The Living Room doesn’t quite find the right thread for its Eurydice

Sometimes the most beautiful scripts are the most dangerous. Such is the case with the Living Room’s lyrical but lethargic Eurydice, a romantic retelling of a Greek myth that misses the dramatist’s forest for the poet’s trees.

Playwright Sarah Ruhl’s script is deceptively difficult, requiring a director with a razor-sharp vision to transmute her whimsical patter into dramatic scenes. The dialogue is strange and charming, the images simultaneously lush and spare. Some scenes consist merely of stage directions, such as one in which Eurydice’s father is tasked with building a room out of string in the underworld.

“It takes time to create a room out of string,” the stage directions prompt.

It sure does.

The Living Room’s production, in fact, takes a lot of time, which is its undoing. Ruhl calls her dramatic acts “movements” — a nod to the myth’s musical hero — but you sense that not all of the actors here are following the same time signature.

Director Natalie Liccardello pushes her supporting actors in the right direction. The three Stones — equal parts Greek chorus and salty tour guides for the underworld — whip the most energy into the play, with well-­delineated and often very funny performances from Zachary Parker, Ben Auxier and Dianne Yvette.

Actor Matthew Schmidli is another standout as the Nasty Interesting Man, surprising at every turn. A scene at his high-rise apartment is a production highlight (well-directed and imagined by Liccardello and technical director Matthew McAndrews).

The lead actors find moments of clarity and authenticity. Tim Ahlenius is achingly tender as Eurydice’s father, attuned to the complicated joy that arises from being reunited with his daughter under tragic circumstances. Daria LeGrand has a strong hold on newlywed (and newly dead) Eurydice’s flighty, impetuous side. And Brian Huther brings great comic timing to Orpheus, the distracted-artist husband who must rescue her.

These are challenging roles, packed with streams of non sequiturs and monologues that build character but not momentum. The connections that the actors find are real, their emotions affecting. But even for the underworld, there’s too much dead space. The play’s given circumstances imply staggeringly high stakes — in Ruhl’s retelling, Eurydice must make a choice between her husband and her father — but it’s hard, ultimately, to feel moved when the central cast fails to convey enough urgency.

When I first read Ruhl’s Eurydice, I had two thoughts: that it was one of the most beautiful scripts I’d encountered, and that it was never meant to be performed. Since then, I’ve seen the play staged a handful of times. The successful productions have one thing in common: They refuse to make Ruhl’s language precious.

The Living Room’s cast, with a few notable exceptions, doesn’t clear that hurdle — at least not yet. Liccardello and her actors convey a shared love for this script, an affection that’s evident in their careful choices. With a little rebalancing, the action may tighten later in the run. For now, the beauty of the lines is evident — their utility, less so.