“BAREFOOT IN THE PARK”: Performances are underway for Princeton Summer Theater’s production of “Barefoot in the Park.” Directed by Lucy Shea, the play runs through June 27 at Princeton University’s Hamilton Murray Theater. Above, from left: Mrs. Banks (Abigail Bernesky) meets eccentric but charming Victor Velasco (Jacob Schorsch), as their hosts, newlyweds Corrie Bratter (Shaelin McKenna) and a dubious Paul Bratter (Joe McLean), observe. (Photo by Denise Applewhite)

By Donald H. Sanborn III

One of playwright Neil Simon’s favorite concepts entails placing characters with sharply conflicting personalities into a small space, most often a New York apartment, and letting those personalities collide throughout a show.

One of Simon’s earliest stage works, the romantic comedy Barefoot in the Park (1963) uses this device to great effect. (The concept would be epitomized in The Odd Couple a few years later.)

Barefoot in the Park depicts a newlywed couple who return from their honeymoon, and find that their elation from the past week’s events rather quickly wears off when their marriage is tested by their apartment (a cramped fifth-floor walkup), an eccentric neighbor, and the personality conflicts these challenges expose.

Originally titled Nobody Loves Me, the play had a pre-Broadway production at the Bucks County Playhouse in New Hope, Pa. Re-titled Barefoot in the Park, the play’s original Broadway production became Simon’s longest-running hit. A film and a television adaptation followed, as well as a 2006 Broadway revival.

Princeton Summer Theater is opening its season with Barefoot in the Park. Lucy Shea directs a production that successfully portrays both the bustle of New York City and the personalities that almost ceaselessly clash.

Corrie Bratter (portrayed by Shaelin McKenna) is excited to be settling into her (still-empty) first apartment, and vastly overlooks its flaws, which include a gaping hole in the skylight that pointedly leaves the occupants vulnerable to inclement weather that can be expected in a cold February.

McKenna is sweetly exuberant as Corrie. She skillfully captures the character’s admirable traits (her love and gratitude for small things, her lack of prejudice, and her desire to bring happiness to people), as well as her flaws (naivete, impulsiveness, and a lack of empathy for those whose circumstance renders them unable to share her enthusiasm for everything).

Shea writes in a program note that she has attempted to mitigate the play’s more dated elements (especially its gender dynamics) by “navigating the story through Corrie’s eyes.” Perhaps this includes encouraging Joe McLean — who plays Corrie’s ambitious, traditional, and more world-weary and uptight husband, Paul — to deliver some of his lines in a way that comes close to (if narrowly eschews) making his character into a villain, or at least a rather sour antagonist.

Nonetheless, McLean subtly mitigates Paul’s unlikeable traits with (admittedly thin) patience, a more sensible view of certain practical aspects of life, and genuine concern about another character’s safety. When he portrays Paul’s more unsavory attitudes, it is to provide a foil to McKenna’s unabashed joy as Corrie. McKenna and McLean have good chemistry, which is essential in successfully depicting their characters’ lack of it.

The couple’s first visitor is the short-winded, matter-of-fact Telephone Repair Man (an amusingly wry Jordan Rashdan). One of the play’s subtle but poetic devices includes making the character, rather than an actual phone, a conduit of communication when the couple’s marriage reaches a breaking point.

We also meet Corrie’s widowed mother, Mrs. Ethel Banks (played by Abigail Bernesky, who captures Mrs. Banks’ somewhat passive-aggressive tact). Mrs. Banks, whose physical ailments necessitate the use of a bed board to enable her to sleep comfortably, approaches change with reserve, making her general outlook more similar to that of Paul than her daughter.

One of Paul’s initial complaints about the apartment is that he has heard that many of the couple’s neighbors do not fit his conventional worldview. Soon enough, we meet one of these neighbors: the eccentric but debonair attic-dweller Victor Velasco (played by Jacob Schorsch, who makes the character irresistibly charming even when he is disrupting Corrie and Paul’s already complicated routine).

Notwithstanding the addition of the Telephone Repair Man (who has less stage time than the other characters), the play evenly balances two principal character traits: conventional and reserved (Paul and Mrs. Banks); and exuberantly charming and carefree (Corrie and Victor). Having established this equilibrium, Simon focuses the bulk of the play on Corrie’s well-intentioned if misguided efforts to make a match between Victor and her mother.

The scene in which Mrs. Banks meets Victor showcases both the cast’s talent and Shea’s skill in directing actors. Victor scarcely sets up the evening for success with his appetizer: “knichi,” an apparently time-sensitive dish consisting of salted eel (among other ingredients). Victor’s seeming unawareness of the unease his culinary contribution is causing his diners, Mrs. Banks’ reaction to the dish, Corrie’s eagerness to make the evening happen, and Paul’s tacit but palpable disdain for what he sees as the fruitlessness of the entire exercise are on display every second. The sequence is the comic highlight that it needs to be.

For dinner, the quartet journeys to an obscure restaurant in Staten Island. The aftermath of the evening, which leaves Mrs. Banks’ whereabouts uncertain, seems to shatter the increasingly tense new marriage. In the heat of an acrimonious argument, Corrie asks for a divorce, leaving it to Paul (as a lawyer) to prepare the necessary forms.

Jeff Van Velsor’s set is artfully claustrophobic, and notably has more doorways on the right than on the left — a lack of symmetry that seems apt for the mismatched couple that appears to be increasingly incompatible as events develop. (Pearl Agel is the production’s scenic artist.)

Van Velsor and Costume Designer Alex Conboy coordinate their designs so that there is a consistent color palette: a frequent use of bright red for the vibrant Corrie, with darker, more subdued colors for the bourgeois, increasingly dour Paul. The couple’s dark sofa is brightened by red pillows, a deft metaphor for what Corrie seems to be trying to do for Paul’s life early in the play.

Kristen Marie Tan’s skillful sound design effectively captures the bustle of NYC, particularly its traffic. Kat McLaughlin’s attractive lighting demarcates daytime and evening time settings.

As Shea acknowledges in the program notes, some of the play’s dialogue necessitates making allowances for the time period. Certain jokes clash with contemporary social consciousness (though they may not necessarily be inconsistent with the character who utters them), while other lines may confuse younger audiences. (For example, Paul mockingly refers to Victor as a “Hungarian Duncan Hines,” alluding to Hines’ work as a food critic rather than the well-known cake mix company to which he sold the right to use his name.)

Fortunately, although Simon is known for his skill at writing jokes, his best humor derives more from character differences than simple one-liners. Most of his dialogue and situations remain funny because they are used to highlight those differences. Highly visible landline telephones may soon be a thing of the past, but challenges that expose personality conflicts in a marriage likely never will be.

Barefoot in the Park withstands the test of time because of its flawed but relatable (and, on the whole, likeable) characters, subject, and opportunities for comic delivery and pacing. Princeton Summer Theater’s strong production takes full advantage of those elements, making the play’s world vivid and entertaining, offering audiences a fun start to its season.

“Barefoot in the Park” will play at the Hamilton Murray Theater in Murray Dodge Hall, Princeton University, through June 27. For tickets, show times, and further information visit princetonsummertheater.org.