A Man and His Clones Confront Their Father in 21ten Theatre’s “A Number”

Caryl Churchill’s play A Number is only an hour long and features just four characters, two actors dressed in shades of gray and faded black, and a single room for a set.

While some productions have filled that room with patterned rugs and paintings, 21ten’s version, as directed by Michael O’Connell, mirrors the playwright’s spare, elliptical lines with a minimalist white wall and a plain black leather couch and chair.

This was a wise choice for a matryoshka doll-like play that gradually reveals more and more layers of potential meaning in its five brief scenes. Added furnishings would be a distraction from the profound questions suggested by the story, such as how science affects human lives, how essential is individuality, and whether redemption is possible.

The play begins with 35-year-old Bernard 2 (Alex Hurt) confronting his father, Salter (Bruce Burkhartsmeier), with some shocking news: He’s just learned that he’s one of several copies of his father’s 40-year-old son and wants to know if Salter knew about the cloning…and if Salter really is his father.

All is never completely revealed, but we eventually infer that Salter was once a drinker and an abusive father who gave away his original son, Bernard 1, and had a copy of him made so that he could start afresh and make up for his neglect. Churchill doesn’t actually use words like “abuse,” “drunk” or “neglect,” though. Such terms would make it too easy for us to simply dismiss Salter as a monster instead of seeing him as an infernally complex human being.

All four characters make A Number a feast for actors who crave a challenge. That’s especially true for Hurt, who, in addition to portraying Bernard 2, must also morph into the tougher Bernard 1 (as well as Michael Black, a seemingly happier version of the sons).

Hurt pulls off this magic trick with small but significant details. As the confused and later frightened Bernard 2, he sits with his shoulders hunched and his feet crossed—a physical manifestation of his vulnerability now that the news that he’s a clone has obliterated his sense of self.

In contrast, as the more menacing Bernard 1, Hurt plants his feet in a wide power stance—and, in a particularly alarming moment, creeps behind his father’s chair and rests his fist on Salter’s chest. From the front row of 21ten’s 40-seat theater, this gesture is chilling. I could easily imagine him reaching through Salter’s ribs and squeezing his heart like a ripe tomato.

Tiny costume tweaks also indicate changes in character. To become Bernard 1 during the brisk onstage scene changes (which are effectively accompanied by angsty music and red lights), Hurt ruffles his hair and pulls out a gold chain tucked inside his shirt, signaling that he’s now a different son.

As Michael Black, on the other hand, Hurt wears a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and ties an elegant gray scarf around his neck. For him, the news that he’s a clone is “delightful.” Costume aside, though, you’d never mistake this pleasant man for Bernard 1, who could be made of hot knotted wires rather than muscle and bone.

For the play to work, both Bernard 1 and Salter need to be seen as more than flat villains. Burkhartstmeier, a veteran Oregon Shakespeare Festival actor, suggests his character’s humanity when he displays a tremulous fear of losing Bernard 2, who claims he now hates his father. In a story where the truth is a fish wriggling from our grasp, the tenderness of Salter’s gesture when he cups the back of Bernard 2′s head feels real, although it’s also arguable that his need for his son’s affection is self-serving.

Churchill doesn’t do interviews to explain her work, which takes the writing maxim of “show, don’t tell” a few leaps further. Instead, she sprinkles crumbs of information in intriguingly cryptic dialogue that’s often delivered in half-sentences.

“It was all a normal, everything, birth,” Bernard 2 says when trying to understand his parentage. Even the individual words leave room for interpretation. Throughout the script, “sorry” is used repeatedly. But how sorry is Salter that he may have psychologically damaged Bernard 1? Or was it in Bernard 1′s nature to be disturbed anyway? And what exactly constitutes a parent-child relationship? Is it based on genetics alone or on actions as well, like reading a bedtime story?

Long after leaving the theater, audiences will be wrestling with these issues. They’ll also be grateful to Churchill and 21ten for treating them like thinking, feeling adults, instead of glassy-eyed children who sit, open-mouthed, while the actors spoon feed them the pablum of less nuanced entertainment.

SEE IT: A Number plays at 21ten Theatre, 2110 SE 10th Ave., 503-208-5143, 21ten.org. 7:30 pm Thursday–Saturday and 2 pm Sunday, through Feb. 4. $15-$20.