Searing comedy reflects on wartime hypocrisy

As years and world events unfold, only time will tell how well Deborah Zoe Laufer's stinging new comedy The Gulf of Westchester will age. But while the deadly conflict in Iraq grinds on, know this: Right now, there is no timelier play on any American stage.

In her second world premiere at Florida Stage, Laufer has turned her satirist's eye to a pair of wars in the Middle East.

Both the swift 1991 Gulf War and more protracted current one in Iraq affect the circle of friends in The Gulf of Westchester. These people particularize the spectrum of experience with war, from decorated hero to destroyed combatant, from patriotic support to scathing protest.

The script is, in this first go-round, a little schizophrenic. From a video-punctuated, supercharged first act packed with laughs, Laufer and director Louis Tyrrell slow the story and deepen it into something far more unsettling in the second. Yet it is that choice, that shift, that imbues the play with a searing power that haunts you as you leave.

Set a year ago in tony Westchester, just 45 minutes and a world away from the urban angst of Manhattan, The Gulf of Westchester takes place in the gorgeous wood-and-stone suburban home that set designer Richar Crowell has dreamed up for a real Barbie and Ken of a couple, the lovely housewife Vicki (Kim Ostrenko) and her adman hubby Roger (Stephen G. Anthony). Each Saturday, Vicki -- who appears to be auditioning for the remake of The Stepford Wives, given her perky vacuity -- sets out munchies, punch, booze and a chic appetizer spread for the longtime friends who come over to yak and watch sports on one of the home's omnipresent flat-screen TVs.

Dennis (Ian Hersey), a gentle soul, is a regular who has started to bring his new girlfriend Joan (Andrea Circie), a tart-tongued divorcee whose liberal politics make rah-rah Roger's blood boil. Phoebe (Blair Sams), Vicki's lifelong best friend, is a jumpier, more openly neurotic Vicki wannabe. Slightly pathetic, she has spent most of her young adult life pining for Sam (Tom Wahl), a friend who served in the Gulf War then vanished for a dozen years.

But now Sam is coming home, coming back to ask for something crucial. And it's his arrival that allows Laufer to burrow into her characters' souls (though it's not clear that every one of these people has a soul).

In its first act, The Gulf of Westchester is loaded with references to cultural relics from post-Sept. 11 America and the run-up to war: color-coded terror alerts, plastic and duct tape for windows, well-made yellow ribbons, gloves and masks for handling mail that just might be hiding a puff of anthrax. We laugh because we lived it.

In the second, Laufer looks at the deadly realities and the politics surrounding Gulf War Syndrome. More significantly, she explores the gulf between patriotic lip service and genuine compassion.

The actors are a wonderful, sizzling lot, making each character vibrant even if (in the case of Anthony and Ostrenko) they have to create archetypes for which the author clearly has no sympathy. Laufer's script wears its liberal point of view proudly, but if she'd bump up the substance of her not-very-compassionate conservative couple, the fireworks of the finale might be even more spectacular.

Christine Dolen is The Herald's theater critic.