Tom Foolery

As a post-college present to myself in 1992, I gathered a small posse of friends from NYU and together we produced a play I'd written titled What a Royal Pain in the Farce. The script was the outcome of a dare from my college advisor, who argued that if I really aimed to write plays, I should learn a thing or two about structure, and more important, about what audiences will and will not tolerate.

Influenced by the work of Georges Feydeau, my farce featured 19 characters and a nutty plot about royal families living in a castle amid political intrigue and libidos run amok. I worked the plot into twists that Cirque du Soleil might envy, but I was unsure how to resolve the tale I'd constructed. So I didn't. I created a revelation that the play was false, that the characters lived in a Manhattan duplex and needed, among other things, good meds. I'll never forget what a friend of mine said afterward. "Be careful when you mind-fuck your audience," he warned. "They'll never forgive you if you don't do it right."

That advice came back to me while thoroughly enjoying Paul Weitz's Show People, the funniest and finest example of audience manipulation I've seen in a long time. Set in a sumptuous, minimalist house in Montauk, Long Island (the clever, high-tech, partial-swivel set is by Heidi Ettinger), Show People opens with the arrival of Debra Monk and Lawrence Pressman as Marnie and Jerry, two has-been Broadway hacks hired to play the parents of Tom, a banker played by Ty Burrell. For a swath of Act I, things seem sane: Tom hired Marnie and Jerry because he told his girlfriend, Natalie, played by Judy Greer, that his parents were coming home from Switzerland (skanky, yes, but conceivable). Although Marnie spits out caustic one-liners when no one's looking, the actors act well: As Tom's mom and dad, they're the beautiful Broadway babies they used to be.

Curveball! Natalie, it turns out, confesses to Marnie and Jerry that she was hired by Tom to play the girlfriend. She's also being paid much more for her performance-not that it alleviates her anxieties-than Marnie and Jerry. So what's really going on? And what are all these incessant phone calls Tom is getting-something about a Microsoft deal; something about $175 million? Unsure if they've been duped by a dolt or a demon, the actors agree to keep acting until they figure out the scene.

The answer takes a long time to reveal itself, but that's where all the fun is. The four have drinks and hors d'oeuvres and go to dinner; Tom hardly suspects a thing. Natalie thinks Tom might be gay, but accepts Tom's engagement ring with misty eyes. Marnie thinks Tom might be psychotic, but plays along so Jerry can negotiate a pay package equal to Natalie's without blowing the gig. Marnie heads off to rest, her acid bitchiness evidently leaving her sour. Natalie locates her, and together these women-one jaded and lamenting life; one fearing she's untalented-bond over Shakespeare as Jerry chases his agenda. Naturally, Tom isn't all he seems-they're all "show people," for one reason or another, in the end.

For about a week, I couldn't understand why Tom's revelation didn't spark the fury of the audience that my friend predicted. But Weitz's early decision to show his cards is what seduces the audience into investing in his game, plus Peter Askin's whip-smart direction.

Even so, the play ultimately pivots on four superb performances. Pressman makes sure you understand that Jerry wants more money from Tom not just because he and Marnie need it, but because he was an awful businessman during his salad days as an actor: His deception offers him redemption. Monk is a marvel; even if she played Marnie as a lineless deaf mute, she'd still have us convulsed with laughter, all while remaining in sync with the journey of a woman whose bitterness boils beneath the surface. Greer could easily have made a hash out of ingénue Natalie. Instead, she wears Natalie's naivete like a laurel wreath. And Burrell, talk about grace under gunfire (you'll have to see the play). Somehow he manages to make Tom seem honest and full of crap. That'll show people who say you can't fool with an audience's head.

Through April 30. Second Stage Theatre, 307 W. 43rd Street. (at 8th Ave.), 212-246-4422, $52.00-$65.00.