Theatre in Review: Man and Boy (Roundabout Theatre Company/American Airlines Theatre) Some theatre companies are devoted to new plays and playwrights; others devote themselves to the classics. Roundabout Theatre Company is largely about stars and their vehicles. There's nothing wrong with that, as long as you have the right star and the right vehicle. On paper, the match-up of Frank Langella with the little-known Terence Rattigan play Man and Boy seemed pretty irresistible. A drama about a financier in freefall promised a thoroughly satisfying evening of schadenfreude in these days of Occupy Wall Street and 9-9-9. And, in pre-opening interviews, the director, Maria Aitken, suggested that the play's prominent gay angle was largely responsible for its failure, on both sides of the Atlantic, in 1963 -- surely now the time was ripe. For these reasons -- and because Rattigan is sounder represented on our stages -- it's sad to have to report that Man and Boy is a largely mechanical, and sometimes tasteless, melodrama. The "man" of the title is Gregor Antonescu (Langella), a Romanian financier, whose house-of-cards business is about to collapse. (It is 1934; the character is based on Ivar Kreuger, the Swedish "Match King," whose Ponzi-like scheme collapsed two years earlier.) The only thing that can save Antonescu's fortunes is a merger with Mark Herries, an American radio magnate; unfortunately, the latter's accountant has unearthed some pretty dicey transactions in Antonescu's books. To salvage the deal, Antonescu holds a private meeting with Harries and that pesky accountant in the seedy Greenwich Village apartment belonging to Basil Anthony, a young musician. In fact, Basil is Gregor's estranged son, and the choice of venue is not a casual one. Herries is secretly gay, and Antonescu plans to dangle Basil in front of him, pretending that Basil is his boyfriend. No playwright knew more about the confines of the homosexual closet than Rattigan, and the encounter between Antonescu and Harries is filled with the deft parrying of innuendos. Even now, however, the idea of a man pimping his son in order to save his business is an ugly and distasteful one. Aitken chooses to direct the scene for high comedy -- and there's no doubt that Langella and Zach Grenier, as Herries, milk it like the pros they are -- but it nevertheless left me feeling awfully queasy. This may be because, the title notwithstanding, the Gregor-Basil relationship never really comes into focus. Adam Driver does his best with Basil, but the character is little more than a cardboard ingénue, a collection of socialist platitudes who seems to change his mind about his father every few minutes. (His alcoholism is only one a many traits that seem affixed to the characters like so many doodads.) "Love is a commodity I can't afford," Antonescu remarks at one point, but, really, it never seems like a possibility, so weak is the connection behind him and Basil. Without a strong central conflict to provide distraction, it's all too easy to see how threadbare Rattigan's devices are -- the characters who exist only to provide exposition, the out-of-left-field revelations of serious illness, the deus ex machina turn of events that decides Antonescu's fate. The author's manipulations are too evident throughout. No one plays silken dishonesty better than Langella, but his best moments here are expressions of uncertainty and defeat -- when Basil quietly denounces him, leaving him stunned, or when he is roused from a seizure-induced sleep to learn that the jig is up, once and for all. Grenier is equally smooth as Herries, who is willing to overlook a few dishonest business practices for a shot at seducing Basil. Michael Siberry is fine as Antonescu's lieutenant, especially in the play's best scene, in which he dictates a letter to his boss absolving him of any illegalities. Brian Hutchinson is a model of outraged propriety as Herries' accountant. The ladies have little luck here, however -- neither Virginia Kull, as Basil's girlfriend, nor Francesca Faridany, as Antonescu's current wife, is given much of anything of interest to do. The action unfolds in Derek McLane's magnificently squalid apartment setting, with its hideous green walls, depressing wallpaper, "modern" paintings, and mismatched, dilapidated furniture. Kevin Adams' lighting neatly accentuates the set's low-rent qualities. I've said before that, among today's costume designers, Martin Pakledinaz owns the 1930s outright, and this production offers further proof, with excellent examples of men's tailoring along with some lovely ladies' frocks. (Note, too, the outfit Antonescu picks for Basil to wear, to convince Herries that Basil is gay and available.) John Gromada's sound design includes some realistic renderings of traffic and subway rumbles, as well as radio broadcasts, but his incidental music is rather too upbeat for the morally bankrupt proceedings on stage. In this, Rattigan's centennial year, it would be a crime if Man and Boy were his only representation on New York stages. (Two recent hit London productions -- After the Dance and Flare Path -- were mentioned for this season, but both have apparently gone by the boards.) Perhaps if the forthcoming film of The Deep Blue Sea is a success, it will rekindle interest in the playwright; he's well worth a second look.--David Barbour 
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