Farrah Hamzeh Photo by Cheshire Isaacs

In the case of The Last of the Love Letters, I will admit the intentions of playwright Ngozi Anyanwu are laid out rather clearly in the show's subtitle: "A Meditation on Loneliness." The show consists of two main sections. In the first, Farrah Hamzeh portrays You, a person whose gender is never defined, presenting as a mix of male and female energy. Wearing a pink camisole set topped by an over-large grey hoodie, You begins the proceedings through a lip-sync/dance performance of a version of "I Am What I Am," the queer anthem from La Cage aux Folles. Whipping their long hair in a combination of rage and celebration, You uses the song almost as an opening statement, a manifesto of sorts, claiming their uniqueness as a singular being who is facing the prospect of, well, being singular. As in a now-single person coming out of a relationship. "I built her for you," You claims, speaking both to us in the audience (there is no fourth wall here–it's almost as if the audience is a stand-in for a therapist helping a client process their emotions) and to their ex-partner, who, it seems, was rather controlling in a way that You found both suffocating and exhilarating. "How did you know that by making me everything, you made me nothing?"

As You, Hamzeh brings an amazing physicality to the role, seemingly using movement as a way to exorcise the demons of a relationship that wasn't necessarily toxic, but didn't feel at all like a true partnership. Hamzeh toys with us, slowly but surely teasing out the pain of lost love, like tugging at a loose thread that seems to have no end until the garment is a chaotic pile of yarn.

In the second part of The Last of the Love Letters, we meet You No. 2 (Gabriele Christian). Similarly alone, but even more lost in their mind, You No. 2 seems to be confined in a mental facility of some sort, as from time to time, Person (hodari blue) enters, pushing a small metal cart and dispensing pills to You No. 2 who obligingly opens wide to receive them.

If You is in pain, she at least has some sense of self, and can envision a future on her own. You No. 2, on the other hand, seems caught in a doom loop, unsure of how to move on–or where to move to. He can't seem to find a comfortable position when he is attempting to speak to us, starting with a cheery "Hi!," then a more measured "Hello," before seemingly settling on a casual "Hey," shifting postures with each iteration.

This second section is more disturbing than the first, but director Naila Unole dida-Nese'ah Harper-Malveaux includes a lovely example of shadow play as You No. 2 imagines dancing with a partner. She (and, I assume, playwright Anyanwu) have also created a charming moment when You No. 2 folds up the single cot that serves as a bed, creating an a-frame that, when covered with comforters and his own shirt, becomes the sort of fort a child might construct from couch cushions and sheets. It serves as a metaphor for how You No. 2 has retreated into his own mind to escape the pain of loneliness while at the same time embracing it.

The Last of the Love Letters was a bit of a slog for me, even with its brief 80-minute running time. Though the actors give achingly vulnerable performances, and the show succeeds on a technical/artistic level–excellent lighting by Spense Matubang, and costumes by Jasmine Milan Williams that feature tears hastily sewn with red thread that hang loosely, mirroring the unfinished emotional process of the characters–it may move you in ways that you find more appealing than I.

In short, it's an excellent, well-acted production of a play that just didn't ring my bell.

The Last of the Love Letters, presented by Crowded Fire Theater, runs through May 3, 2025, at Z Below, 450 Florida Street, San Francisco CA. Performances are Wednesdays-Sundays at 8:00 p.m., Monday, April 28 at 8:00pm and Sunday, May 3 at 3:00pm. Tickets are $25 general admission, although no one will be turned away for lack of funds. For tickets and information, please visit www.crowdedfire.org.