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February 26, 2016

Should it choose to adopt the Broadway business model for self-promoting souvenirs, the Bushwick Starr could surely do a brisk trade in “I Am Clare” buttons. These artifacts might be sold, along with the usual choices of bottled beer, from the bar in what passes for a lobby in this tiny walk-up theater in Brooklyn. The exciting young playwright Clare Barron has come up with a new work — “a chamber piece,” she calls it — with which anyone who struggled with the anguishing mysteries of sex and love during adolescence is guaranteed to identify. That’s everyone, right? This charming exercise in universal navel (and lower-aimed) gazing, which opened here this week, is called “I’ll Never Love Again.” Directed with a wit more likely to slide into darkness than preciousness by Michael Leibenluft, the production features a choir of many Clares — of assorted shapes, sizes, sexes and ethnicities — singing melodramatic declarations from the diary Ms. Barron kept as a miserable and ecstatic teenager.

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