Last night I caught Marie Brassard’s “Jimmy” at PS 122. Written, directed and starring Brassard, this solo show is as enigmatic a piece of theater as any I’ve seen in a while. I can’t say I entirely got into its dreamlike mood, but at the same time this kind of performance has a way of burrowing into your head. I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up remembering “Jimmy” more than many shows I actively enjoyed. (See my post about being befuddled at the theater.)

When I mentioned “dreamlike” earlier, I referred to the show’s vibe but the content is also preoccuppied with dreams, and the border between them and reality, such as it is. Brassard, her voice electronically distorted so it’d resemble that of an effeminate older man (an effect that reminded me of Laurie Anderson’s most famous trick), played the title character, a homosexual hairdresser who may be a figment of the imagination. There were others, too, and the transitions between them were not all that easy to follow.

Occasionally the pitch would change and Brassard would speak in a kid’s voice, complete with eerie mannerisms created not so much by technical trickery as by good old-fashioned acting. Those brief moments were quite spooky, especially since Brassard’s face was dramatically made up and she looked like a kabuki clown in a striped men’s suit.

Again, the show’s not easy to take. It does not invite you in, and some may find its droll, surreal tone off-putting (a couple of people left when I saw it, and the piece is only 70 minutes long). But it’s also sui generis, something we don’t see enough in our cookie-cutter days.

There will be more downtown action for me tonight, as I’m heading to HERE to catch “Machines Machines Machines Machines Machines Machines Machines.”