David Mamet has finally turned into Woody Allen. No, he hasn’t learned how to write female characters or developed a sudden sense of humor; Mamet has now joined the ranks of those writers too influential, famous and revered to be edited. And Race, his latest Broadway play, could definitely have withstood some time alone with a blue pencil.

A yawn-inducing attempt to explode all attempts at political correctness, Race is about self-involved law partners Lawson (James Spader) and Brown (David Alan Grier) and their mostly half-hearted attempts to represent the wealthy Charles Strickland (Richard Thomas), an effete man who has been accused of raping his black mistress. Or maybe the character isn’t supposed to be effete, and the effect is created by Mamet’s bizarre notion of how wealthy men sound and Thomas’ queer walk, the result of his refusal to swing his arms while in motion.

And of course, there is The Girl, Susan (Kerry Washington), who hovers around Lawson and Brown, asking questions and chiming in with her two cents. As a black woman, she’s convinced that Strickland is guilty; no one else really cares either way, so long as defending him doesn’t embarrass the firm.

But boy, should Race embarrass Mamet! Poorly written and repetitive (he wrings two laughs out of nearly identical lines about the fragility of sequined dresses) the script is matched only by Mamet’s own direction in incompetence. Actors stand or sit absolutely motionless until it’s their turn to speak, which at least gives Washington the chance to flaunt her beautiful posture. But Mamet hasn’t done any other favors for Washington, allowing her to turn in a thin, two-dimensional performance that conveys the odd sensation that what we’re watching isn’t a flesh-and-blood person at all, but a flickering projection of an actress who pre-filmed her part. Thomas, mercifully, doesn’t appear too often, but when he does he sounds slightly strangled as he delicately picks his way through Mamet’s typically diffuse dialogue.

Spader and Grier at least bring a welcome sense of humor to their roles, even as they have to spout bizarre lines about race and ingrained racism. No one in this play talks about either topic in any recognizable way, claiming that white people will betray black people every chance they get. Maybe this is how people thought about it during Mamet’s formative years (one tellingly off-key line from Washington: “The silver spoon went missing, so you fired the maid”), but it hardly rings true now. The only moment of unselfconscious, casual racism in the entire show is when Spader off-handedly calls a hotel maid a half-literate, illegal immigrant. Everything else in Race seems as calculated and forced as Mamet’s depiction of Susan as all high heels, short skirts and outraged vindictiveness. The title may be a noun, but take it as a verb. As in: “Race away.”

Race

Open run, Ethel Barrymore Theatre, 243 W. 47th St. (betw. Broadway & 8th Ave.), 212-239-6200; times vary, $59.50-$121.50