I wouldn't want to make a steady diet of the kind of anti-formalism Richard Foreman clearly relishes. As a firm believer in the maxim "form follows function," I'd contend that the most revolutionary act a playwright like Foreman can commit is to channel his peripatetic yearnings and terrors into square notions like plot and characterization. The trick, the glory, is to keep them breathing under the yoke. My Head Was a Sledgehammer shatters narrative in the pursuit of a purely psychological theater. It succeeds impressively, but in the process tramples over many of the rewards that make theater unique in the first place.
My Head Was a Sledgehammer runs through September 14. Call (972) 355-2879.