New Broadway Play ‘Job’ Shows Generational Gap at First Glance

NEW YORK — Broadway — hell, all of American theater — has set itself up as the mortal enemy of phones, viewing the powerful and addictive little devices as hated rivals from the unsavory outside world, to be trampled down and turned off or face humiliation from their owner, either by fellow passengers or, if Patti LuPone or her acolytes are performing, from the stage.

Of course, Broadway is still largely run by baby boomers who fail to realize that we now live mostly online.

At least that’s the point of view, LOL, of a character named Jane, a stressed-out millennial who one day walks into the office of a 60-year-old therapist named Loyd and puts a gun to his head.

Putting a gun in a psychiatrist’s face at the beginning of a required session may not give you a clean bill of health, which is exactly what this woman is looking for to get back to work at an unnamed West Coast company that sounds a lot like Facebook or Google. But it’s certainly a spicy way to start “Work,” Max Wolf Friedlich’s stimulating and bold new thriller, which has transferred to the Helen Hayes Theatre from Peter Friedman (best known for her role as consigliere Logan Roy in “Succession”) and Sydney Lemmon (granddaughter of the late actor Jack Lemmon).

Structurally, the play, directed by Michael Herwitz, is something of a throwback, reminiscent of works like David Mamet’s “Oleanna” in both its dramatic tension and its searing focus on the inability of an older man and a younger woman not only to understand each other’s needs but even to speak the same language. And like that play, “Job” initially stacks the deck against the young woman, who seems unhinged, stressed, outraged, overwhelmed by stimulation, immobilized by concerns about her own subconscious racism and generally not unlike some of the women you see on Twitter ranting about all the inequalities of the world, often posted by a third party intent on humiliating them. “Honestly,” she says, oblivious to any narcissism, “on days like today I just wish I was in the ER where there were no choices.”

Friedman, on the other hand, plays a much gentler character who is smart, kind, and simply tries to help whenever Jane lets him.

Or so it seems.

But the power of “Job,” even if you question some of its ideas and anticipate some of its twists, is that the play actually addresses some of the most salient issues of the moment, issues that theater usually ignores, not just the vast gulf in active thought and linguistic expression between older men and younger women, a yawning chasm that will soon affect the race for the White House.

“Why are boomers so upset about using technology when they’re the ones who are getting rich off of it?” asks Jane. “Instead of being happy that they have all the money, all the power, boomers spend their time getting mad that 16-year-old girls are using Instagram filters to make themselves look prettier. Why are you mad that we feel insecure? We’re protecting ourselves from the thoughts that your shampoo ads have given us!”

Touché, Jane. And the truly terrifying Lemmon, who delves deeply into Jane’s fragile psyche, manages to both articulate her telling observations while not shying away from her neuroses. That’s no mean acting feat.

Friedman, playing the underground old fox, has to fight to keep up, but it’s exactly the kind of role you’d expect from a great actor who’s just spent years on the set of a popular TV series and now wants to challenge himself by doing the opposite on stage, where nothing is shot out of sequence and there’s no escaping the stimulation of a partner living in the present tense.

It’s better not to know what Jane really does for a living. It’s a late reveal; suffice it to say that it’s about a very creepy and very necessary vigilante, the kind who would kick anyone’s head in. And I won’t say anything more about Loyd; there are many things you won’t be sure of, even when you’re back on the street, releasing endorphins into your phone.

Herwitz’s production is full of squeaks and flashes of light, some of which work better than others. And it doesn’t quite nail the ending; even the ambivalence still demands a greater structural finality. But “Job” is a very provocative and genuinely disturbing 85 minutes of sharp observational power; you won’t be bored for a millisecond. And in an era of increasing moralizing in plays and musicals, its cynicism is refreshing.

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At the Hayes Theatre, 240 W. 44th St., New York; jobtheplay.com.

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