Vaudevillians in a Bleak, 21st-Century Light

Nine shabbily dressed characters pack the stage of the Axis Company's 99-seat home theater for the troupe's revival of the 1848 vaudeville hit "A Glance at New York." But though they stand elbow to elbow, these bedraggled creatures never connect.

Missed connections and frustrated schemes are the raw material of Benjamin A. Baker's dated and mediocre melodrama, a series of sketches about a country rube called George, his urbane cousin Harry, and a strapping fireman known as Big Mose. Axis artistic director Randy Sharp takes the play's exasperations and gives them a Beckettian inflection, turning the very slight "A Glance at New York" into a postmodern meditation on futility. The effect is both unsettling and lightweight — as if a mere trifle had been trussed up in existential trappings.

Against a lone red velvet curtain, the characters dash through their dialogue, frenetically bouncing from comic sketch to comic sketch. Starkly lit (by David Zeffren), the vaudevillians' faces have an eerie, ghostly quality; their makeup is garish, their lined faces look used up. Around their sunken eyes they have a hunted look. There is a sense of lurking, unarticulated dread.

Having chosen to drain the original merriment from the gang's misadventures, Ms. Sharp harnesses the plot's chronic frustrations to maddening effect. Young George (Ian Tooley), the greenhorn who's just arrived in the vicious city, is swindled time and again, while his protector, cousin Harry (George Demas), keeps disappearing at the most crucial times. Disguised with lipstick, the boys sneak into a ladies' club, only to be discovered and tossed out. And so it goes: the long-running gags, the interconnected sketches, the bits of pantomime, the breaks for old-time songs, all filtered through a bleak aesthetic and racing forward at an untenable pace. To the plot's missed connections, Ms. Sharp adds further separation between the characters. When they address one another, the actors often fail to meet each other's eyes or even look at each other. Characters appearing to address the audience create the uncomfortable sensation that they are addressing your collarbone. The line readings are often deliberately flat and devoid of emotion — just pure theatrical declamation.

Given the tongue-tripping speed at which they speak, some of their meaning is lost — an effect that is magnified by the often busy and cacophonous staging. Swarms of characters flood the downstage area and recede into a sort of Greek chorus tableau in their ragged Victorian costumes (brilliantly conceived by Lee Harper and Matthew Simonelli). Sometimes, the members of this otherworldly chorus mime weeping; a pair of them may hug each another. Yet even in the hugs, there is the sense of an embrace between strangers.

After a 2003 workshop here and a 2007 Edinburgh fringe run, "A Glance at New York" has developed into an effectively stylized piece of theater. The look of it is especially memorable: the striped trousers, the stovepipe hats, the smears of lipstick, and especially the clever two-dimensional props, like the wonderful flat suitcase George carries. Yet it doesn't carry enough dramatic or emotional heft to sustain an audience past its 45-minute run time. Despite the company's aggressive reinterpretation, "A Glance at New York" remains a curio.

Until November 16 (1 Sheridan Square, 212-352-3101).