Click, written by Jacqueline Goldfinger and directed by Adrienne Mackey, is a confused and confusing play. It might be an indictment of the current narcissistic generation, or it might be a sci-fi parody, or maybe it’s a satire on the evils of technology, or maybe it’s a revenge tragedy, or maybe it’s a sermon on identity, on being true to yourself and Facing the Monster. Your social media face may not be your own.

The show begins with a group of six called in the program the Greek Chorus. Although such choruses usually comment on the action of the principal characters — or at least they do in Greek plays — here they simply parade around, clicking emojis on their cellphones and swelling the throng of selfie-taking, laughing, sneering kids.

A college freshman called Fresh (Lexi Greene) goes to a frat party, gets drunk, and is raped by Chaz (Joe Falcone) and five other guys. Somebody videotapes the event, Chaz posts it, and once it goes viral, Fresh’s college life is ruined. She decides to commit suicide, inspired by Millais’ painting Ophelia.

The CEO (Rupal Pujara) of a new tech industry unctiously advertises “Body Be Free,” a way of escaping the limitations of self. There is much mumbo jumbo about screens and gloves and America being made great. In hiding, Fresh becomes an artist of the ugly, using, for example, beheaded children as the focus of her newest piece. Thus, another possible parody emerges (accompanied by an inane discussion of Duchamp) about contemporary art.

Five years later, Chaz is out of prison and invents a new technology whereby a person can invent an avatar and switch skins. (Some talk is inserted here about walking in someone else’s shoes, etc., etc.) Mixed in as well is the way race can alter job prospects: Let no social issue remain unmentioned.

Ten years later, Chaz is dying from the unforeseen dangers of his invention, and Fresh comes to see him, wearing the most outlandish outfit (costumes by Gina Colacci), apparently to signify she is now all grown up. She may be 27, but she remains unforgiving, so apparently there is no uplifting takeaway.

All told, a disappointing evening.



Through April 14 at Simpatico Theatre Company, Louis Bluver Theatre at the Drake, 302 S. Hicks St. Tickets: Pay what you decide. Information: 267-437-7529,