Marisa Tomei, Arliss Howard, and Gracie McGraw Photo by Monique Carboni

Babe presents characters from three different generations working for A&R, a large music label. Gus (Arliss Howard) is in his late sixties and is a no-nonsense, verbally uncensored producer. He casually refers to women as "girl" or "babe," and even though he has been carefully instructed to avoid doing so, he has no inhibitions in judging women by their appearances. Attractiveness, he says, matters in the music business, forthrightly stating that "most of the artists we work with are attractive and they respond to other attractive people" through sexual desire.

Katherine Becker (Gracie McGraw) is the newest member of the team. Ultraliberal and twenty-nine, she graduated from Berkeley with a major in music history. She boasts about her considerable experience, including as a former vice president of a Diversity and Inclusion committee, member of the Gender and Sexuality Alliance, and one of the founders of a group that provided food and music to the homeless, or as she describes the "unhoused." She is, in short, the embodiment of what people on the right call "woke."

Acting as a go-between–but more accurately, caught in the middle–is fifty-year-old Abigail (Marisa Tomei), the most fully drawn character of the three. She is Gus's self-described "right hand," and she has made herself indispensable to the company. Abigail has a long history with both Gus and A&R, and she is responsible for cultivating many of the most renowned artists, including the late femme-punk singer and her lover Kat Wonder (played in flashback and as a ghostly presence by McGraw). Battling cancer and undergoing chemotherapy, Abigail continues to work tirelessly for the company and keeps Gus mostly in check.

Directed by Scott Elliott, the production takes some time to catch fire. Arliss and McGraw plumb the depths of their characters as the play progresses and, particularly in Arliss's performance, infuse the portrayals with empathy. Initially, however, they are presented as broad comic types. The set-up, recalling David Mamet's Oleanna, limits Tomei's character to responding to the situation, her emotions expressed through stilted and awkward physical gestures.

Additionally, Goldberg's depiction of an unlikely flirtation between the women feels contrived, and its only purpose seems to be for highlighting Abigail's troubled history. The backstory does, however, provide opportunities for a handful of effective grunge and punk songs by the indie rock band BETTY. (Jessica Paz's sound design contributes to the periodic rock-concert ambiance.)

As the action unfolds, though, and as Abigail's complicated professional and personal conflicts come into sharper focus, the play becomes more compelling. Tomei is utterly and heartbreakingly convincing as a woman battered and nearly broken by both a sexist industry and a devastating illness. Yet the character's steeliness and soul, to use one of Gus's favorite words, are always present. It's a masterful performance.

Derek McLane's scenic design, Cha See's lighting, and Jeff Mahshie's costumes vividly reflect the different political eras and cultural moments in which the play traverses. Impressively, Tomei achieves the same effect through her precise and nuanced choices. Portraying a woman immersed in and consumed by a world of music, she hits all the right notes.