Boris Kachka

More significant than the dated language or sexual politics is the play's core problem, which is also the problem of its characters. Sarah complains that hearing people who fail to respect her speechlessness 'will never truly be able to come inside my silence and know me.' Well, neither can we - barring some major rewrite that might allow us, for example, to read her words in supertitles instead of pausing the action as James recites them.

And as Lonergan's web of dilemmas grows more interesting, Henry's performance blossoms, riding an arc of injustice that seems to bend permanently away from a security guard with big plans and the wrong color of skin. It's powerful to watch him simmer and boil and wither, while Cera plays his downtrodden but still privileged foil. The rest of the show: It's got a lot of potential.