Such modesty doesn't last long however, when (spoiler alert!) in the middle of the second act — mid-dialogue, no less — the walls begin to levitate. Sher and Yeargain then steadily remove more of the "confines" so that by play's end the space has been completely opened up and Ralph stands transcendent and "free at last." It's definitely a jarring concept.

Some benefits include letting us see into the other rooms of the apartment and even the crucial stairwell beyond. (I liked the glimpse we get of Moe exposing his prosthetic leg, for instance.) But is this sudden explosion of magical realism without any preparation in Act One a wrong turn? (Especially when accompanied by anachronistic ethereal Arvo Part music?) Personally, I took more issue with the timing of these moments, especially when they drowned out valuable text. (Poor Sam Feinschriber never gets to tell his story!) The "peeling away" that happens between acts was less disruptive.

Disrupting, though, seems precisely what Sher and Yeargain wanted to do, though. And that's where I find fault. The text can stand up to such interventions, but a more pervasive strategy would have to be employed to disrupt it throughout. I also am dismayed by what probably is too insecure a distrust of naturalism in any form.

Did Sher think we would just get bored by three hours of "kitchen sink realism"? More likely, he was bored of it. Whatever the production gains poetically is lost in social commentary. Gone is the environment, the "petty conditions." The stage suddenly becomes just a little too pretty, in effect. Much as we mock it now, there once was a social point to the "kitchen sink." (Ironically, the disappearing of the walls, show us the sink here, but no matter.)

[For some great visual images of the set — and explanatory commentary by Sher — see the fun "Audio Slide Show" on the NYTimes.com theatre page. ]

The abstractness of the design leads to another deficiency: the downplaying of period. This is not a production outwardly concerned with the thirties. I'm sure leather jackets were around then, for instance, but isn't Moe's here a trite extravagant? (Or is it just a way to remind the younger audiences that Mark Ruffalo is cool!) The sparse set also seems deliberately "timeless" and uninformed by the world around it. (The walls are practically bare. Which may be why it doesn't seem to evoke a specifically Jewish family home either.)

Then again, such historical boxing in and adherence to pictorial realism has led to the kind of nostalgia that has long cursed this play. By foregrounding the acting and the emotional worlds going on within the characters, Sher wisely reminds us what is still fresh about it. Besides, the minutiae of the thirties are always present in Odets' dialogue itself, impeccably spoken by this cast.