There’s a hidden danger to site-specific work: getting upstaged by Mother Nature.

This is precisely what happened during the first third of The West and The Flagship Ensemble’s production of Second Skin on the show’s first night on the beach in Santa Monica. An insanely beautiful sunset and a large flock of curious seagulls overshadowed the opening monologue in this interconnected triptych.

Second Skin weaves together a story of family loyalty and loss with a legend drawn from Irish legends from the testimony of three women. The mythic archetype at the center of the tale is the Selkie: the spirit of a woman who has drowned, only to become an immortal, shapeshifting sea creature. For those who are unfamiliar with this particular legend, Second Skin sets up the idea during the first section when the character of Quinn (Susannah Rea-Downing) lays out the argument for what is going to take place over the course of the show.

To be blunt: it was a rocky start.

Rea-Downing had a somewhat thankless job: to both familiarize the audience with what is likely an unfamiliar mythic conceit — save for weirdos like me who took Celtic Mythology in college — and lay the foundation for the central mysteries of the story which will unfold. On the night in question, Rea-Downing seemed to be a click away from the material, the voice amplification that the wind and sea required creating a virtual layer of distance between the actor and audience. Those layers, along with the stunning setting, made it difficult to connect with the story, and I found myself drifting off into the majesty of the surroundings.

Then a funny thing happened.

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At the culmination of her story Quinn runs off, tagging in the central figure of her monologue: her mother. The introduction of a character whom the audience has so far only heard about is one of the best old tricks in the book. It’s what gave Orson Welles the chance to shine in The Third Man and he was, of course, up to the task.

So too is Claire Kaplan as Sigrid, Quinn’s mother. Freed from the necessity to set the scene both Kaplan and playwright Kristin Idaszak’s prose begin to soar. Darkness fell deep as the second monologue begins to unwrap the mysteries of the first and lay a whole new set, and yet the Pacific chill was no longer a factor. It is the most stunning recovery I’ve witnessed in a production in ages, and Kaplan’s electric connection to Idaszak’s words were the key which opened up the door.

From the moment Quinn dashes off director Kate Jopson’s choices with the text and staging take on a dynamic quality. What had seemed at first would have been better served by taking shelter indoors blossomed into a piece that could only find its full realization on the dark of a beach. A few strategically placed pop-up lights serve not only as illumination, but in the actor’s hands become a medium unto themselves. So too does the darkness that lay beyond the circle which the audience is gathered around.

Actress Sarah Halford closes out the triptych, bringing with her an emotional honesty that comes with some unexpected notes. To say of what nature would be to spoil the fun, but Halford was not what I expected and yet satisfied greatly.

On balance the piece is decidedly strong, leaving me with no regrets for enduring chilly blasts from the night-dark sea. Yet I cannot help but wonder what could have moved us towards the satisfying experience of the second and third acts faster. Idaszak does such a fine job building and unraveling mysteries that I found myself longing for the nature of the Selkie story to itself be made part of that dynamic, as opposed to being front-loaded into exposition. Without the burden of priming the audience Jopson’s staging and cast were free to etch dramatic constellations in the sand.

Call me greedy, but I wanted that right from the start.

Nevertheless: for those who long for a ghost story told around something like a beach bonfire, Second Skin is a damn fine evening out. I wouldn’t trade the time spent there for anything.

Second Skin, written by Kristin Idaszak and directed by Kate Jopson, plays Fridays to Sundays through May 15th on the beach in Santa Monica near the Annenberg Beach House. Tickets $15-$20, ($10 w/student id).