Intrigue in an Asphalt Kingdom There may have been a dull moment during "Cymbeline" - before the beheading, the swordfight, the cross-dressing, the case of mistaken identity, the news of the kidnappings, the declaration of war, the mysterious sleeping potion, the devious lies and the murder plot by the scheming stepmother. If so, I missed it. This free outdoor production by Shakespeare in the Parking Lot is at the mercy of street noise and, occasionally, a moving car on the set, so it's no shock if you miss a thing or two as well. The only real surprise is how much genuine joy this ragtag show ultimately delivers. "Cymbeline," one of Shakespeare's busiest and strangest plays, finds Posthumus banished from Britain after marrying Imogen, the king's daughter. The story soon has the lovers separated and caught in webs of confusion and deceit, all while the nation prepares to battle Rome. Even theatergoers familiar with this romance should read a summary beforehand; none is provided with the playbill. Still, the cast members, directed by Hamilton Clancy, convey the tale with a minimum of flourish, setting their voices on high (and occasionally blunting the poetry) while barreling ahead in this two-and-a-half-hour intermissionless show. Amanda Dillard and Philip Rossi, as the lovers, are a dependable match, more effective in melancholy than in mirth. Carolyn Popp's queen is reliably sly, and Andy Markert is deliciously devious as the villain Cloten. The excellent supporting players, particularly Mary Linehan, Evangeline Fontaine and Jonathan Eric Foster, offer the most nuanced performances. The setting - a municipal parking lot on the Lower East Side - plays the biggest role, challenging audiences and actors to focus and improvise and often leading to unscripted discoveries. With luck, the troupe's troubles with the city's Department of Transportation over payments for parking spaces will soon be settled. In the meantime, "Cymbeline" proves to be chaotic and boisterous in the best ways, even when it turns a tad too loud. Not unlike New York itself.