Full of stock characters, more than a few flimsy jokes, and a plot whose resolution you see coming in the first five minutes, "The Portuguese Kid," John Patrick Shanley's 2017 play, hardly seems like the stuff of revival. But the people behind the Hampton Theatre Company -- who have a particular eye for under-the-radar comedies -- must have seen something in it, as a new production runs in Quogue from now until June 11.
And I'll be damned if -- almost head-scratchingly -- they have taken this silly, inconsequential comedy and turned it into an enjoyable night of theater.
If the name John Patrick Shanley sounds familiar, it is because this is the writer who won both a Tony Award and a Pulitzer Prize for his 2004 play "Doubt," and an Academy Award for the screenplay to the exquisitely funny 1987 film "Moonstruck."
The setup for "The Portuguese Kid," however, feels like something he dreamed up after binge-watching a year of prime-time television. It features a hot-to-trot wealthy widow, a shabby but lovable middle-aged lawyer, a saucy Latina gold digger, and a dim-witted pretty boy stud.
"Wait, what?" you may ask. "No intrusive, overbearing mother-in-law?"
I was getting to her.
The play, which is set in Rhode Island, begins in the modest law offices of Barry Dragonetti. Barry seems like someone resigned to middle age, with his receding hairline, ill-fitting suit, and self-deprecating demeanor. While not the man of his own dreams, Barry appears generally happy with his lot in life -- or at the very least isn't looking for trouble.
Into the office suddenly walks the bejeweled Atalanta Lagana (where, you wonder, and why, did Mr. Shanley come up with such a name?). Recently widowed, her black mourning dress belies a harshly practical woman ready to move on from her dead husband. (You can almost see her clapping her hands, saying, "Okay, next victim.") She is beset by an impending capital gains tax of $700,000 and so wants to sell her house and move to Boston. Strangely, or not so strangely, she wants Barry to sell it for her. They are childhood friends, after all, and the sale will bring the lawyer a windfall in commission. Why not do her old friend a solid? Or is there something more complicated afoot?
Indeed, there is a love interest here, at least on her part. Atalanta has had a lifelong habit, she admits, of shouting out Barry's name during sex. (Barry is dumbfounded, replying that not even the women he's actually with shout out his name.) One little detail, however, stands in Atalanta's way: Barry is married, to a much younger woman named Patti.
Patti, we soon learn, was once involved with Freddie, who happens to be Atalanta's current boy toy and who still carries a torch for Patti. Of course both Patti/Barry and Atalanta/Freddie are ill-suited couples, both in age and temperament, but very much suited to the other's mate. Barry's foul-mouthed mother-in-law sees all this long before anyone else does, only to have her wisdom fall on deaf ears.
And so here we go again with this well-worn sex-comedy prototype.
Luckily, this production is blessed with performances good enough to fluff this cotton candy into something not only watchable, but at times disarmingly entertaining. Andrew Botsford, a company regular, has inhabited many a straight man over the years and by now has it down cold; his Barry takes the brunt of the jokes like a champ and emerges the most sympathetic character on the stage. Rosemary Cline finds Atalanta's cunning sexuality and her knowing regard for the guile needed to survive as a middle-aged woman. And David Cardali seems to be having an absolute ball playing the none-too-bright Freddie, showing off his abs while spouting rancidly bad poetry and making mincemeat of basic French.
But it may be Esmeralda Cabrera as Patti Dragonetti who pulls the production from what could have been a phone-it-in comedy into something quirky and energetic. Her Patti is a sort of cousin of Sofia Vergara's character on "Modern Family," the caustic Latina tottering on dangerously high heels and possessing more credit cards than a poker deck. But here Ms. Cabrera goes a step further, bringing a zany moment-by-moment emotional volatility (especially when Esmeralda's had a drink), her moods swinging back and forth in 10-second intervals from imperious, to vulnerable, to, literally, knife-wieldingly aggressive. Her unique, madcap vigor turns out to be exactly what this cockamamie play needs, and it's a game-saver.
No, ultimately you wouldn't call this production of "The Portuguese Kid" side-splittingly funny -- Mr. Shanley's script is not sharp enough for that. But thanks to the performances, guided by Bob Kaplan's admirable direction, it sneaks up on you cumulatively, the laughs building on themselves, so that, by the time of its all's-well-that-ends-well finale, you've had a better time than you probably should have.
Showtimes are Thursdays and Fridays at 7 p.m., Saturdays at 8, and Sundays at 2:30. Shows tomorrow and Friday, June 9, offer a chance to talk to the cast afterward.
