"Boom": an apocalyptic dating game

"The greatest work of art created first by god and then by man, is the creation of life," wrote the late mythologist Joseph Campbell.

Yet with his vast knowledge of the vast array of creation myths humans hold dear, even Campbell might be surprised by the one elucidated in "Boom," the imaginative new cosmological comedy by the inspired young San Francisco playwright Peter Sinn Nachtrieb.

When Jules meets Jo in Seattle Repertory Theatre's local premiere of this contemporary, hip and endearing parable, it is a most improbable hookup to begin with.

Jo (Chelsey Rives) is an acerbic, unkempt journalism student with an enormous chip on her shoulder, a foul mouth and the habit of fainting dead away with no apparent provocation.

Jules (Nick Garrison) is a skittery science nerd with eerie foresight, whose best-laid plans to perpetuate humankind become unglued the moment Jo answers his singles ad and enters his bunkerlike apartment.

By the way — Jo is straight, and hot to trot. Jules is gay — and painfully shy. Especially about sex.

A less-promising sex date one could barely imagine. And thanks to the sublimely textured performances of Garrison and Rives, under Jerry Manning's direction, it's one of the most theatrically entertaining matchups since, say, Christopher Durang's psychoanalytic mating play, "Beyond Therapy" — a ripping 1980s date comedy with more psychiatry but less marine biology.

Though he's one crafty quipmaster, Nachtrieb is not sitcom glib. And he has a rare ability to keep you laughing and guessing, guessing and laughing over 90 minutes or so.

Even more unusual, and welcome, is how his characters fret and sweat over small stuff while smacking up against huge philosophical and scientific questions. Like: How did we all get here, and where the dang are we heading?

To answer that, "Boom" provides a number of sudden storm clouds seeded with small bursts of surprise. Just take note of Jules' tank full of exotic fish, and those blackouts of Jo's.

As this odd couple clashes and kvetches, a third character perches above. Her name is Barbara, and she serves the play as museum guide, commentator, oral historian and accompanist. Played by Gretchen Krich, Barbara can freeze the action, or drum up a mood by bashing away on a timpani, and her role in this apocalyptic dating game is fuzzy until the final scene. (Anyone who guesses it beforehand deserves a Tiffany crystal ball.)

The one off-note in Manning's otherwise laudable production for the Rep is Broadway vet Krich's overly mannered giddiness, as what first appears to be a fluttery archangel draped in hippie-goddess gear by costume designer Harmony J.K. Arnold. Barbara's drum-pounding and trilling oratory could be effectively dialed down, as she essentially orchestrates this creation myth.

For now, it's always a relief to get back to Garrison and Rives, who click right in with Nachtrieb's whimsical, ultimately affirming view of unusual suspects having trouble bonding in captivity.

The rumpled, pixieish Garrison makes Jules so transparent, you can practically see the wheels whirring in his busy brain as he teeters between self-congratulation and self-flagellation, sci-fi wonkiness and social ineptitude.

And those who admired Rives in her recent turn as the earthy, loyal Stella Kowalski in Intiman's "Streetcar Named Desire" will barely recognize her in "Boom."

That's a good thing. Rives completely submerges into the role of a ponytailed, nihilistic neurotic — who, in the end, might be the best person to have holed up with a dorky marine biologist well-versed in the Big Bang.

"Boom" also prospers from Jennifer Zeyl's bomb shelter of a set (with plenty of storage space for cases of bourbon and Tampax), and Robert J. Aguilar's varied lighting.

As for the play itself, if Nachtrieb can keep writing with this much invention, hip humor and heart, there's no stopping him.

Misha Berson: mberson@seattletimes.com