Life and Trust, a new theatrical event from Emursive, which produced the Punchdrunk hit Sleep No More, takes as its inspiration the Faust legend and mixes it with the 1929 stock market crash, the structure of A Christmas Carol, and glimmers of Citizen Kane. As with Sleep No More, attendees wear masks and performers do not, and silence is the rule. The audience, too, plays a part: The evening begins in a cavernous lobby with red-marble columns at “Conwell Tower” (formerly City Bank–Farmers Trust), half a block from Delmonico’s in lower Manhattan. A placard announces the date, Oct. 23, 1929, and the event: Life and Trust Bank’s Prospective Investors’ Fête. The audience is the “investors.”

Technology is being used more, and more inventively, in scenic and production design for the theater. Social media has become a vital part of marketing—and occasionally casting—shows. But tech has yet to make a big impression in theater as a subject. Three decades into the 21st century, plays about life in the digital age are still scarce. (Maybe that’s why Job, which recently transferred to Broadway, hit a nerve.)

Perhaps the first thing to clarify about Odd Man Out is that Martín Bondone’s play is unrelated to the 1947 movie by British director Carol Reed that starred James Mason as a robber on the run in Belfast. Although Reed’s work is a famous film noir, Bondone’s Odd Man Out is more than noir—it’s performed in total darkness.

Considering it has a cast of two, The Meeting: The Interpreter is a very busy production. The actors, Frank Wood and Kelley Curran, move all over the stage—standing here, kneeling there, spinning around in wheeled chairs, dancing a little—and Curran, who plays multiple characters, repeatedly switches her costume or wig. Video, puppets, sound effects and a slew of props are also part of the action.

If you’re of an age, you can’t forget it: That jingle, insistently catchy, as maddening as the one for the Mister Softee truck. “Cellino & Barnes! Injury attorneys! 800-888-8888!” It first appeared in 1998, haunted generations, and if Roy Cellino Jr. and Steve Barnes had not squabbled their empire into dissolution shortly before Barnes crashed his plane in 2020, we might be listening to it yet.

Doménica Feraud’s new play is set in a grief support group, where members reminisce about the “someone spectacular” they’ve lost and figure out how to cope without them. This should be very moving, but instead it seems trite and formulaic.