Robert O’Hara’s scalding new comedy Shit. Meet. Fan. was sold out before it even opened, and it’s riotously funny, but it’s not really anything new. The hit status can be attributed to a cast stuffed with names familiar from TV (such as Neil Patrik Harris, Jane Krakowski, Debra Messing, and Constance Wu) and a limited run in a small Off-Broadway space at MCC Theater. The script is based on Paolo Genovese’s 2016 Italian film called “Perfect Strangers” which has had many remakes in various languages and the basic premise is familiar from numerous American plays. As in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Boys in the Band, a group of friends gather for an evening of cocktails, but a seemingly harmless party game reveals uncomfortable truths and relationships are altered or shattered. The modern twist here is all seven guests are required to leave their cell phones on a table for an hour and whatever messages, texts, calls or email come in must be shared with the entire group.
Naturally, each of the participants has at least one secret, mostly of a sexual nature, to hide and they all come spilling out electronically, often to hilarious results. Even though the format and revelations are hardly surprising, the magic trick here is how O’Hara as both playwright and director pulls back the curtain to expose them and how the expert cast reacts to their characters’ metaphorical nakedness as the titular action unfolds. As author, O’Hara plants seeds of details early in the evening which blossom into riotous embarrassment and conflict. No spoilers, but a pair of earrings and a necklace become very important and the switching of two cellphones leads to the funniest bits of the entire show.
As director, O’Hara stages the roundelay of betrayal on Clint Ramos’s elegant, two-level set like a commanding ringmaster, cracking his whip to get the maximum laughs at precisely the right moment. Watch how two of the wives not-so-subtly move as one on the sofa so as to eavesdrop more easily to the warring twosome who just dropped a huge source of struggle. In another masterful piece of staging, O’Hara often has all seven of the partygoers having their own individual business, but, with the aide of Alex Jainchill’s clever lighting, we know exactly where to look. Yes, this is a formula play of sorts, but it’s directed and acted with such professional polish, the familiar structure doesn’t interfere with having a non-stop laugh riot.
The cast of eight (the additional character is the sexually precocious teenaged daughter of the homeowners) has a grand time dissecting these deceivers. Messing (of “Will and Grace”) provides the most interesting characterization as the hot-mess alcoholic Claire (perhaps a reference to the alcoholic sister in Albee’s A Delicate Balance?). She covers up Claire’s rage and guilt with gossip-mongering and giggles, finally revealing her shattered soul in a blatant tour de force of exhibitionism. Krakowski (“30 Rock”) and Harris (“How I Met Your Mother’) spar admirably as the battling hosts. Garret Dillahunt and Michael Oberholtzer skillfully embody childish frat boys in adult bodies. Trammel Tillman has the difficult task as the sole African-American friend, acting as the group’s conscience and delivering the playwright’s message in a big “eff-you” monologue to his pals. He manages to pull it off as does Wu as Oberholtzer’s Asian girlfriend uncovering her own buried anger. Genevieve Hannelius adds snark as the bratty teen.
There are flaws here. The high number of indiscretions and infidelities does stretch credulity and the fact that the two minority characters are the only ones even relatively not repulsive is a bit heavy-handed. But these caveats dissolve in a salvo of screaming laughter.
