An odd duck's obsession becomes revealing odyssey

A harried, desperate man calls for the lights to be dimmed, and we're off in pursuit of something we cannot see, touch or smell. But it can be felt, and we smile at how myth -- stories, really -- affect the psyche of our rumpled librarian.

Actor Pat O'Brien is the sweaty human -- soft-boiled eyes and sharp nose -- who inhabits the single character in Glen Berger's slight play, "Underneath the Lintel," now playing at Mixed Blood Theatre in Minneapolis.

At 70 minutes, "Lintel" is seductively entertaining, aspiring to originality and settling for a familiar purpose: that beliefs matter. Berger never delivers on the delicious mystery he proposes, but O'Brien's meticulous investigation of character shows how obsession unravels a life.

Berger's setup is this: A Dutch librarian in 1996 exercises his supercilious ego by policing the overnight bin. Occasionally, someone will try to slip in an overdue volume but our man pursues the miscreant to make sure the fine is paid. Yes, he's that small.

One day, a tattered Baedeker's travel guide arrives. He checks the card and Eureka! It was checked out in 1873. What greater purpose exists for a librarian than to pursue a 123-year overdue fine? But the card is simply signed "A." His fevered brain -- a mental recipe box overstuffed with information -- pitches into action and "A." becomes his Moby Dick.

Increasingly possessed, the librarian follows the thread of evidence. A laundry ticket leads to a pair of trousers discarded in 1906; a tram ticket takes him to Germany; a note takes him to a post-office box in China; a letter takes him to New York and then Australia. All the while, a clue occasionally will reveal a glimpse of his own damaged sense of purpose.

At last, the clues gel and our man realizes he is chasing the Wandering Jew, a legend from medieval Christianity about a cobbler who hurried Jesus along on the path to crucifixion and thus was cursed to roam the earth until Christ's return. And this is Berger's theme -- the power of myth in our lives, the existence of God.

"I had never believed anything in my life," the librarian says, exhausted, as he has lost his own existence (fired because he's been gone six weeks on a one-week sick leave). But in his pursuit, he has found legacy.

O'Brien has reached deep inside this odd duck for an honest portrayal that wastes not a single tic, sly wink or aside. He finds more in the script than Berger perhaps ever intended, and the play is richer for it.

Graydon Royce • 612-673-7299