The Andalusian Lorca spent almost a year in New York during the Depression—America's and his own. The city famously energizes some artists and overwhelms others; for Lorca, apparently it did both. As Poet has it, Lorca straddled two worlds. Even as he explored his sexuality and creativity in his new country, the mournful, brutal colors of his homeland were never far away. It's as if he knew from the beginning that an ugly end was near. It was—in 1936, at the age of 38, Lorca was murdered in Spain by Franco's guards.

Many moments in Poet are haunting. My own favorite is an encounter where FGL and the American poet Hart Crane (both played by van Reigersberg, of course) meet strikingly and sexily amidst a bunch of flowers.

But even accepting the caveat that Poet is fantasia rather than fact, the show pretty much skims the surface, leaving the depth of FGL's torture and exultation always at arm's length. The graceful van Reigersberg trained as a dancer, but much of what he does here—a hybrid of dance and movement-based performance—is contrived. And nearly all the action (such as it is) involves a litany of famous names, meant to give Poet intellectual heft, for example when Salvador Dali asks FGL if he's read "that book by the German—Sigmund Freud." (In 1930, nearly seven million people lived in New York. You'd think Lorca might have met somebody we never heard of.)

It's all very artful, and the opening night audience seemed enthralled. But to me, Poet—long on imagery and short on content—is simultaneously heavy-handed and lightweight.

POET IN NEW YORK, Through April 1, Pig Iron at the Mandell Theater, Drexel University, 3210 Chestnut St., 215-627-1883