Oct. 26 (Bloomberg) -- Neil Simon’s supposedly autobiographical comedy, “Brighton Beach Memoirs,” now revived as the first of two related shows dubbed “The Neil Simon Plays,” is fundamentally feel-good stuff and, as such, intellectually suspect. Yet it is cleverly enough contrived -- jokes abound -- to prove for a hefty majority pleasantly relaxing fare.

When it first opened in March 1983 in an apt production, the play had Elizabeth Franz, Matthew Broderick, Joyce Van Patten and Zeljko Ivanek in the leads under Gene Saks’s incisive direction. With mostly good reviews, it ran for 1,299 performances.

It is, however, a twofold cheat. In 1937, when it takes place, the real-life Simon would have been 10, and nowhere near up to the wisecracks of the running commentary he delivers to the audience or reads out loud as he writes his diary in training to become a writer.

But even the 15-year-old alter ego, Eugene Jerome, is too full of comic comments, sometimes shrewd, sometimes merely smartass, smelling more of the 45-year-old writer than of the admittedly precocious pubescent Eugene.

Thus Simon retrospectively idealizes himself, as he does the rest of this Jewish family living in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn, though he supplies each of them with a forgivable flaw or negotiable handicap. Reality never quite divests itself of its coat of sugar: The tempests in the teapot have a dependably benign outcome, and even the potentially grave ending is bathed in euphoric hope.

Further Chutzpah

There is further chutzpah in calling Neil Eugene, which, of course, suggests Eugene O’Neill and his honestly autobiographical “Long Day’s Journey Into Night.” That masterpiece is, to be sure, a tragedy, and heaven forfend Simon’s undertaking one of those. But neither should he be profligate with his silver linings.

This said, the production has its assets. A terrific 19- year-old newcomer from Maryland, Noah Robbins, turns Eugene into an adorable super-nerd, combining genuine innocence with believably grown-up stirrings. Jessica Hecht makes the partly pathetic, partly resilient Aunt Blanche touchingly credible; Santino Fontana gives a nicely rounded performance as elder brother Stanley, and two young actresses, Alexandra Socha and Gracie Bea Lawrence, satisfy as Eugene’s live-in cousins.

Dashing Dennis Boutsikaris, a good actor, is totally miscast as the father, Jack, but the crowning calamity is the gifted Laurie Metcalf as the mother, Kate. David Cromer, the trendy director, is a Chicagoan, as is Metcalf, and neither seems to have the vaguest idea of how a Brooklyn matriarch would sound and move, which here becomes a kind of deadpan somnambulism.

Avoiding Caricature

What the evening sorely lacks is aromatic Jewish-American inflection and idiomatic gesticulation, somewhat deficient even in the original production, presumably from fear of being mistaken for patronizing caricature, instead of recognized as leavening authenticity.

John Lee Beatty (fine two-tiered set), Jane Greenwood (spot-on costumes) and Brian MacDevitt (splendidly realistic lighting) deliver their customary compelling best. Cromer’s direction, casting aside, keeps things moving. But all this is merely cosmetics, where surgery is called for.

“Brighton Beach Memoirs” is at the Nederlander Theatre, 208 W. 41st St. Information: +1-212-307-4100; http://www.TicketMaster.com. Rating: **

What the Stars Mean:
****       Do Not Miss
***        Excellent
**         Average
*          Poor
(No stars) Worthless

(John Simon is the New York drama critic for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are his own.)

To contact the writer of this column: John Simon in New York at jis1925@aol.com.

Last Updated: October 25, 2009 22:30 EDT