Theatre in Review: Poor Behavior (Primary Stages/The Duke on 42nd Street)

	Heidi Armbruster, Brian Avers. Photo: James Leynse.

Poor Behavior begins with a furious argument in progress, the kind of full-throated, lung-bursting, take-no-prisoners battle that makes you wonder what playwright Theresa Rebeck can possibly do for an encore. Fasten your seatbelts; it's only the opening sortie in an evening of psychological guerilla warfare.

Making use of a well-worn setup, Rebeck puts a pair of over-privileged married couples in a summer house and lets them have at each other, seemingly for the sport of it. The action begins with Ian and Ella furiously debating the nature, and possible nonexistence, of goodness. A dry, abstract topic, you say? Not the way they're going at it. "Oh my god, the sneering has already begun and I haven't even said anything," Ella snipes, assailing Ian's contemptuous attitude. Ian, a native of Ireland, replies that she is "a crazy fucking American," before going on to slam the religious right, the destruction of Native American culture, and the corrupt federal government, all of which, he implies, are the result of Ella's muddled thinking. So passionate is their engagement, so expert their skill at getting on one another's nerves, that one is convinced they must be spouses.

But they aren't. Ella, the hostess, is married to the deadpan, conflict-averse Peter, who makes a few feeble attempts at playing the referee; Ian's wife, Maureen, tries to defuse the explosive atmosphere with a few nervously offered home-decorating tips. Then again, something clearly is afoot: A few minutes later, alone and pausing to catch their breaths -- the war-weary Peter and Maureen have retired to their respective bedrooms -- Ian and Ella strike a truce; Ian shares sad news about the loss of his father, which leads to a friendly embrace. As Maureen enters, she sees them about to kiss.

From this little moment on, a weekend in the country slides toward disaster, as misunderstandings, accusations, and unwelcome revelations pile up alongside many, many empty bottles of wine. (Really, adultery is the least of this crowd's problems; they could use a good 12-step program.) Maureen, a world-class hysteric, accuses Ian of infidelity with Ella, a charge he skillfully manages to not deny, even as he swears his innocence. Maureen invokes her late mother, who "said you would turn out to be a liar and a cheater." "Yes, I miss her, too," replies Ian in his best deadpan manner. He reminds Maureen that her mother was "a complete shrew," adding, "We've been through this with eight separate therapists." Claiming the title of chief troublemaker, Ian notes, "I'm from Ireland. Self-destruction is something we understand." Fed up with his penchant for incessant editorializing, Ella snaps, "You know, honestly, Ian, I can't tell if this is a seduction or a lecture." Before the fog of war clears, one marriage will be toast, another will be seriously imperiled, and at least one character will require sedation and the care of a doctor.

Countless playwrights, from Edward Albee to Yasmina Reza, have pitted two couples in cross-combat, but Rebeck has plans of her own. The resemblance to one of Reza's bourgeois bestiaries is only superficial, and, even at its most assaultive, her dialogue lacks Albee's tincture of arsenic. Instead, her intent is surprisingly philosophical; that opening argument between Ian and Ella runs like a third rail under the action of the play: What constitutes goodness? Is it the pursuit of virtue or the seizing of self-satisfaction? Or, as Ian puts it, "Why on earth are you trying so hard to be good, if goodness is death?"

It should be noted that, in the Manichaean universe of Poor Behavior, the choice is a stark one, between a deadly devotion to duty or the ruinous pursuit of fun; a more nuanced solution isn't on the table. This is the most glaring weakness in a play marked by a number of difficulties. Although Rebeck carefully plants evidence documenting their long friendship, it's hard to believe that Peter and Ella would invite Ian and Maureen, with their rolling calamity of a marriage, into their home. It's all but impossible to tell what Ian and Maureen ever saw in each other, especially since she embodies the kind of insular American he professes to loathe. If Ian is in love with the sound of his own voice, so is Rebeck; she allows her tirades to go on too long, threatening to turn him into the kind of blowhard one avoids at parties. And, when Ella has an eleventh-hour revelation about Ian that shakes her to the core, it's hard not to be impatient with her for not seeing what was obvious all along.

Still, under Evan Cabnet's taut direction, a fine cast keeps us on pins and needles, wondering which character will throw the next curveball. Brian Avers handles Ian's lengthy arias with brio, cutting the character's more abrasive tendencies with just enough self-deprecating charm to make him tolerable. He also demonstrates a great spit take when, trying to relieve a colossal hangover, he bites into a pack of inedible artisanal muffins. (Their flavors include "ginger blueberry tomato confit" and "peach mango peppercorn." Gazing at them, Ella mutters, "People have too much time on their hands.")

That last line reading is a fine example of Katie Kreisler's skill at throwing away laughs, even as she delves into Ella's state of moral and emotional confusion. As Maureen, the most obviously high-strung member of the company -- Ian dismisses her as "mad as a hatter" -- Heidi Armbruster convincingly creates the kind of woman who can be a sobbing mess one minute and an agent of vengeance the next, pausing in pasing note, with an infuriatingly smug smile, that she's not the only one in the room with problems. Jeff Biehl's Peter earns our sympathy while laboring mightily to keep the lid on this menagerie, but he is also fully capable of laying waste to Ella's vegetable garden and wielding a cast-iron frying pan in menacing fashion.

Lauren Helpern's attractive set, depicting Peter and Ella's eat-in kitchen, is calculated to inspire real estate envy in each member of the audience (the props and set dressing are by Faye Armon-Troncoso). Jason Lyons' lighting deftly creates a variety of time-of-day looks. Jessica Pabst's costumes have been designed with a close eye to character; the difference between Ella and Maureen's clothing speaks volumes about them. Jill BC Du Boff's sound design provides solid reinforcement for the selections of classical music used between scenes.

Poor Behavior flags in the homestretch with a couple of overlong scenes adding weight to the nagging question of whether these people are really worth one's time and attention. Still, near the end, the audience audibly gasped at a twist not to be revealed here -- neatly staged by Cabnet -- and not that many plays manage that sort of response. And Rebeck's attempt at wedding a caustic comedy of manners with a more serious philosophical debate wins points for its ambition. Even at its weakest, Poor Behavior remains highly watchable; when Rebeck conceives a marital train wreck, it's hard not to be a rubbernecker.--David Barbour