Director Lewis D. Wheeler (son of David Wheeler, who helmed the fabled Boston and Broadway productions of Pavlo Hummel that starred Al Pacino) maintains a firm grip on the slippery football of a play, which is to say he understands its mix of caustic parody, empathy, and rage. Cristina Todesco's set is a bare-bones all-American jumble of a suburban home painted the bright colors of cartoon. And the cast is terrific, right down to Robert D. Murphy as a smug if slightly menacing Father Donald. Teddy Lytle wraps Rick in a brain-dead bonhomie punctuated by preening smiles and little snorts. Brenda Withers, her glassy-eyed Harriet as unlikely to unravel as her hairdo (except when she does), fetches at a mincing trot everything from Cokes and candy to props for a tidy suicide. But Alex Pollock's David is quietly, intensely haunted (and convincingly sightless). And Robert Kropf brings an explosive bewilderment to Ozzie, who awakes from his American dream to discover it was a terrible trap.
, Theater, Arts, Wellfleet