The Cast Photo by Julieta Cervantes

It's a high-stakes cocktail party in a high-rise condo during a lunar eclipse, revolving around a risky phone game among friends–four former fraternity "bros" and three "wives." After gossiping about a recently divorced couple entangled in a cheating scandal, the group agrees to keep their mobile phones on the coffee table to openly share every text and call. A rapid series of secrets unravel, triggered by conveniently timed messages. While O'Hara's swift directorial pacing keeps the momentum going, the scripted confrontations seem contrived to cram in as much vitriol and discord as possible. The simplistic structure sacrifices depth and development. Conflicts escalate, entangling everyone–from daughters to doormen–in a cringeworthy web of grotesque, immoral, and exploitative action.

All of this unfolds in a luxe DUMBO condo, with a telescope poised atop its glass terrace, ready for eclipse-watching. Angular spaces in Clint Ramos's bilevel set facilitate cinematic-style scene transitions. The open floor plan is framed by an artificial skyline, projections displaying a candy box assortment of New York City landmarks–Statue of Liberty, One World Trade Center–in a palette that coordinates with the condo's virtual fireplace. Alex Jainchill's lighting emphasizes sleek sterility. Palmer Hefferan's sound design efficiently scores terrace trysts with ambient noise while bar conversations are dominated by phone alerts. Sarafina Bush's costumes feature bro-culture staples and body-revealing feminine ensembles aligning neatly with established stereotypes. While designs don't evoke the dynamism or mood of the lunar eclipse, they mirror the synthetic tone of the plot and characters.

In one standout sequence, an inebriated ensemble dance to "Da Butt" from School Daze spotlights the camaraderie and cluelessness among white privileged partiers Rodger (Neil Patrick Harris), Frank (Michael Oberholtzer), Brett (Garret Dillahunt), Eve (Jane Krakowski), and Claire (Debra Messing). At the same time, there is an unspoken sense of alienation shared between Hannah (Constance Wu), an Asian-American woman newly married into the group, and Logan (Tramell Tillman), a Black queer man who has spent years masking his own difference to blend in with the "bros."

Neil Patrick Harris and Jane Krakowski Photo by Julieta Cervantes

Wu's Hannah pulls off an eleventh-hour transformation, ultimately liberating herself from the "wives," Frank's betrayal, and oppressive patriarchal norms in a commanding climactic declaration: "I don't actually want any of this... I want to be the meaning of my own fucking life." This rare, quick instance of self-awareness is refreshing.

In a production more concerned with chaos than commentary, Tillman's Logan delivers a compelling closing monologue while clearing up a strategic phone swap between him and Brett. He finally comes out to the group, reveals reasons behind a recent job loss, and reflects on the intersections of race and queerness while lamenting "I have wasted almost my entire LIFE... on White People" who barely see him. His late realization punctuates the play with a poignant but abbreviated, underdeveloped payoff.

By the time these last-minute moments arrive, the revelations don't land as they should. The toxic character dynamics have been so overplayed that the final reckoning feels too little, too late. Furthermore, the resolution is "eclipsed" by an alternate surprise ending that restores the group's faux harmony, leaving lessons unlearned. For nearly two hours, Shit. Meet. Fan. subjects its audience to the unfiltered racist, sexist, classist, and homophobic dialogue filled with excruciating stereotypes. By giving so much airtime to its loathsome characters, the play risks alienating its audience and silencing the very voices it could uplift. What might have been a searing examination of privilege and hypocrisy instead feels like an exhausting exercise in endurance.