Frank Wood and Kelley Curran Photo by Carol Rosegg

Despite hours of Congressional and Senate intelligence hearings that followed in the wake, we may never know exactly what took place. But among the participants was someone who had no personal stake in the outcome. That would be a Russian-born American citizen, the "Interpreter" of the title and the "fly on the wall" at the meeting, played here by Tony-winning actor (for Side Man) Frank Wood.

Wood is joined in this technology-dominated two-hander by Kelley Curran, possibly best known for her role as Enid, the former lady's maid who has married her way into the elite society depicted in HBO's "The Gilded Age." Curran wears many hats and at least one interesting wig in the play, in which she portrays a journalist, the bewigged Russian lawyer Natalia Veselnitskaya, an FBI agent, three male members of Congress, and a couple of others.

The Meeting: The Interpreter is less of a good hard look at what may have taken place behind closed doors as it is an opportunity for director Brian Mertes to immerse himself and us in the playbook of two other tech-crazy directors, Ivo van Hove and Robert Icke. Not only is the entire production projected onto a screen alongside the stage performances, Mertes raises the ante by incorporating a camera mounted on a dolly that a two-person team maneuvers along a track around the perimeter of the stage during the entire 95-minute production.

Beyond the projected images (which sometimes take on the characteristics of a documentary film), the smoke-and-mirrors approach to theatremaking includes some inexplicable choreography by Orlando Pabotoy, the use of intentionally crudely constructed puppets by the brilliant Julian Crouch (Shockheaded Peter), and filmic musical scoring by Daniel Baker & Co.

Wood and Curran, when they are not lost among the gimmickry, bravely try to keep the audience attuned to the actual storyline. The most interesting interactions between them are those times when the two Russians take center stage and you begin to get a sense of how the respected interpreter got tangled up in the goings-on at Trump Tower. But apart from the creative production values, there is not a lot of substance to the play, in which the writer seems to want to set up a collection of circumstantial evidence to make a political statement, literally spelled out in the final on-screen moments of the evening. It's possible, I suppose, that the entire enterprise is meant to be seen as a sort of meta-satire on documentary filmmaking or video-happy theatremaking, but if that's the intent then it is one hell of an inside joke.