It’s taken me awhile to figure him out, but I think I’ve finally pegged Neil LaBute. He’s not exactly a playwright; he’s a chronicler and a wisher. He chronicles the way many men actually talk when a lady is not present, which should result in the revocation of his Men’s Club privileges, and he wishes women spoke the way his female characters do, limiting them pretty much to the roles of soulless/slutty/man haters and angelic/nurturing/punching bags. I still enjoy his work, but his limitations are evident in the script of Fat Pig, another misogynistic romp through everything wrong with contemporary perception. Full of “Please don’t go theres” and “I can’t believe they said thats,” LaBute takes us nowhere we’re not expecting to go, but does give us enough funny and cringe-worthy moments during the trip. It’s a text that should play well in Stray Cat Theatre’s season, especially with Ron May helming, but this sticky treat is also missing a key ingredient: Four consistent performers.

It does have three. Dion Johnson is in the central coupling of the play, portraying socially restrained Tom to Bronwyn J. Schile’s overweight and angelically nice Helen, the poor young woman to whom in one sense the cruel title refers. Johnson is one of the best actors in the valley, and here he plays it reserved. His hesitations speak volumes of Tom’s limitations. Balancing Tom are Carter (Michael Peck) and Jeannie (Amanda Monrad), coworkers at his generic Seattle multinational. Peck is proving with each outing to be a formidable actor in his own right. His Carter, an almost loveable and excruciatingly juvenile prick, is full of life and energy, but he does an excellent job of bringing it down when necessary. Though larger than life, Peck makes Carter reminiscent to that one gregarious and embarrassing individual in everyone’s social circle, and he becomes three dimensional because of it. Monrad has proven herself in what feels like too few roles, taking Jeannie’s histrionics (Tom has dumped her for Helen) to the same level Peck takes Carter’s chauvinism. When she bitterly denounces Tom for leaving her, pointing out his flaws with scalpel precision, she impressively makes Jeannie a woman scorned, not a caricature.

Unfortunately it is Schile who is not able to rescue her character from the stereotype her playwright has made of her. Where Peck and Monrad humanize their thin characters, Schile is unable to flesh hers out beyond the emotions that are to be played. When being funny, she has a tinkling laugh, and when emotionally butchered, she weeps real tears, but when conversing, her side of the dialogue feels rehearsed. It is this difference that keeps the play from becoming truly tragic. By never quite living her character’s predicament, but only emoting it, it’s hard to completely empathize with Helen.

Too bad, because May has made this production work with an economy seen most often at shows mounted by Actors Theatre. Movement is precise, logical, and well-staged. Scene changes are clockwork precise. The emotions are all drawn out to the perfect level. Mike Dostal’s harsh lighting, and David J. Castellano’s compartmental and clever set captures antiseptic life of late twentysomethings in our globalized age. Even Marcos D. Voss’ costumes give insights into character.

All of this great work and it doesn’t quite make it. This production will give cynics a lot to laugh about and closeted-sentimentalists a lot to rail against, but weaknesses within the script and in one performance don’t allow it to quite become a fully satisfying and complete evening of theatre.