Pity Jodi Isaac, the poor little rich girl—OK, she’s in her 40s—played by Idina Menzel in Roundabout Theatre Company’s world premiere production of Skintight. Having been dumped by her husband of more than 20 years, Jodi shows up unannounced at her fashion tycoon dad’s West Village pad looking for a shoulder to cry on. Sure, Elliot Isaac’s 70th birthday is imminent and, naturally, Jodi wants to celebrate—even if Elliot doesn’t—but first, darn it, she needs to talk about her ex’s new fiancée, a 24-year-old named Misty, and the engagement party that all their old friends attended. “When this child started eating solid foods,” Jodi intones, stressing the age difference, “Greg was busy eating my—do you see where I’m going with this?”
Yes, and yuck. But it gets worse, and so does Jodi, when she meets Elliot’s latest flame and discovers that her dear father, who has been enjoying the company of a string of young men since leaving her mom years ago, is now living with a boy toy four years Misty’s junior—that is, the same age as Jodi’s son, who’s about to show up at the apartment. Sound cozy?
Jodi actually turns out to be one of the more endearing characters in Skintight, the latest offering from fast-rising young playwright Joshua Harmon, whose sharp eye for the foibles and contradictions of smart, well-meaning people stumbling through contemporary life has produced such engaging works as Bad Jews, Significant Other and this year’s Drama Desk Award-winning Admissions. Harmon’s keen wit and instinctive compassion ensure that none of these folks is ultimately unsympathetic, or unentertaining. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to spend two hours and change with them without at some point wanting to throw your program at one or two.
The subject of Skintight is, ostensibly, our fixation with youth and beauty. Given the elusiveness of both, Harmon asks, is enduring romantic love possible? Anyone over the age of 40 who’s been in a relationship for ten years or more, and isn’t yet looking for the exit, could likely give the thirtysomething Harmon the answer. But Jodi, bless her broken heart, seems genuinely stumped. Granted, Elliot hasn’t been the best role model; Trey, his current housemate, is a barely post-adolescent yahoo who barks at the hired help and walks around the house at night in a jock strap. Oh, and Trey may also have dabbled in adult films, and women. And he’s not above flirting with Jodi’s son—his partner’s grandson—a wryly self-conscious young man named Benjamin.
For a while, you may find yourself debating whether Jodi’s whiny entitlement or Trey’s boorishness is more irritating. Then Elliot comes up from (slightly) behind, revealing the full depth and breadth of his creepiness and ruthless self-involvement, and we feel for both of them. Finally, after a climactic speech about the irresistible pull of fresh flesh that left me half-impressed, half-squirming with discomfort, we feel sorry for old Elliot himself.
Veteran director Daniel Aukin, who teamed with Harmon for Admissions and Bad Jews, culls performances that mine both the humor in the characters’ considerable flaws and their underlying humanity. A refreshingly relaxed, playful Menzel—hiding her resilient sex appeal under frumpy sweaters before going glam at the end—clearly has fun with and empathy for the fading princess she plays, while Jack Wetherall finds both the pathos and the lingering charisma that make Elliot compelling in his unseemly way. Will Brittain makes a vigorous Broadway debut as Trey, whose most obnoxious outbursts betray an urge to assert the manhood threatened by Elliot’s controlling behavior, and Eli Gelb is sweetly droll as the spoiled but sensitive Benjamin—perhaps the play’s most easily appealing character, aside from the servants.
Stephen Carrasco and Cynthia Mace lend dry, delicate support as, respectively, Jeff, a former lover of Elliott’s now relegated to serving Trey drinks, and Orsolya, the long-suffering housekeeper. “Gorgeous family,” Osolya coos in the final scene, looking at a photo she’s just snapped of her employer’s dysfunctional crew. It is, but be grateful you get to observe them from a safe distance, in a well-crafted work of fiction, and not around your Thanksgiving table.
Skintight opened June 21, 2018 at the Laura Pels Theatre and runs through August 26. Tickets and information: roundabouttheatre.org
