“Paradise Park,” the final entry in the Signature Theatre Company’s season dedicated to the works of Charles Mee, stars America as a rundown amusement park. Paradise Park is past its prime and slightly seedy, a place as garish and corny as its name. The enervated Americans who come here are desperate for a thrill. They try to forget themselves at its faded attractions — bumper cars, games of chance, square dances, roller coasters. Yet when the ride is over, they are the same people they were when they came in — sparring couples and resentful children, lonely hearts and disillusioned souls. There’s even the occasional sociopath lurking near the cotton candy booth.

About halfway through Daniel Fish’s relaxed two-hour production, you may feel like leaving the park. It’s not just that Mr. Mee’s America is a creepy, disturbing place. It’s that the collage-like method he uses in “Paradise Park” makes the play feel like a series of anecdotes strung together — and anecdote fatigue starts to set in. Yet if watching “Paradise Park” can be taxing, there are also many gems scattered among its vignettes. You won’t soon forget the sketch in which a disembodied voice quizzes the park guests on the requirements for being a good cheerleader (“Willingness to devote time to further the squad”) or the pure glee of a scene in which characters use a big slingshot to pitch fruitcakes at the wall. Nor will you be able to shake the chilling story of two parents (Veanne Cox and Christopher McCann) who unwittingly teach their daughter a terrible lesson in survival of the fittest.

Mr. Fish’s ambitious production succeeds in crafting boldly-flavored miniatures. There’s an agreeably musty old-vaudeville bit in which an amateur ventriloquist (Alan Semok) gets reprimanded by his dummy. There’s a wonderful scene tinged with longing in which two acquaintances (William Jackson Harper and Laurie Williams) make the nervous chess moves of early courtship. And the sudden appearance of a pizza delivery guy with a past (Gian Murray Gianino) strikes bona fide terror in the hearts of the park-goers.

But Mr. Fish is less effective when it comes to the formal aim of Mr. Mee’s collage — to force the theatergoer’s mind to regard these vignettes not as incremental steps in a story, but rather from a distance, the way one regards a large painted mural.

“Paradise Park” ostensibly begins on the defined campus of an amusement park and then gradually expands its theoretical horizon from sea to shining sea. But this notion — that the play widens out to encompass the landscape of America — is far from clear.

Part of the trouble is that the low-ceilinged, deep set (by David Zinn) feels like a shoebox which, as the show progresses, gets filled up with the detritus of amusement park events — stuffed toys, exploded fruitcakes, an inflatable bouncy castle, and so forth. Not surprisingly, the characters feel quite firmly rooted on amusement park turf. And a series of vague rear-screen projections of other locales doesn’t succeed in communicating that we’ve left the park.

Another reason it’s hard to step back from “Paradise Park” and view it as a whole is Mr. Mee’s meandering text. As characters ramble from corner to corner and sketch to sketch, labels pop up on rear-screen projections, attempting to flag the loosely connected segments (“The Roller Coaster,” “The Beach”). But the primary sensation is one of overload, not order.

In a strange way, the fine performances by the cast (which also includes Vanessa Aspillaga, Satya Bhabha, and Paul Mullins) add to the disorderliness. Each tugs us toward his or her own story, then deserts us midstream.

No doubt, Mr. Mee wants to emphasize the incompleteness and randomness of human experience — the way, say, that just as a woman finishes relating a life-changing story, her husband shows up with two frankfurters. These moments can be inflected with wit, darkness, or off-kilter beauty, but they are dear to Mr. Mee, and he captures them with great vividness. Still, there are unintentionally incomplete and random passages in “Paradise Park.” In this production, at least, the work feels like a horse that has managed to slip out of its harness and can’t really be ridden to the finish line. This version of “Paradise Park” is a curiosity with moments of brilliance. But one has the feeling that, with further refinements, “Paradise Park” could really pack a wallop.

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