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That the script itself remains every bit as good as it's always been in spite of this is a vivifying testament to the skill McNally brought to bear in crafting one of his finest original plays (if not the finest). That even Peter DuBois's flaccid, indifferently acted staging here is incapable of masking its power speaks better of it still. It is, after all, not easy to stamp out a subject as universal as love, which McNally explores in many forms in Lips Together, Teeth Apart—exclusively, as it happens, through two straight couples. Sam and Sally (Michael Chernus and America Ferrera) inherited the Fire Island beach house at which they're celebrating Independence Day from Sally's brother, David, who recently died of AIDS, and they've invited Sam's sister, Chloe (Tracee Chimo) and her husband John (Austin Lysy) along for the weekend. But instead of merely grilling and watching fireworks, they also must face commitment and mortality themselves. Sam and Sally have been trying and failing for years to have a baby, but this time they may have succeeded. John has received a devastating medical diagnosis that might not leave him long to live. He and Sally had an affair a while back, and though both insist it's over, it's clear some residual feelings remain. Both couples are finding their current day-to-day married life difficult, a condition that's not alleviated by the dangerous unknown AIDS still represents—they're terrified about using the swimming pool for fear of what viruses it may still contain—or being drastically out of place among the predominantly gay vacationing population. And Sally has become obsessed with a swimmer she saw dive into the ocean that morning and swim a long way out, but not return. Over the course of a single day, all four must confront their prejudices about not just other Fire Island residents and David, but each other: No one present is completely trusting, and if everyone's reasons are to some degree good, they're also inadequate in a world where death or desolation often results regardless of how deep affection runs. And though McNally, as is his wont, has made these unusually interesting people—Chloe is a would-be French speaker who's a community-theatre musical veteran and currently preparing to play Miss Adelaide in Guys and Dolls, for example, and there are some reasons to doubt the solidity of John's sexuality—he's also made them painfully real avatars of confusion at a time when it was reigning for everyone. They neither have the answers nor a firm grasp on the questions; there's much about being gay that they don't understand culturally or intellectually. (How they might react if one of their children grew up gay is a frequent topic of conversation; their incessant chatting with the unseen neighbors reveals an innate naïveté and internalized bigotry that must be confronted.) But McNally treats them as sympathetic, able (if occasionally unwilling) to learn through observation, and fascinating individuals it's easy to see wanting as friends of your own. If McNally deploys a plea for acceptance as freely here as in, say, his one-act from the same period, Andre's Mother (recently sequelized on Broadway as Mothers and Sons), it's done cautiously and sensibly, and reflects more an eternal quest for understanding than merely the overall "ignorant" mores of the early 1990s. Lips Together, Teeth Apart is not uniformly strong. The swimmer subplot is a bit overwrought, if not altogether unnecessary; the characters' Strange Interlude–style asides to the audience creak a fair amount; the final 15 minutes or so of Act III strain beneath the weight of their too-obvious and on-the-nose construction; and Sally and John are a shade or two less vibrantly written than Chloe and Sam. But it's never less than engaging and, as unfortunate realities keep piling up around the quartet, by the end it's become quite moving and profound. DuBois and his cast, however, bring out little of this. At best there's a weak atmosphere of comedy, and even less of an aroma of the fun that should alternately be embraced and dispelled by the revelations that occur. And as staged on an expansive and not especially attractive set (by Alexander Dodge), the action lacks the claustrophobic quality needed to set everyone on each other. There's also something jarringly unconvincing about watching the performers conduct lengthy conversations with the next-door folks from behind the ten-foot-high walls that block off the wings. Worse, every actor is miscast. They all read about a decade too young, which makes it tough to accept these as set-in-their-ways people struggling to keep step with changing times. Chernus reads as far too emotionally heavy and vocally monotonous, with none of the flexibility that should make Sam an entertaining, if imposing, nut to crack. (The role was created by Nathan Lane, on paper ideal for the challenge.) As John, Lysy is lifeless, often mannequin-like, projecting none of the anger or apprehension about the very different kind of undiscovered country he's approaching. And Ferrera (TV's Ugly Betty) just seems lost throughout, as though she can't understand what impels Sally to take the drastic actions she eventually must to get David the memorial he deserves. Only Chimo comes close to succeeding. An increasingly unhidden treasure of the New York theatre, who's capable of playing everything from an adolescent drama student (Circle Mirror Transformation) to a bitchy bridesmaid (Bachelorette) to an orthodox Jewish authoritarian (Bad Jews), Chimo correctly applies her sophisticated daffiness to Chloe, so the French-sort-of-speaking, singing-and-dancing good mother on the verge of cracking appears to be carved from one rock of personality. But much of her shtick feels forced, so you're constantly aware of the actress laboring to bring the pieces together, rather than just letting the eccentricities speak naturally for themselves the way you imagine they must have when Christine Baranski played the role the first time. If such missteps prevent this evening from ever really taking off, it nonetheless asserts itself as a work worthy of attention, even a quarter-century after so many of its outward problems have been solved. Gay rights may have made enormous strides since 1991—heck, simply within the last five years—but the mistakes human beings make, and the lies we tell ourselves and those we love, are timeless enough to ensure that Lips Together, Teeth Apart will always remain vitally relevant, even if it's now a period piece rather than a piercing cry for tolerance at the moment it was needed most.
Lips Together, Teeth Apart
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