
It may be best to avoid thinking of Sarah Ruhl’s 20-year-old work “Eurydice” — being revived at Writers Theatre in a visually exquisite production — as a play.
It is a play, because … well, because it is. But experiencing it feels far more like watching a poem and listening to a painting. Yes, I know, the matches of sense and form are off in that thought. It’s intended to capture a bit of how “Eurydice” comes across: You don’t always know what to make of it except that it’s gorgeous.