Circle Mirror Transformation

As Annie Baker's amusing play begins, five people are lying motionless on their backs on a hardwood floor in silence under dim lights. In between long periods of silence, they take turns counting to ten. Next, they walk aimlessly walk around the room at different speeds. They even play a version of tag where each is supposed to "explode" when tagged.

If you have ever taken an introductory acting class, you will no doubt recognize such improvisational theater games. When the youngest member of the class asks the teacher when they will finally do some "real acting," she replies that these games do constitute acting. They are learning to be "physically aware," but it's still acting.

"Circle Mirror Transformation," named after the theater game where actors create variations of gestures and sounds, observes how an adult drama class at a local community center in Vermont affects four students and their teacher. Relationships rise and fall as these games tug at their personal lives and encourage them to reveal secrets. It's rather like an unorthodox force of group therapy.

In addition to highlighting the awkward, repetitive, seemingly pointless nature of most theater games, the play works well as a sincere character study taking place in a quirky context. While theater insiders will surely indentify with its contents, outsiders might find it all absolutely bizarre.

Sam Gold's production is marked by strong performances displaying eccentricity and shared feelings of frustration and loneliness, but without feeling overplayed. One standout is Deidre O'Connell, as a 55-year-old acting teacher who attempts to be enthusiastic in spite of apathy, misunderstanding and betrayal from her students.

You might say that the play feels Chekhovian in its naturalistic mix of comedy and sadness with naturalistic language and pauses. It leaves you thinking about how harmless little games can indirectly wreck havoc on your psychological well-being. Perhaps being an actor is more dangerous than imagined.

Playwrights Horizons, 416 West 42nd St., 212-279-4200, playwrightshorizons.org. Through Nov. 1.