An initially-confounding staging choice can interpretatively convey a seemingly-essential message of the show. 

Or: the CPR sequence near the end of Everything is Fine, at 59E59.

While Peggy Stanford’s new play flirts with deadpan absurdism throughout — befitting its Clubbed Thumb pedigree; borderline their house style (borderline?) — the decision to have the nurse’s CPR be mimed on empty air, feet away from the actual body, still penetrates the production’s constructed reality to a sufficient degree as to beg analysis. 

Personally, the image reminded me of reported near-death experiences, how survivors claim that their soul — their true essence, if you will — visually separates from their dying body, to start their journey to whatever awaits beyond. 

And the fact that the rest of the cast’s gazes stay locked on the actor — as opposed to where the character’s body appears to be, according to the location of the CPR — feels connected to the idea that this cohort saw through to her true self, her soul, penetrating beyond her superficial exterior. 

Which is also of a piece with the explicit role of theater and performance in Everything is Fine.

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Obstructing sightlines is considered a third rail in theater. 

The Hippocratic Oath of blocking: do not harm sightlines. 

But placing an obvious impediment can force the audience to try to inch around to see whatever’s behind the blockage. 

Which is a physical form of active engagement.

Everything is Fine could’ve moved the CPR upstage, where heads wouldn’t have blocked views.

Instead, we all peer around to behold the mystery, doubly calling our attention to its potential meaning.