What the Moon Saw, or "I Only Appear to Be Dead"

It's an idea full of pretty terrific theatrical possibilities: the magical, bittersweet tales of Hans Christian Andersen interwoven with the surreal, raw fabric we now know as 9/11. And in Stephanie Fleischmann's imaginative new work, there are pretty terrific elements: moments that are gorgeous and funny and painful. But in spite of the signposts meant to guide us and layers added to intrigue us, no emotional thread pulls it all together.

The character of Hans Christian Andersen (a wonderfully cartoonish Brandon McCluskey) shows up in America in 2001 on Sept. 11. He arrives on the West Coast, where the reverberations of the morning's attacks are felt by a gobsmacked cab driver (Michael Nehring, delightful in this and other roles), who agrees to take him to Solvang because there are no other fares, and also by the Little Mermaid (a wide-eyed Maria Ashna), who is immediately smitten by the ungainly writer. A road trip to New York leads to the heart of the tragedy. Alex Smith is touching as a fireman digging through the rubble, and Smith plays a newscaster conducting man-on-the-street interviews: "Where were you when…?" So these "real-life" stories are interspersed with Fleischmann's modern takes on other Andersen tales, which are often lovely and always unexpected. Hanging over it all is the Moon (a wry, accordion-playing Leah Harmon), and now and again there's a song and a dance.

Director Matthew McCray has filled the stage with amazing images and uses the theater's small space well. The picture-framed world of silhouettes and projections and illumination and detritus is stunning (kudos to the design team, including set designer Sarah Krainin and lighting designer Dan Weingarten), and the ensemble is solid (Edgar Landa, Marissa Pistone, Erith Jaffe-Berg, Allie Costa, Whitton Frank, and Melina Bielefelt are also strong performers). However, with each element that's added, the path of this play becomes less clear. In the end, we're left with bits and pieces, and it's impossible to connect them for any lasting resonance.

Presented by and at Son of Semele, 3301 Beverly Blvd., L.A. Sept. 9-Oct. 9. Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 4 p.m. (Occasionally Mon., 7 p.m.; to be announced.) www.sonofsemele.org.