Annie Barbour shines in BETC production of John Patrick Shanley’s play.

The Boulder Ensemble Theatre Company’s regional premiere of Brooklyn Laundry at The Savoy (directed by Allison Watrous, running through February 15) has almost completely sold out. And for good reason, not the least of which being the small-but-mighty cast Watrous selected to tell this mournfully gripping story.

The show is called Brooklyn Laundry, so I wasn’t surprised when I walked in and saw an elaborate laundromat setup on the stage: two levels of racks built into the walls, stuffed with clothes hanging in hundreds of plastic bags, topped with shelves piled high with laundry bags and baskets, and a cash register station in the center.

Given the elaborate details of Tina Anderson’s set — the credit card signs and QR code affixed to the counter, the “Laundry Mat Rules” sign posted on the wall, the flickering fluorescent light hanging over the workstation — I expected that laundry would somehow have a central role in the show that was forthcoming. Instead, it was only the backdrop (both literally and narratively) to the heavy story that would soon unfold.

But it didn’t start heavy. The action begins with a chance meeting between Fran, a moody New Yorker dropping off her laundry (played by Annie Barbour) and Owen, the friendly laundromat owner (played by Torsten Hillhouse). It took some work, but by the end of the scene, Owen had disarmed Fran’s standoffishness with a kind and genuine interest in her. Yes, she said she’d go to dinner with him, but not until she got back from her trip.

Their funny, light-hearted meet-cute was immediately contrasted by Fran’s trip out of town, which turned out to be to visit her sister Trish (Jessica Robblee) in Pennsylvania. To establish this scene, the right side of the laundromat wall rotated 180 degrees to reveal a bedroom where we watched as the two sisters had a long meandering conversation that ran the gamut from sibling gossip to Fran’s dating life to the rapidly declining health of the obviously sick and bed-ridden Trish.

Annie Barbour, left, and Jessica Robblee in the BETC production of ‘Brooklyn Laundry’ | Photo: Bekah-Lynn Broas

It was here that the deep intimacy of the show first struck me. Their dialogue wandered in a natural, relatable way, continuously veering toward, then intentionally away, then slowly back again to the uncomfortable facts and inevitable truths of Trish’s terminal illness. It was sad and raw and moving, made so by the chemistry between Barbour and Robblee, and later with her other sister Susie (played by Kate Gleason).

This was a dialog-heavy play that never would have landed without the passionate, physical acting and wide range of vocal inflections that accompanied the delivery, especially at Fran’s lowest points with her two sisters. Like how in Trish’s bedroom, with their foreheads nearly touching, she looked her sister in the eyes, took her head into her hands, and with tears falling, expressed love for her sister, despite not always showing it well. When Fran crawled into bed to be held by her sister like a child might do with her mother, their love for each other radiated from the stage.

Later with Susie, we see Fran shrink in the shadow and wrath of “the responsible sister” who chastises Fran for centering herself amidst multiple family crises. Their fight unfolds in a convincing way, starting with niceties, progressing to questioning, exploding in blame and shame, and finally resolving in a tough love sort of conclusion. Their relationship is different from Fran and Trish’s, but it’s equally charged and unstable.

Torsten Hillhouse and Annie Barbour on their first date in ‘Brooklyn Laundry.’ | Photo: Bekah-Lynn Broas

A strange date

But before it all blows up, we find ourselves back in the city with Fran as she arrives for her date with Owen. Again, juxtaposing joy against sadness, in this scene we learn Fran has taken mushroom chocolates and eventually gets Owen to take some as well. It’s silly at first but eventually ventures into sensitive territory (especially for a first date) that could have been awkward but ends up being a vulnerable moment that brings them closer together.

There’s also nice use of repetitive lighting and sound effects in this scene, as the tripping Fran and Owen are repeatedly awestruck whenever the restaurant’s open grill flares up. Looking out into the audience as their faces glow orange and we hear the rush of fire flare up, they looked like spectators at a firework show rather than diners on their first date.

As the show continues, we are thrust even further into the drama of Fran’s life, watching the familial side of it spin out of control just as she feels like she’s getting a hold of the relationship side of it. Time and time again, we are a fly on the wall for her deeply intimate and emotional encounters — conversations that are heartbreaking to watch and painful to imagine. I noticed others in the audience gasping in shock or aweing in sadness as the story developed, and I wasn’t the only one sniffling and wiping away fallen tears in the dark between scenes.

So, OK — maybe this show was about laundry … but only in so much as, just like the circumstances that were handed to Fran by her family, it’s just a part of life that you have to take on and keep doing, even if you don’t want to. Or maybe Shanley staged this play in a laundromat to invoke the idea of rinsing and repeating — to foreshadow the way that our characters seem to keep making mistakes as they navigate through life.

In the end, Fran and Owen both confront enormous life choices, and all of the play’s action leads to the final moments. They confront those choices together, but on top of a very shaky foundation. Their relationship is new and they both rinse and repeat their personal despair by immediately breaking promises they made to each other on that first date. It remains to be seen if they made the right choices or if it’s just another wash cycle in the cruel madness of life.

Either way — from the interesting and well-styled set to the impressive acting that moved me in every scene — this show was an emotional roller coaster ride I never wanted to get off of.

Annie Barbour, left, with Kate Gleason in ‘Brooklyn Laundry.’ | Photo: Bekah-Lynn Broas