Joan Marcus

If it were possible to assemble a substantial evening of theater out of clever one-liners, gifted actors and crackling chemistry, Douglas Carter Beane's new comedy Mrs. & Mrs. Fitch would be a smashing success. Starring the equally adept John Lithgow and Jennifer Ehle, the story (which is the weak link here) concerns two married Manhattan gossip columnists who, feeling the heat from those infernal "blooooooggggs," resort to unorthodox methods to maintain their fading relevance. Desperate for a hot item after a night of fruitless party-hopping, they decide to simply conjure one up out of thin air, fictionalizing a chance encounter with a hunky young actor bound for stardom. A few tweets and reblogs later, and suddenly, presto, everyone wants a piece of this kid, even though he doesn't exist.

Naturally, complications arise, but unfortunately they don't pile up quickly enough to sustain the insubstantial plot of this full-length play. By the start of act two, the effervescence turns a little flat, and eventually all we're left with is the company of Mr. and Mrs. Fitch and their maddeningly gorgeous apartment, maliciously designed by Allen Moyer to make you eat your heart out. Thankfully, this cynical, urbane couple really is quite amusing, and Beane has armed them with enough wicked bon mots to keep the party humming along. Nobody does devilish quite like Lithgow, and Ehle consistently meets his black heart flush and raises him one.

They're both having a blast, and it goes a long way toward sustaining a play that's a couple twists and turns short of a full load. It's hard not to enjoy yourself when these two are savoring such savvy one-liners as "Gossip is just news that's interesting," "My nipples are as hard as long division," and "Theater—you know, that thing movie people do when they want to announce they're available for television." They're classy dinosaurs in the cheap age of TMZ, these two, and you root for them—despite their ignoble profession—because they still madly love each other. By the end, you're even a little nostalgic for the old days of Walter Winchell, master of blind items like this: What Brooklyn blogger laughed heartily throughout Mr. & Mrs. Fitch despite its slight narrative, then slinked back to his shabby apartment wishing he could just crash on their couch?