radiated an infectious optimism and self-deprecating humor that suggested the world can be conquered with a bit of pluck and (Western) know-how. Overmyer’s 1995 On the Verge, or the Geography of Yearning captures that humor and optimism, and though it can be tricky to follow, in Remy Bumppo’s hands it proves an affirming, literate take on the nature of time and life’s possibilities.

In 1888, three female explorers set off to explore terra incognita, only to discover they’re navigating not only a place but time as well. Stumbling over the detritus of the future, they try to discern the meaning of an “I like Ike” button and understand their sudden cravings for a substance called “Cool Whip.” Each giddy step brings them closer to the future and its wonders.

Overmyer’s script is a rich, poetic tribute to bravery and the human spirit, and Bohnen shapes it with an uncommonly light, whimsical touch. (The show is a welcome departure from the company’s usually staid fare; it’s a pity it’ll only run for three weeks.) And Tim Morrison’s judiciously spare set doesn’t compete with the production’s thick language.

The performances are uniformly radiant: Shunk, Sondag and Fernandez invest their explorers with humor, humanity and unerring fashion sense. But the ensemble standout is Anderson, who elevates the energy of the room each time he steps on stage. Each of his many characters is precisely drawn; it’s a ball to watch the guy work.