Theatre in Review: The Way We Get By (Second Stage)

When did Neil LaBute become a romantic? It's certainly true that, in the last few years -- probably since Reasons to Be Pretty, in 2008 -- a new warmth has steadily crept into his writing, along with a diminished interest in the gotcha plot twists found in his earlier plays. Even in last fall's The Money Shot, his scornful portrait of Hollywood overachievers was adulterated with some of the funniest dialogue he has ever written. It may still be early days, but it seems LaBute is gradually shedding his Cotton Mather robes. His point of view is as acute as ever but he allows for the possibility of pleasure; his more recent plays entertain rather than scold.

Now comes The Way We Get By, the closest thing to an old-fashioned romantic comedy yet to emerge from his laptop. For all its frank talk about, say, the mechanics of oral sex, The Way We Get By has more in common with Terrence McNally's Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune than such LaBute pieces as Bash, which ends in a terrible gay-bashing incident; The Shape of Things, about an art student's bizarre, cruel college project; or The View From Here, which climaxes in the stoning of a baby carriage, à la Edward Bond's Saved. Instead, the suspense of The Way We Get By is generated by a single question: Will Doug and Beth, following their first sexual encounter, overcome a not-inconsiderable obstacle and become a couple, or is their evening together a one-off, a way station on the road to other lives?

Indeed, the playwright appears to be fooling around with audience expectations, letting us make all sorts of wrong assumptions about this pair of tentative lovers before getting to the heart of the matter. It's the middle of the night; Doug enters, half-dressed and looking haunted; he wanders around the living room/kitchen, designed with panache by Neil Patel. He fetches a bottle of water and idly turns on the television -- accidentally eliciting a blast of noise to wake the dead; his frantic attempt at silencing it is one of many slickly executed bits of business under Leigh Silverman's direction.

The sound rouses Beth, his partner for the evening. Still half-asleep, she admits to wondering if he had slipped away without saying goodbye. Doug, wounded at the insinuation, insists that he would never do that. For one thing, he clearly implies, he isn't that kind of guy. For another, he admits, he would never leave without his T-shirt, which Beth is currently wearing. It's vintage, obtained at Comic-Con, and signed by an original member of the cast of Star Wars. The glint of embarrassment in Thomas Sadoski's eyes as Doug's fanboy enthusiasm wilts under the skeptical stare of Amanda Seyfried's Beth is richly amusing.

This exchange, and Doug's many exit noises, leads us to believe that he is the latest in a long line of LaBute's overaged adolescents, interested only in the chase and eager to make tracks as soon as the lady in question caves in. But, under the surface of their slightly tense, cagey conversation, something more complicated is going on. When a little comic dispute about the sexist nature of a magazine ad erupts into horseplay and an embrace, Beth starts to engage Doug in oral sex, and he brusquely makes her stop. She isn't used to being turned down, but, as he explains, one unpremeditated act of sex is a casual fling; a second round of action opens the door to a deeper involvement, something they need to think through. Suddenly, Beth is the baffled aggressor; she wonders if he is worried about getting "stuff" on that vintage T-shirt, a suggestion that leaves him deeply insulted. (It also leads to a hilariously hairsplitting argument about what constitutes oral sex and whether or not Beth's act met that standard.)

It soon becomes obvious that Doug and Beth aren't just a pickup; they've known each other since adolescence and have been attracted to each other from the get-go. Upping the stakes, Doug admits that none of his previous relationships have lasted, so bright is the torch he has long carried for her. Suddenly, Doug is talking about long-term romance and Beth is nervously trying to change the subject.

As it happens, there is a reason -- a big one -- that Doug and Beth haven't previously gotten together. I can't reveal it, but I will say that, depending on your point of view, it is either a total deal-breaker or a minor impediment that requires only a strong commitment from both parties. LaBute uses it as a kind of amplified version of the leap that any of us must take when entering into an intimate relationship. Doug is clearly ready to take that leap; for maybe the first time in one of his plays, it's the woman who wants to hold on to her independence and play the field. Or, as Beth, trying to cool things off a bit, puts it, "Let's let the sun come up first before we worry about what our Facebook statuses are gonna be."

The role of Doug offers the opportunity for a tour-de-force and Sadoski seizes it, rattled at the aftermath of a coupling he has long dreamed about, then haltingly baring his feelings for Beth, and ultimately becoming the most passionate of wooers, urging her to believe that they are standing on the edge of a decision that will alter their lives forever. This is the finest performance that this excellent young actor has yet given us. Seyfried, a busy actress in films, has little stage experience and it shows in here; she can't quite match Sadoski in vocal and tonal variety. Still, she has a refreshingly natural presence, handles the overlapping dialogue with ease, and her slightly more constrained personality is a good fit for Beth, who isn't looking to upend her life for any man offering endearments, even one she has dreamed about for years. She is particularly compelling when Doug praises her beauty, a comment that drives her to a fury that exposes a lifetime of accrued hurts: "My face. My body. So what? People walk out on pretty people all the time...You know how much shit I've taken in my life for this? For something I had nothing to do with? Do you?"

Everything else about Silverman's production is stylish. Patel's set design may seem strangely posh and eerily well-kept for Beth, but it is revealed to be a reflection of her unseen roommate, a woman whose ferociously OCD tendencies when it comes to housekeeping are the subject of many gags; it eventually undergoes a comic deconstruction in the final scene. Emily Rebholz's costumes are spot-on for both characters. Matt Frey's lighting and Bart Fasbender's minimal sound design are both solid.

The evening, however, belongs to the two stars, who engage us in a tale of a one-night stand that spills into an unaccustomed honesty, becoming an emotional crossroads. This isn't the first time that LaBute has given us a couple we'd like to see get together. But this is the first time -- in my experience, anyway -- that he is ready to provide them with a happily-ever-after denouement. In this case, anyway, moonlight becomes him. -- David Barbour