Will Act 3 of a multiformat fringe project pay off?

Extremely Public Displays of Privacy. Maybe it's unfair to review the first and second acts of New Paradise Laboratories' newest Live Arts Festival project without knowing where it all ends up in Act 3. But director Whit MacLaughlin, with Jorge Cousineau, Annie Enneking, Brittany Freece, and Larry Loebell, have embarked on an ambitious adventure through the looking glass and inside the Internet. And since each act of Extremely Public Displays of Privacy occurs in a different format, it's sort of like its own discrete mini-production, right?

Well, I can't say yet. But judging by the overlap between Acts 1 and 2 (repeated themes and introductions), I'm guessing New Paradise expects the slackers in its audience to skip at least some of the homework. I'm not sure what Act 2 adds to the initial Act 1 experience of surfing the show's website, meeting its central characters - middle-aged mom and musician Fess Elliot and twentysomething seductress Beatrix Luff - via YouTube videos, Tumblrs, SoundClouds, and every other means of online attention-getting, then diving into their virtual wormhole.

Act 2 occurs as a series of podcasts, taking the listener on a walking tour through Rittenhouse Square and environs as Beatrix encourages Fess to perform several embarrassing "public displays." Thing is, when you follow a stranger online, it's because her charisma or desperation or sheer oddness grabs your attention. Fess is a wallflower. She quotes Joni Mitchell, and her music - wan and lyrically vague, though tuneful, particularly in remixed versions that show up in Act 1 - sounds a lot like defanged Liz Phair. So far, she's pretty boring, and she doesn't get much more interesting even after disrobing in an alley; in fact, she only becomes more compelling once she's wearing Rosemarie McKelvey's fanciful BDSM-accessorized costumes late in the final podcast.

During my tour, a man drove up Walnut Street in an open jeep, shirtless, shamelessly seat-dancing, singing along to Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night." My companion and I paused our podcasts and watched him longingly before turning back to our devices. Would that we could have followed him instead.