Oh, this play is great. What a fucking thing it is. It's about how we create our own realities: how each of us choose to play a character, to such an extent that we sometimes sit outside ourselves, watching our characters act out their scenes. And it's about the subjective nature of reality: how to each of us, the scenes we live through may be be completely different to each actor in them.
I was talking to a friend recently about the beginning of our relationship, and discovered that her perception of that period has almost nothing in common with mine. If we both explained it to a third party, we would tell wholly different stories. Weird, huh? Both of our stories are equally true; they're just different.
Recently, in an unguarded moment, a different friend of mine let slip who he thinks I am. It was not at all who I think I am! Among other things, his version of me - inexplicably - is not a Viking. I'm pretty sure he was projecting there, but how would I know? Is there anyone less qualified to interpret me than me?
This is what Pirandello's dealing with, at least until Act III when he starts to talk about the writing process and also to wrap up his own plot. It's a very smart play, and years ahead of its time. My character enjoys it. A character under that thinks it's a little show-offy. A character under that is scared that he didn't get it at all, and a character under that is afraid that his opinion hasn't even been written.