Given New York’s international theater scene, it is surprising that work by Norway’s pre-eminent playwright Jon Fosse didn’t reach our stages until 2004, when it appeared at the Culture Project. But if the Norwegian theater project Oslo Elsewhere succeeds, Mr. Fosse and other important Norwegian dramatists will no longer be strangers. For the moment, the venture is off to a strong start: Mr. Fosse’s “deathvariations” now shares a bill with a modernized version of Henrik Ibsen’s rarely seen “Rosmersholm,” produced on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of his death.

At the beginning of “deathvariations,” an “older woman” (Diane Ciesla) appears on a stage bare but for the unadorned framework of a house with two open doors. “As if it were there, always and never, and it can’t be understood, and it can never be abandoned,” she says to herself. “It is a life with a different reconciliation than the one we will see.” Though her language is vague, it soon becomes clear that her words refer to the deceased daughter she had with her ex-husband, “the older man” (Dick Hughes). In spare, cryptic words reminiscent of Harold Pinter or Samuel Beckett, these frightened and inarticulate people deny the reality of their child’s death. They attempt to absolve themselves of the guilt caused by emotionally abandoning both their daughter and each other.

This family of three, however, was doomed from the beginning, which we learn as the play flashes back to show the couple in their youth. Through the younger characters, “young woman” and “young man,” (Deborah Knox and David L. Townsend), we learn (albeit through incoherent dialogue) that an unplanned pregnancy forced them to marry, and that they struggled in depressed circumstances until the young man left his wife for another woman.

Their little girl, “the daughter” (the engaging Natalie Payne), feels her father’s departure more keenly than her mother. Shy and introverted, she lives only in her imagination and books. That is, until she meets a mysterious man called “the Friend” (Charles Borland). Though “the Friend” makes “the daughter” feel safe and loved, he represents death in his seductive and pervasive closeness. His allure increases in direct proportion to the intensity of her loneliness, until he finally drives her to commit suicide.

If not for Mr. Fosse’s poetic use of language, the play would be no more than another dramatization of a sad, dysfunctional family. In interviews, the playwright has said that in his northern Norway hometown, people speak like his characters — in spare language, with bursts, and often in disconnected sentences. His style suggests emotions that boil below the surface, but it also hinders the play’s movement and severely limits interactions between characters. Only toward the climax of the story did the young woman convey palpable pain, but this could be attributed as much to Ms. Payne as to Mr. Fosse.

The production, however, did have redeeming virtues. Timothy Douglas’s direction was so graceful that the somber work appeared more choreographed than directed. After each character spoke, his or her younger (or older) self would sometimes respond, continue the thought, or turn away, linking the two versions across the decades and giving the audience a deeper understanding of their motivations and reactions. Mary Louise Geiger provided graceful lighting design that changed from shades of gold to red and, ultimately, to misty, ocean blue.

The double bill also featured “Rosmersholm,” selected partially for its theme of repressed political dissent, a critical matter during the play’s creation in late 19th-century Norway. But despite themes that might resonate with the current American political climate, the play still seemed out-of-date and burdened by far too much exposition.

The admirable cast, led by Anna Guttormgaard as the conflicted heroine Rebecca West, and Charles Parnell as John Rosmer, a former preacher and owner of the Rosmersholm estate, breathed life into what was essentially a series of repetitious debates about the value of free speech.

Ibsen does not provide sufficient motivation for West and Rosmer’s extreme reaction to their unhappiness. Could these two actually be so defeated by their failed attempt to dedicate their lives to spreading the truth? When the only moving moment in a play comes at the end — in this case with the terrific actor Lizan Mitchell as the maid who cries out in anguish when she realizes her employers have killed themselves — you realize something important has been missing throughout.

Until September 9 (59 E. 59th St. at Park Avenue, 212-753-5959).