Trapped in an abusive relationship, Tim Miller's clearing out. A suitcase thrown onstage starts his new solo performance, and the evening contains a lot of frenzied unpacking and repacking of precious objects. It isn't easy to decide what to take with you in a panic state, and the high, tremulous jabber in which Miller speaks most of his inner emotional unpacking is more than an affectation. This may be the most fraught piece he's ever made; it's certainly the jumpiest performance I've ever seen him give. He stumbles over words, constantly correcting himself, shifting from one position or one light cue to the next with a spasmodic jerk. "I'm not angry," he says at one point, "but I am a bit peeved." Under the line, as under many others in the piece, you can hear something closer to desperation than anger, a last-ditch effort to stave off an... More >>>