Theatre in Review: Scarlett Dreams (Greenwich House Theater)My one takeaway from Scarlett Dreams: Andrew Keenan-Bolger needs to do an exercise video. In the amusing opening sequence, the actor, cast as Kevin, a one-hit-wonder playwright, is discovered parked on his couch, snacking and sulking, having devolved into an unemployed, unattractive lump. Rescue comes when his husband, Milo, and sister-in-law Liza -- digital engineers developing new products -- gift him with the Beta version of RealFit, their new workout app. Within minutes, Kevin is up and at 'em, straining every ab, lat, and pec, and, shedding his bulky outfit -- clever costuming by Emily Rebholz -- to reveal an almost alarmingly toned body. It's a mini marathon performed so intensely that it's a wonder the actor doesn't keel over from sheer exhaustion. He could be the next Jane Fonda! As it happens, opening the RealFit container is tantamount to lifting the lid on Pandora's box. The product consists of wraparound smart glasses that provide access to a menu of virtual trainers; Kevin chooses Scarlett, a statuesque blonde who keeps him on his toes. Indeed, Scarlett puts Kevin through his paces so often that Milo begins to worry about his husband's apparent exercise addiction; little does he know Kevin and Scarlett are texting each other and trading personal notes. Before long, they're meeting in the virtual space known as the RealFit Hangout, where she becomes Kevin's digital dramaturg, helping him with those pesky second-act troubles and connecting him with a like-minded director in Tokyo. Indeed, Scarlett is becoming the most important person in Kevin's life; imagine his reaction when Liza and Milo break the news that she is an avatar constructed out of ones and zeros. Or is she? By this point, Scarlett is far more than a fitness tool; as Liza proudly notes, "she's evolving," which means, practically speaking, she is soon managing every aspect of Kevin's life. And she's not stopping there; by the time she starts helping her "family" of users with tactics reminiscent of Tony Soprano, a panicked Milo starts looking around for the kill code that may be the last weapon of resort. The playwright S. Asher Gelman wants you to know the robots are coming. Given his profession, he is rightly worried about the rise of artificial intelligence. (Alluding to the recent entertainment strikes, Kevin angrily notes that he and his colleagues have taken to picket lines to defend themselves.) Then again, why does so much of Scarlett Dreams sound like it was written by a chatbot steeped in old sitcom scripts? Beginning with the hi-honey-I'm-home opening, a certain unreality prevails. The dialogue sounds positively humanoid: Liza frets that Kevin is "here, all day, every day, giving his best audition for The Real Househusbands of the Couch." It's the sort of punchline a computer, imitating a comedy writer, might come up with, as is her comment that Kevin "is on the road to dad-bod. This is his last exit." Referencing their open relationship, Milo, sounding like June Cleaver ordering Beaver to clean his room, snaps, "Babe, next time you have a hookup over, kindly wipe down the nightstand and return the lube to the drawer." Well, neatness counts. The frankly mechanical plotting, which resembles something laid out with a flowchart, includes a surprise melanoma, a harassment scandal at Milo's workplace (improbably, this digital genius who also owns a workout studio), a raft of unlikely professional awards, a possible mob-style hit, and a clumsily staged act of manslaughter. The plot clanks along but Gelman, who had an international hit with the steamy gaysploitation drama Afterglow, certainly has a knack for getting the male leads' shirts off in record time. Gelman, who also directed, has done his actors few favors. The gifted Keenan-Bolger can't do a thing with the role of Kevin, a character who seems incapable of writing a thank-you note let alone a full-length play. Borris Anthony York's Milo spends the first half of the play extolling the virtues of RealFit and the second half looking appalled at what he has wrought. Brittany Bellizeare argues with gusto, but little conviction, as Liza, who remains blithely clueless when Scarlett starts running amok. At least Caroline Lellouche gives Scarlett a friendly face that leaves one guessing about her real intentions. The design work is much more solid. Christopher and Justin Swader have designed one of those sleek, slate-gray apartment interiors that one sees around town, the sort of chic space conceived so minimally it might as well be unoccupied. Projection designer Brian Pacelli covers the walls with various vistas -- beaches, jungles, and snowscapes -- while totting up the increasing number of RealFit users. Jamie Roderick's lighting is understated until we enter the RealFit universe when he lets loose with colorful ballyhoos and other effects. It's strange to see actors miked in the intimate confines of Greenwich House, but I suppose it allows sound designer Alex Mackyol to do reverb effects on Kevin and Scarlett during their clandestine meetings. Scarlett Dreams isn't convincing for a second and it doesn't offer nearly as many steamy scenes as Afterglow so we will see if Gelman, like Kevin, has a follow-up success to his first hit. Meanwhile, where's The Andrew Keenan-Bolger Workout? --David Barbour 
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