Dark Comedy

If your problem with improv comedy is that part where somebody is suddenly like, "I'm a Martian," and you're looking at him like no you are not, I can see your wallet chain, then you might wanna check out Dark Comedy. This Philly Improv Theater (PHIT) production is performed entirely with the lights off, and has some rather artful if vague-seeming constructs that define it as well. The upside of the opening night's performance: the recurring jokes and utter weirdness of it all. Coolly off-putting and surprising. The downside? Maybe it went a little long thanks to those extended noise-making sessions between scenes. Through Sept. 10, $15, The Adrienne, 2030 Sansom St. —Patrick Rapa

How to Disappear Completely and Never Be Found

Fin Kennedy's drama, performed by Luna Theater Co., poses an interesting idea, in several senses: Creating a new identity is intriguing, but we can't warm up to Charlie (David Stranger), who's so fucked up that jettisoning his life becomes necessary. Moreover, Gregory Campbell's production has a great high-tech, video-screen coolness. Given Charlie's fate, maybe it's for the best that we don't love him, but his journey — realized by a great ensemble playing multiple roles — is a fascinating plunge into the nature of identity in the modern world. "You can change the shell," Charlie's told, "but you've still got to fill it." Through Sept. 18, $20, Playground at the Adrienne, 2030 Sansom St. —Mark Cofta

The Method Gun

The premise is uproarious: An Austin troupe pretends to be legendary actor thespians who studied under the harsh guru tutelage of "Stella Burden," a reclusive legend cast in the mold of Stella Adler and Lee Strasberg with a touch of Chris Burden-like savagery to her "Approach." The goal of the fragile troupe is to finish Burden's version of A Streetcar Named Desire — the one without the characters of Stanley, Mitch, Blanche and Stella — without stressing itself into disarray. They freak and fold while promoting risk and personal romances within the cast while welcoming a tiger into their midst (because wouldn't a tiger eating that salesman be more interesting?). By the end, they perform a delicate, stirring, elegantly lit-movement-based version of Streetcar that would've made Burden proud. —A.D. Amorosi

Smiley

None of my friends wanted to join me for Smiley, which promised "emotional pornography," because the show featured audience participation. They needn't have worried — we sat on antique chairs and couches, were required to do little more than give our name and occupation, and do some deep breathing. Most of this intimate four-actor showcase about intimacy and communication featured the quartet of actors talking about enemas and fisting and golden showers, or acting as animals in heat. Not particularly stimulating stuff — at times, it bordered on boring — but it did have standout performances from Hilla Ben Gera and Ori Laizerouvich on its side. —Gary M. Kramer

The Speed of Surprise!

Alison King's entrance — sporting a towering bouffant and neon-purple leggings as a space vixen on a cardboard-and-spare-parts backdrop — sets the tone for the Groundswell Players' send-up of vintage (and cheap) sci-fi. Jesse Bowie Paulsen (the crew's requisite foreign species), Jack Meaney (the rock-jawed captain) and Scott Sheppard (the shorts-pantsed sidekick) all nail the archetypes, but unfortunately this frontier's been explored so much that the jokes hardly seem alien. With such an able cast and the gifted Charlotte Ford at the helm, it's disappointing that the show devolves into so much flailing about in zero G. Through Sept. 10, $15, The Adrienne, 2030 Sansom St. —Shaun Brady

Twelfth Night, or What You Will

Pig Iron's Twelfth Night is true to Shakespeare (a good thing), and truly Pig Iron (a very good thing). This girl-disguised-as-boy romantic comedy soars under Dan Rothenberg's direction, with near-constant onstage accompaniment by Rosie Langabeer's gypsy musicians, and remarkably clear, incisive, smart performances by all. I've never seen a Feste so caustic, cryptic, yet cuddly as Scott Greer, and James Sugg's Keith Richards in a pink suit breathes new life into drunken Sir Toby. Maiko Matsushima's set includes a quarter-pipe slide that adds to the fun — but after all the laughs, something elegant remains. Pure magic. Through Sept. 17, $25, Suzanne Roberts Theatre, 480 S. Broad St. —Mark Cofta

Water Bears in Space

Candra Kennedy (who also wrote/directed the fantastic Rails in Fringe '09) finds melodrama in the least likely places — in this case, the day-to-day lives of the titular micro-organisms (scientifically, tardigrades) and the professional wranglings of the scientists who study them. Here are two parallel, quasi-archetypal narratives: a quest saga starring three plucky, adorable microbe puppets and a laboratory power struggle featuring the always-dynamic Kate Black-Regan as a gleefully demented, thumbless mad microbiologist. Act I ends with a chorus line of dancing thumbs, and by the second act, as gravity and sanity lose their grip, things rocket past creatively campy to utterly, transcendently bizarre. Through Sept. 16, 7 p.m., $10, Circle of Hope, 1125 S. Broad St. —K. Ross Hoffman

Wawapalooza 5: Under Destruction

There are as many misses as hits among the two short films and 13 sketches that make up the fifth installment of Wawapalooza, but not everyone will be in agreement over what works and what doesn't. The difference between what tickles you and what leaves you scratching your head may well come down to which targets hit closest to home: self-righteous parents or self-righteous college kids, abusive baseball fans or weepy Patrick Swayze fans, clueless Mac users or lame Facebook friends. A good rule of thumb: The more twisted the premise, the bigger the payoff. Through Sept. 17, $15, Society Hill Playhouse, 507 S. Eighth St. —M.J. Fine

Whale Optics

Director/writer/stager Thaddeus Phillips' usually hectic semi-comic multimedia experience (e.g. El Conquistador ) this time comes with a delicious sense of lonely rumination and calm. Carl Sagan (via his Cosmos television series), an elastic troupe of movement-thespians (in particular the quirkily humorous Lee Ann Etzold and the quietly dignified Makoto Hirano) and an audience seated on the Prince's stage head confidently into the deep. That the deep concerns matters of the heart as well as the battle between snobby intellectualism and nature's intuitions is what makes the weirdly funny Optics tick. Or swim. Through Sept. 11, $25, Prince Music Theatre, 1412 Chestnut St. —A.D. Amorosi

For tickets and information, call 215-413-1318 or visit livearts-fringe.org.