If you're going to write a morality play, it helps to have a moral viewpoint. Unfortunately, Kenneth Lonergan seems as confused about truth -- is it absolute or relative? -- as his characters. In a Manhattan apartment hotel, the ironically-named title character, Jeff, frequently sleeps during his night shift and skirts rules laid down by strict supervisor William. A black achiever, worried about a crime his brother may or may not be involved in, William is intent on becoming a manager. Motor-mouth Jeff, who was estranged from his really heroic Navy father, got drummed out of service and acquired a huge gambling debt, paid off by the brother he's been living with, just found a place he'd like to be in on his own. If only his nine months on the job could reach to a year!
Then there's the rookie cop he's hot for. Smitten with married, sleazy, but long-time department hero Bill, Dawn is relying on him to smooth over her recent violent handling of an arrest. After Jeff shocks Dawn revealing Bill's upstairs checks involve a guest "with a very active social schedule," he keeps trying to get in good with her. But she's completely disillusioned and, despite Bill's attempt at a line, senses she'll be sexually blackmailed. Then William confesses to Jeff ("You can trust me," he says, but the author seems to be stretching) that because he thinks his brother may be railroaded by racial bias and an incompetent lawyer, he may provide the false alibi his family expects he'll offer. Bill will facilitate it. Dawn wants to be able to do something important about a case like this, and Jeff would like to do the same, to be a hero in her eyes. Will truth out? And what will be the consequences -- for all four of the characters?
If you're Kenneth Lonergan, you have a fine gift for natural, if unpleasant dialogue, but you're not saying where you stand. None of your characters stands by the truth. Each is a cheat. Only William is loyal to all concerned, though that means ultimate disloyalty to society. He is the only one worth sympathizing with, which J. Bernard Calloway capitalizes on with a portrayal that develops strongly from a beginning in which he seems to be all bark and bite. Jonathan Hammond goes after the flavor of and chews like his gum the role of the smoothie Bill you love to hate. Bill describes Dawn as a little girl playing policewoman; Tina Franz fits too well this description. Her performance lacks nuance and believability.
As if overdosed on steroids throughout most of the play, Sheffield Chastain never gains our sympathy for Jeff. He does win admiration for sustained twitchiness and, one suspects, adhering to direction. Kate Alexander unfortunately mistakes this over-the-top activity for action. She lets Lonergan's contrived construction show at every turn.
The exterior to interior set's not bad, though the mixture of tasteful-enough furnishings and the upfront mail-and-key boxes and "sign in" counter of a lower-class hotel is inexplicable. Lighting is effective.
