Kwaku Fortune Photo by Carol Rosegg

That would be Kevin, whom we find smoking a cigarette in a drab outdoor space (design, and it's basic, by Maree Kearns) of a mental facility in Newcastle, listening through headphones to Public Enemy's "Fight the Power"–a quick signal of Kevin's combative nature. Addressing us–the fourth wall rarely stands–with "Oh, it's you," he assures us he created us, and he's a god, "no, the God!" Fine, we think, we're in for whimsy. Not for long.

What we get instead is a jambalaya of addled observations, self-delusions, angry protests, and cris de coeur, mainly wails for freedom. Kevin is scheduled to meet up with a medical team that will determine if he's stable enough to depart the premises, and his mind is rushing, rushing in myriad directions we can't possibly keep up with. Primarily, though there's plenty more, he's reviewing his toxic relationship with his father, who seems to have loved, abused, and neglected him in equal and hard-to-parse measure. Evidently a man of means, though the details are skimpy and confusing, Kevin's father married an African princess after trekking across Iran and brought her back to Wicklow, where she was the only Black person in the village.

Which would make Kevin the only mixed-race kid in school. What troubles did that create? How did he cope? We'd love to know, but many significant details are missing from his story. He speaks of being "bullied and beaten, slapped and taunted," but offers no time or place. Sex never enters into it; we can't even tell what his orientation is. What we do get is, he likes to try on different identities at the snap of a finger, and he has anger issues, severe ones. Plus a past history with drugs, violence, and possibly political activism, though "political" doesn't even appear in the script.

Theobald Wolfe Tone, for the uninitiated, was an 18th century Irish rebel, and at some point Kevin likens himself not only to Tone but to Michael Collins, Bobby Sands, and Fionn mac Cumhaill. These come out of nowhere, though, and soon we're back to our protagonist rambling incoherently, crouching and sobbing, screaming, cursing, fantasizing (Adam Honoré's lighting helpfully dims for the interior monologues), and speculating on how to look as sane and controlled as possible before facing the medical board.

Probably a case like Kevin's would be as unprocessed and inscrutable as rendered here, but how on earth are we supposed to follow him? He confesses to being bipolar and manic (and praises that condition, saying it "should be synthesized into a drug–Manic, by Pfizer!") but variously confirms and denies psychosis. Other sample text, as he contemplates escaping Newcastle: "Ready to re-sit the Leaving Cert, get that dead end–jump on the rat wheel, join the gerbil race. Run and run and run and run and run and run and run and run." Got that? Shortly after, he asks: "What am I talking about?" Good question.

As the details accumulate, the principal takeaway is: Kevin's in bad shape. He attempted an earlier escape, involving smearing feces on the walls; did jail time; contemplated suicide; and is on a mountain of meds, triggering at least four exchanges between him and the main doctor (Fortune plays both) of, "Take your meds!" "I am taking my meds!" For such a short evening, it's a repetitive one.

Touching episodes are scattered about: Kevin's father teaching him to drive at a tender age, a sympathetic visit from his mother. Mostly, though, what's there are unconnected memories, flights of fancy, and Gaelic interjections that will baffle the unschooled. Director Nicola Murphy Dubey, who just did such a fine job with Irishtown upstairs, does little to clarify the non sequiturs emanating from the windmills of Kevin's mind, but really, who could? Fortune certainly has a strenuous go at it: He howls, cries, sings, dashes about the stage, and ably negotiates Kevin's transitions from madness to sanity and back. But I can't say I ever peered into Kevin's soul, or understood exactly who he was, or how he lurched so far off track. His parting shot to us, as he enters the doctors' office for his evaluation, is: "What do you think, actually? Am I well?" No.