STAGE REVIEW : ‘Second Chance’: Love and Alcohol

“Second Chance,” a tightly wound, two-character drama at the Fig Tree Theatre, earns the ultimate compliment for a play about addictive behavior: the obsessions--booze on the wife’s part and love on the husband’s--sneak up on you as they do in real life.

Playwright Demmy Tambakos’ chamber piece about the breakup of a young couple opens with a striking carnal embrace, segues into newly married giggles, then flattens into the domestic horror of the bottle.

The production is not flawless (more about that later), but what keeps the material fresh is the deceptive momentum of the direction (Bruce McIntosh) and the credibility of the crumbling couple (Bennett Liss and Michelle McIntosh).

McIntosh (who is Jennifer Jones’ granddaughter) perfectly modulates the alcoholic’s Indian summer of hazy tranquility before the winter of collapse. And Liss’ likable husband is the mirror of disintegrating nerves until his coiled feelings explode in a physical outburst that is a cathartic jolt. To your horror, you feel the relief in the swing of the husband’s fists as much as he must, and that’s a terrifying emotion.

Here is a play shuddering with the sense of firsthand experience. The danger in playing such characters is histrionics, but these actors never chew the scenery (a spare domestic set designed by the director). McIntosh’s drinking, like amateur night, seems almost innocent. But her behavior twists in serpentine ways, like a light, chilly breeze.

Interestingly, it is the husband who seems the more culpable partly because of his obsessive love for his wife. Not hard love, as they say in AA, but a helpless love. At the very end, he reaches out to Alanon and reflects: “I never knew the difference between love and pity.”

For all of this, the play is not a downer and it is never didactic. But the production is an aural distraction: weak acoustics are exacerbated by creeking footsteps from the loft above the theater, and a whirring portable fan hums throughout the show from a seat in the front row. That doesn’t help McIntosh who, for all her skills, is vocally uneven and needs to project more.

At 6539 Santa Monica Blvd., Fridays through Sundays, 8 p.m., until Dec. 17. Tickets: $10; (213) 960-8870.