Theatre in Review: All New People (Second Stage) All New People begins with a fellow named Charlie standing on a chair, his neck in a noose. Not only is he severely depressed, he's having an all-around bad day, as evinced by his struggle to find an ashtray for his cigarette without getting out of the fatal position. Such fastidiousness on the edge of the grave might be surprising, but Charlie has borrowed a friend's beach house to do the deed - and, in Alexander Dodge's chic design, it's the kind of place you want to keep spotless -- all cherry wood and stainless steel décor, lots of windows, a spiral staircase, and plenty of modern art. It's almost too bad the playwright,Zach Braff, has plans to lay waste to the place. The damage will be wrought by a series of interlopers who show up seemingly to thwart Charlie's plans for self-destruction, then drive him mad with their nonstop conversation and bizarre behavior. First up is Emma, a British real estate agent, who has a date to show the place to prospective renters. Between slugs of booze and doses of various pills, she adds, "They said they're on their way, but they're old and Jewish, so it could take hours." That leaves plenty of time for Emma to - among other things - accidentally dismantle a large piece of African art, scattering beads all over the floor and setting the scene for Charlie to take the best pratfall I've seen since Henry Fonda's in The Lady Eve. As if this weren't irritation enough, Emma calls in reinforcements in the form of Myron, the local fire chief and drug dealer. When not helping himself to the house's bar, Myron treats Charlie's predicament with startling skepticism. Charlie, trying to repel these invaders, informs them that he is (a) a fighter pilot back from the Middle East and (b) a multiple murderer. Myron remains unconvinced; he has, he says, an uncanny sense for the vibes of others, and, he tells Charlie, "You reek of pussy." Still, he appreciates Charlie's sense of invention; as he notes, "Last week, I told a girl in Atlantic City I was in the Normandy invasion." As he recalls, the girl, failing to notice that he should be 85, gave him a blowjob. Rounding out the trio is Kim, a blonde airhead who has been sent to Charlie by a friend to keep him entertained for the evening. Kim is ready for any kind of action; however, she insists, "I'm not a prostitute; I'm an escort." "Right," adds Myron. "I'm not a fireman; I'm a pressurized water carrier." Then again, Kim is thrilled to give her body to Charlie; as she notes, "Most of the guys I have to sleep with look like Larry King." And so it goes, with Charlie besieged by these funny, insufferable, and eminently self-involved basket cases. If there's any indication that Braff has ambitions beyond throwing them together and letting the fur fly, I didn't notice it. He does provide a quartet of spurious flashbacks, delivered via video, which are apparently meant to flesh out these flattish characters; they don't do the job, but they do allow for a trio of amusing on-screen cameos. Kevin Conway turns up as a mystery man involved in shady doings with Emma back in England. Tony Goldwyn, sparing himself nothing, is one of Emma's swinish customers, who gets blackmailed into financing her singing career. And S. Epatha Merkerson makes a show-stopping appearance as a gobsmacked high school principal who can't believe she has to tell Myron -formerly a high-school drama teacher - that it's not a good idea to attend coke parties with your students. And when the mood darkens, about 15 minutes before the end, and we learn why Charlie wants to die and exactly why Emma is on the run from her past, none of it rings true -- although these revelations cue a scene that ends in some pretty spectacular house-wrecking. It's almost as if, after 90 minutes of scathingly funny wisecracks, the author suddenly needed to provide a raison d'être for all these seedy/funny goings-on. (Braff isn't below stooping for a laugh, either; some of the material is unpleasantly coarse, such as Kim's professional explanation of the difference between crabs and scabies, which had me ready to head to the lobby for a drink.) But this late-in-the-day stab at seriousness feels pro forma and tacked on. But, under Peter DuBois' deft direction, an adept quartet of high comedians will most likely keep you laughing at some highly appalling examples of contemporary behavior. David Wilson Barnes is the edgiest of the crew, handing out tough love to Charlie and struggling between his lust for Kim's body and his contempt for her empty head. Justin Bartha is a Job-like figure as Charlie, dying of seriousness while all around him the superficial thrive. Krysten Ritter, her whole being seemingly reacting to various controlled substances, easily navigates Emma's talking jags, which mask a barely controlled hysteria. And Anna Camp gleefully thieves every scene she's in as Kim, who is attending college on the Internet ("I'm studying feelings"), is making a record with a producer named DJ Cracker Hater, and who advertises herself as "the Prada of pussy," with a fee structure that leaves the others slack-jawed in amazement. In addition to the setting - which I'd be happy to rent for the summer -- Japhy Weideman's lighting skillfully tracks the path of the day, from late morning to evening. Bobby Frederick Tilley II's smartly designed costumes range from Charlie's pajamas and robe to Emma's funky-girl look and Kim's stunning red winter coat, which is trimmed with black fur. Aaron Rhyne's extensive video sequences are a quartet of well-made mini-movies. M. L. Dogg's sound design is a perfectly solid collection of effects. You can't call All New People a totally satisfying work; structurally it's a bit of a mess, and Braff is far too willing to coast on his characters' penchant for outré remarks. But, despite his many accomplishments in television and film, he's a fledgling playwright--and, to my eyes, he holds plenty of promise. He certainly has the gift of gab, and is happily wiling to share it with his characters. --David Barbour 
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