The first half of the play really suffered for believability for me. I noticed that the actors were putting their hands through imaginary walls, they were picking up pots that were obviously meant to be scalding hot.  Obviously artificial flowers were being thrown around with never a leaf falling from them. They were putting cherries in drinks that were landing like they were still pellets, they were wearing shoes and jeans of a time certainly after 1940. I was just losing the sense that this play was happening right before World War 2 which is rather essential to its meaning.  Daphne Rubin Vega as the inn keeper did a terrific job stirring the pot of this human stew, but she reads as so contemporary, it was hard to see her in 1940 when she was still dishing out her 2023 attitudes.  All of the minor characters that filled Act 1, in fact, were such poorly drawn-out stereotypes, that you just couldn’t believe ANY of them.  I will admit that Jim Daly as Shannon and Carmen Berkeley as Charlotte Goodall were wonderfully realized – but when Act 2 leaves them on stage for an interminable time to resolve the play you just get so tired of them.  All-in-all it was a less than believable production of a minor play of a major playwright – and at 3 hours it was just a bit too much.