A Young Man (Colin Pip Dixon) lies barefoot on the floor while a Visitor (MacIntyre Dixon, Colin’s father) sits in a chair, reading a newspaper. The former, it seems, has been plotting an anarchist revolution, out of despair at the state of the world; the latter is the Prince of Darkness himself, who may or may not be a figment of the boy’s feverish imagination. His Majesty, the Devil is one long, familiar conversation: The Young Man spouts adolescent, creakily worded vitriol (“How could my mind beget such a fool as you?”), while the Visitor wallows in various forms of self-pity and shares hoary tropes about human iniquity (“I’m not half as harmful as your human brothers and sisters”). Sympathy for the Devil only extends so far. The elder Dixon, deploying more treacle than brimstone, performs with seasoned skill; the younger, who also composed an original score for the piece, plays the violin beautifully but does not appear to be a trained actor, to damaging effect. The project is sweetly dedicated to its late playwright, Alexandra Devon, who was Colin’s mother, and there is no question as to its good intentions. But we know where roads paved with those can lead.—Adam Feldman
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