In the first Broadway revival of Lanford Wilson’s 1987 play (now directed by Michael Mayer), grief remains the catalyst that kicks off the show, giving way to a portrait of how this grief can launch people out of their ordinary routines and change them in a subtle but lasting way. While the play’s themes and motifs are many, at its core remains an explosively large (and widely varied) showcase for the character Pale, played here by Adam Driver.

Burn This starts out with the offscreen death of Robbie, a gay dancer who shared an apartment with his two roommates, Anna (Kerri Russell) and Larry (Brandon Uranowitz). Burton (Daivid Furr) completes the quartet as Anna’s rich, steady (but dull) boyfriend. The play opens with Anna and Larry commiserating over Robbie’s funeral and how little his family truly seemed to know him. As Burton joins the scene, it’s clear that these three characters know each other well and have a comfortable, easy rapport. The play wants to imply that this camaraderie between Anna and Burton comes off as boring and passionless, but truthfully it just seems like the kind of banter that any longtime couple might exchange. Cue Pale to come shake things up, bursting into the apartment in the dead of night, whilst in the middle of a long-winded rant about parking spaces, complete with a number of expletives.

Therein lies both the strongest and weakest points of the play. While Driver’s Pale makes the last entrance of the four characters, it’s done with such energy and passion that the other characters seem to pale (pun intended) in comparison, seeming to be little more than two-dimensional sketches of tropes. While this remains primarily a fault of the play itself, this production did not seem particularly interested in exploring the finer details of the other three characters. Larry remains only the token “sassy gay friend” there to comment on the proceedings and occasionally offer advice, while a steadfast Burton plays a relatively weak foil to the tumultuous Pale.

Perhaps the greatest fault lies with Anna, who contains more depth than the other two characters but not enough to make her ensuing relationship with Pale quite believable. Russell plays her as strong and unflinching, bewildered by the man that barrels into her apartment, but not quite intimidated by him.

In the second half, Anna takes back the reins of control, as the truth of her affair with Pale comes to light. The only problem is, in this production, it never seemed as if she lost control over anything to begin with; Anna asserting herself and her wishes over the men and the roles they play in her life never seems like the revelation that the play suggests, but more of a foregone conclusion. Anna tells Pale to leave because he frightens her and she doesn’t want him around. Only one of those reasons is supposed to be a lie. But never in the course of the play did I believe Anna was scared of Pale; curious and fascinated yes, but never did she come off as truly frightened, which in a way destroys the tension of the show.

As I was not familiar with the original play or its previous iterations, the character of Pale puzzled me for a lot of this production. His emotions are all over the place, he changes topics on a dime, and seems to misunderstand, or flat-out ignore, normal social cues. At the same time, he still has a tenderness toward Anna that emerges every once in a while, and there are moments when he seems to reach for her to ground him. It wasn’t until about a third of the way through the second act that I seemed to finally get a grasp on his character. And while I’m no expert in the matter, it seemed to me as if this portrayal of Pale was slightly autistic. While I don’t think this was the intention of either Driver or Mayer, I couldn’t help but think that seeing Pale as on the spectrum helped explain a lot of his impulses and seemingly contradictory moods (though I suppose that could also be explained away by a combination of grief, alcohol, and cocaine).

These quibbles aside, the rest of this production is quite effective in pulling together all of its disparate components. Derek McLane’s set, while simple, easily evokes the feeling of being in an artist’s apartment, relatively bare of furniture and just functional enough for the three people that live there. A smart choice was made to have Robbie’s loft exist in the fourth wall of the audience, allowing us to peer into the apartment as if viewing the proceedings from the location where Robbie would have slept.

Natasha Katz also does some spectacular work with lighting, clearly differentiating between “natural light” and the apartment’s artificial indoor lighting to help distinguish the time of day that a specific scene takes place (one particularly impressive moment occurs during a time lapse from night to day, as the light filtering in through the large window at the back of the apartment gives such a realistic approximation of a sunrise that it seems uncanny).

“Burn this” was originally the epitaph that Lanford Wilson would put on a work so personal and honest that it almost couldn’t be showcased. But ultimately, Burn This remains a tour-de-force for Adam Driver, much as it was for John Malkovich in the original Broadway production. And while the characters learn a lesson about showing vulnerability in their creative pursuits, this production doesn’t quite peel back the layers enough to see that vulnerability spark a flame.

-Christine