Paula Vogel's "The Baltimore Waltz" is eight parts goofy comedy followed by one part touching sentiment.

You don't fully appreciate either part until you have had them both, but if you happen to like goofy comedy, you won't mind delaying the gratification.

Vogel wrote the play in 1989, in memory of her brother, who had recently died of AIDS. She uses its comic and sometimes absurd format to work through complex issues of love and sorrow.

Vogel claimed the play was not about AIDS, but about processing grief. "People who are grieving when they've come to see the play tell me that it's a way to get in touch with their joy," she wrote. "And there's a lot of joy in grief, there's a lot of celebration to grief, there's a lot of comedy in grief."

In the fantasy comedy, it's the sister who is ill. She has been diagnosed with acquired toilet disease, probably contracted from the bathroom at the elementary school where she teaches.

The brother is indignant about the lack of funding for research, "If just one grandchild of George Bush caught this thing during toilet training, that would be the last we'd hear about the space program."

She is fatalistically resigned but determined to use the time she has left to have as much sex as possible.

So the pair embarks on a whirlwind European tour that Vogel postponed in real life.

The tour follows its own ridiculous logic but blends what might have happened with a fun-house mirror reflection of reality. The sister engages in promiscuous sex, while the brother is pursued by a mysterious stranger carrying a toy stuffed bunny identical to his own.

Karen Valasek is immediately convincing as the woman who sets out to break all the rules that she has spent a lifetime conservatively following. She also anchors the absurd action that surrounds the character and firmly grounds the transforming final scene.

Josh Harris successfully underplays the brother as a perplexed observer of the action, powerless to change its course and pleading for a connection that is not fully understood.

Jacin Harter plays everybody else, in a succession of roles requiring narration, exaggerated European accents and deadpan delivery.

Brad Powell's direction omits the scene where a supposed slide show of Europe includes only photos taken in and around the Baltimore hospital where Vogel's brother spent his final days. But the ever-present hospital bed set and the presence of a masked orderly are a constant reminder that the European trip is only a fantasy.

Ultimately, the cast guides the play to a satisfying catharsis. But an hour and 40 minutes without intermission becomes a long sit, given the rudimentary cooling system in the tiny theater.