Mother, May I?

Putting your actors in modern dress (or undress, as the case turns out to be in Blind) and jamming cell phones into their hands is not enough to constitute a contemporary retelling of the Oedipus story. But playwright Craig Wright obviously disagrees judging from his Blind, which has actors Veanne Cox and Seth Numrich standing in what looks like the bedroom of a mid-century bordello, screaming at one another about oracles, the Sphinx and the good people of Thebes. The result is disconcerting, to put it mildly.

But blame not the actors. Both Cox (who deserves some sort of Miss Congeniality award for baring all in the name of so little) and Numrich are mesmerizing performers, capable of holding the audience rapt without even moving Unfortunately, director Lucie Tiberghien relies too heavily on their talent, often lazily leaving them sitting or standing in the same position without any motivation or even plain orders to move. In a three-hander, this stillness can be disastrous, and it quickly proves so here.

Wright has taken some liberties with the Oedipus myth, most notably how Oedipus (Numrich) ends up blind and his mother, Jocasta (Cox), ends up dead. If you’ve seen the film Savage Grace, based on the real life Oedipus horror story of Barbara Baekeland and her son, you’ll know exactly how Blind ends. Or doesn’t end, since the literal climax of Jocasta and Oedipus’ time together isn’t the play’s finale. Instead, we’re treated to a monologue on classicsm and the fallibility of the world’s leaders by a maid, of all people. Stranded with Wright’s weakest character (possibly because it’s the only one he’s created himself), Danielle Slavick struggles valiantly, but ultimately turns into a late-in-the-show snooze.

And that a show featuring this much nudity, taboo sex and such a sterling cast should become, even at 80 minutes, a numbing bore tells you something about the weakness of Wright’s script. Numrich, who was mesmerizing last summer as the tormented gay youth in Slipping (a superior Rattlestick production), proves that his performance in that play wasn’t a fluke; even with subpar material, he’s still a powerful stage presence. And Cox, one of theater’s under-utilized workhorses, deserves better than her genital-flashing character here.

In fact, Blind feels like Wright’s desperate attempt to garner theatrical coverage after a hiatus in television with his ABC series Dirty Sexy Money. Underwritten and obvious in its prurience, the play is nothing more than a cynical exercise in prostituting performers in the name of outraged reviews. This reviewer is left too unengaged to be outraged; Blind might as well refer to the playwright’s conception of his play’s strengths than its main character’s fate.

Blind

Through Apr. 10. Rattlestick Playwrights Theatre, 224 Waverly Pl. (betw. Perry & W. 11th Sts.), 212-868-4444; $45.