Theatre in Review: The Qualms (Playwrights Horizons) "Are you one of these talkers or would you be interested in a little action?" This classic line from Born Yesterday rattled around in my head while watching The Qualms, and for good reason. In his new play, Bruce Norris puts eight swingers (six experienced, two aspiring) down in a beach house; the lights are low, music is playing, and another round of mojitos has been handed out. Conditions are perfect for sex to rear its lusty head. But this is a Norris play and, because everyone has a point to make, there is very little action and plenty of talk -- most of it rancorous, iconoclastic, and scaldingly honest. Our host and hostess are Gary, the group's administrator, who is always ready to expound on the unnatural constraints that society puts on our libidos -- he laments that the trend for marriage equality will "force gay people into the same binary fantasy" as their straight brethren -- and his live-in girlfriend, Teri, an amiable airhead whose idea of a conversation starter is to remark, while serving canapés, that she once knew a hostess who made cheese from her breast milk. Other regulars include Deb, a lusty, plus-size widow (the size of her late husband's penis is a thing of legend in this crowd); her boyfriend, Ken, who, although he has the manner of a certain kind of gay man, is ultimately the only male to actually partake on this particular evening; Regine, a statuesque (and outspoken) beauty from Martinique ("The most important political decision you make in your life is who you choose to sleep with"); and her steady beau, Roger, a Gulf War veteran who advertises himself as ready for anything. One of the best things about The Qualms is Norris' way of spoofing this frisky, foolish bunch -- especially the harvest of self-empowerment clichés that results each time one of them opens his or her mouth -- while allowing them their individual quirks and occasionally complicated back stories. The newbies are Chris and Kristy; married for only a few months, they are already struggling with issues of trust and jealousy, and have decided to make a leap into the wild blue yonder, so to speak. At least on the surface, both are ready to embrace the idea that a little extramarital fun might heal the tensions dividing them. Fat chance: The Qualms begins with a nervous silence and follows a straight path to disaster, as an evening of partying turns into an extended exercise in emotional mayhem. The buildup -- or foreplay, if you will -- is the least interesting part of The Qualms, because Norris takes his time introducing the members of this little club (monthly dues are payable online) and because regular theatregoers only need get a glimpse of Jeremy Shamos as Chris to know that he will be the wallflower at this particular orgy. (Shamos has played this sort of nervous, nudgy loser so many times he should hold the patent on it.) Chris is accurately described by Gary as the kind of guy who, when the plane is going down, makes sure that everyone's tray tables are up -- and never was a man less equipped for the evening's scheduled activities. Even the bottle of expensive red wine he has brought for the occasion marks him as the ill-at-ease outsider; too many red wine stains have previously marred the all-white carpet in the playroom; besides, nobody wants to talk about floral bouquets and hints of spice. They want to get loaded or high, and play with someone they're not permanently attached to. Eventually, Chris, fed up with watching Kristy getting intimate with Roger and infuriated by Regine's mildly abusive approach to lovemaking (which includes a little mild face-slapping), melts down, furiously lecturing the others ("I thought life was supposed to be purposeful") and stunning them with a brutally honest response to an overture from Deb. He lets loose a flood of barbed commentary that will end only in physical humiliation, and the evening turns into a bummer for everyone but the audience, who is treated to a fiercely argued, and teasingly inconclusive, argument about human nature. The Qualms is best seen as a companion piece to Domesticated, Norris' previous work, in which the lead character is similarly torn between living up to an ideal he doesn't believe in and hating himself for indulging what he sees is his true nature. In Norris' view, neither choice really satisfies. The two plays add up to a non-Platonic symposium on the nature of love made relevant by the urgency of the questions posed and the characters' unbridled way of expressing themselves. The Qualms benefits from an expert cast under the direction of Pam MacKinnon, who, with her work on various Edward Albee plays, long ago established her skill at handling the kind of social event where the conversation results in bloodletting. She also makes the most of a quiet, and surprisingly revelatory, sequence in which everyone, chastised by the ugliness that has been unleashed, quietly cleans up. This is followed by another remarkable sequence, in which each character reveals details of upbringings that left them crippled when it comes to a mature approach to sexual matters. And she confidently handles Norris' riskiest gambit, when the action briefly breaks the fourth wall to implicate the audience. MacKinnon's production is beautifully cast. John Procaccino's Gary is an amusing blowhard, forever declaring how free he is. Kate Arrington, as Teri, scores with a deadpan monologue describing her downward slope as a young plaything of various men. Sarah Goldberg displays a fine talent for passive aggression as Kristy, who becomes increasingly mortified over Chris' behavior. Donna Lynne Champlin is riotous when describing certain kinds of oral sex ("It's like slapstick!") and gripping when, dropping her cheerful demeanor, she reams Chris out for his priggishness. Andy Lucien keeps us guessing as Ken, his swishy manner conflicting with his eager attentions to various women. As Regine, Chinasa Ogbuagu gets a big response simply by crossing the stage and folding her arms, joining the other ladies in a moment of solidarity against the childish (in their view) men. As Roger, Noah Emmerich proves especially skilled at baiting Chris, especially when the conversation turns toward bisexuality. Julian Leong has a riotous bit as a delivery boy who shows up at exactly the wrong moment. Shamos is an ideal Chris, whether panicking at the sight of a female hand on his knee, kneeling in dejection following a physical tussle, or angrily denouncing lives lived in pursuit of pleasure. The rest of the production is done in typically slick Playwrights Horizons style, including Todd Rosenthal's detailed, attractive beach house set; Russell H. Champa's lighting, which starts out bright then shifts to a more romantic look; Jessica Pabst's well-observed costumes; and Rick Sims' sound, which includes selections from Daft Punk and Duran Duran. When the evening arrives at a moment of sharing, it involves not bodily fluids but banana pudding. What was supposed to be a carefree free-for-all has demanded something like intimacy of one and all. Bruce Norris asks some tough questions in The Qualms, and no answers are offered -- but you can bet his characters will keep talking, offering theatrical conversation of a very high order. -- David Barbour 
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