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When Josey Benjamin and her ophthalmologist husband moved from New York City to suburban Chadds Ford, Pa., Josey brought along her unfulfilled ambitions and three companions from childhood: the spirits of psychologist Anna Freud, Hungarian freedom fighter Hannah Senesh, and renowned lunatic Mary Todd Lincoln. Josey will need their insight, courage, and ability to live with grief in her new life, for, as the actuary and überurbanist explains, “In suburbia, there’s no there there….People ask how you are and wait for an answer.” Yes, Pumping Josey: Life and Death in Suburbia is yet another meditation on that most American of Nowheres, this time penned by Washington playwright Caleen Sinnette Jennings and former attorney Pamela Sherman, who also portrays Josey and her family, friends, and three spiritual advisers onstage. Josey’s apparently ruined life takes a big turn for the better when she meets her soon-to-be bestest new friend, Carri, in the produce section of Costco. Carri becomes a guidepost—her causes are soon Josey’s causes, her friends Josey’s friends. But then life is ruined for real: Carri dies unexpectedly, unease blossoms into full-blown anxiety, and Josey hits the road with her childhood heroines riding shotgun. Horizons Theatre’s clean, simple set features just a bed and two chairs, which director David Hilder keeps Sherman moving busily among as she changes character and venue. Three large, overlapping scrims, meanwhile, serve as screens for images that reveal time and place: the Statue of Liberty, a box of gauze for Josey’s son’s bris, a straitjacket, a coffin. Sherman is always energetic and at times very funny, such as when she’s playing Josey’s mother, who picks up the slack for her postpartum-depression-incapacitated daughter by trying to land a fashionable omelet man for the bris party. Or when the bereaved Josey washes ashore in a Virginia Beach bar on open-mike night: “I’ve been having a lot of postpartum sex,” she quips. “Everybody’s sucking on me these days.” But ultimately, much in this hourlong production comes off as mere kvetching, as when Josey laments that “Jewish grandmothers will make a brisket, but they won’t change a diaper” or comedy-club standup. Regarding her hero Lincoln, Josey says, “Back then, they put her in an insane asylum. Today, they’d cut up her credit card and put her on Prozac.” Worse, though, Jennings and Sherman seem to hold Josey’s unfulfilled ambitions to be self-evident: If their thesis is that suburban America sucks dry the soul, they would have done well to show us the soul in question. In the case of Josey Benjamin, however, there’s no there there. —Janet Hopf