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In Jane Martin’s Talking With…#, Marie Page plays a series of white chicks sitting around talking. And most of them are the sort of women you’d change cars to avoid on the Metro. Among others, there are a youthful snake handler; a crone who spends dawn to dusk in McDonald’s because she believes no one ever dies there; a preternaturally talented twirler who experiences holy orgasms when tossing her batons heavenward; and a maddeningly bored housewife who’s mentally relocating to L. Frank Baum’s Oz. Page, wide-eyed and vigorous, has a chameleonlike command of her characters; Ralph Remington’s staging even reveals her slipping in and out of some of them (and their costumes) onstage, emphasizing the actress’s adeptness at the game. But Martin’s 1982 play is generally performed as a series of monologues by several actresses, and making Talking With…# a one-woman show, even with such a talented performer, highlights the deficiencies in Martin’s script. Too many of the vignettes are about obsessions that reach clinically troubling levels, and Martin’s reluctance to pass judgment sometimes leads the viewer to feel less enlightened by the single-minded women than cringing for them. The stardom-minded psycho in “Audition,” who removes the “cookies” from her Wonderbra to remind the director that her last name is Titfer (and who has a cat named—wait for it!—Tat), should have heard “Thank you—next!” long before resorting to a National Lampoon-style pet-hostage situation. Page appears more comfortable playing drama than comedy; she’s most effective in the more serious, less gimmicky vignettes, particularly “Clear Glass Marbles,” in which a young woman recounts her strong-willed mother’s final days, and the chilling closer, “Marks.” But even with incredible setups, Martin and Page can sometimes make bank shots into capital-T Truth, most notably with “Handler”‘s young worshiper, who reveals a stunning and unexpected insight into the power of faith. Overall, Talking With… is a pleasant hour and a half; if it demands too much of one actress, it’s pretty easy on its audience. —Pamela Murray Winters