By Lynn Venhaus

In a modern satire on parenting, social graces and the notion that polite society is merely a thin veneer, “God of Carnage” becomes a living room throwdown in the hands of a murderer’s row of talent and razor-sharp execution at New Jewish Theatre.

Think of it as a rambunctious comedy of manners – without the manners. This relationship play, where two upper-middle-class couples meet after a playground fight between their 11-year-old sons, will get really ugly – and hilarious.

All pros, the dynamic quartet offer a master class of limber verbal and physical exchanges. Alan and Annette Raleigh (Nick Freedman, Bridgette Bassa), contrite, arrive one afternoon at the Novaks (Joel Moses, Christina Rios), uneasy. Henry Raleigh hit Benjamin Novak with a stick, knocking two teeth out.

For the next 90 minutes, the civilized discussion unravels from courteous into chaos, with shrewd characterizations that expose these upwardly mobile sophisticates’ immaturity, hypocrisy and true nature.

Playwright Yasmina Reza earned her second Tony Award for Best Play for its Broadway debut, translated from the French by Christopher Hampton, in 2009, following her critically acclaimed “Art” in 1998. The all-star ensemble was nominated: Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, James Gandolfini and Marcia Gay Harden, who won best supporting actress.

This is the first time New Jewish Theatre is tackling one of the French Jewish playwright’s celebrated shows. And this cast of local all-stars are paired well, bouncing off each other with a natural rhythm, keeping the witty dialogue sharp and the action fast paced.

These ill-will games are fluidly directed by Gad Guterman, whose clear-cut vision escalates the tension as pretense crumbles and the gloves come off in the Brooklyn home.

Rob Lippert’s well-appointed set gives the Fab Four adequate room to nimbly move, and each has their stand-out meltdowns. Alan is a corporate lawyer, Annette in wealth management, Michael a wholesaler and Veronica a writer.

Even though superficial, the initially polite adults become openly hostile and judgmental as conflicts build. The awkwardness is palpable; the social niceties start falling away. They compliment Veronica on her clafouti, a French baked fruit dessert she made from scratch, talk about their careers and life in their affluent Cobble Hill neighborhood. Then, things take a turn.

The actors dig in as the grown-ups don’t take long to get primitive – misinterpreting phrases, defending meanings, and boldly stating opinions. Rum flows, marital issues surface and the tact disappears. Better judgment goes out the window.

Nick Freed deftly captures Alan’s smugness and self-importance as the preoccupied attorney, constantly distracted by taking calls about a problematic client in a high-profile case. His wife, Annette, is polished but frazzled, trying to diffuse misunderstandings at first. In this role, Bridgette Bassa boldly takes the driver’s seat after she gives up, exasperated, and lets loose.

As Veronica, Christina Rios portrays the sanctimonious control freak host. She writes pretentious books focused on social causes, and projects a superior attitude that contrasts with her husband Michael’s seemingly more easy-going nature. But ever so cleverly, she gets sassier and her moods swing farther.

As the gruffer dad, Moses attempts to be agreeable but is hamster-shamed when he gets rid of his daughter’s beloved pet and becomes defensive right away. At first, he seems to choose his words more carefully, but then adroitly strips away any liberal pretense.

As they argue, Rios picks her battles, and her clashes with Moses rise on the DEFCON scale – so madcap and raucous. They both are such skilled performers in movement, as are Bassa and Freed, that the free-for-all is a master class in over-the-top antics. Special nod to fight choreographer John Wilson, for the staging is quite a workout.

The men, in a bro-bonding way, gang up on the women as alliance shifts, pointing out animalistic instincts. It is Alan who mentions his belief in the God of Carnage – “He has ruled, interruptedly, since the dawn of time.”

Getting metaphorical, Reza is taking aim at the primal and violent nature of humanity that we are born with, our tendency toward aggression and self-interest. Despite modern education and culture, when those artificial societal norms masks are torn off, the true instincts can surface.

Hence, the digression into childish behavior, appearing like playground bullies as attacks become personal, and a wild night ensues. Rather than just a battle royale, it offers smart food-for-thought: When our ideas are challenged, how do we react because in our everyday lives, we all deal with difficult people and situations.

The technical aspects marvelously enhance the engaging experience, with lighting design by Jayson Lawshee-Gress and sound design by Kareem Deanes that is beautifully timed, especially the frequent cell phones — Kudos for picking “The Imperial March (Darth Vader’s Theme)” for Michael’s mother’s ringtone!

Costume Designer Michele Friedman Siler has chosen the ideal socio-economic status wardrobe for each character, down to the accessories, and props supervisor Laura Skroska has selected a colorful assortment of hospitality items for eating and drinking. (I particularly liked Veronica’s Frida Kahlo socks).

Because of the cast and crew’s high-level of commitment, the explosive rollercoaster-like proceedings come across effortlessly on stage, when in reality it took an amusement park-sized dedication to get the tempo, timing and storytelling arranged so precisely.

This outstanding production of “God of Carnage” maintains momentum and relevancy — and is laugh-out-loud funny. (You may have heard me on Thursday, June 25).

New Jewish Theatre presents “God of Carnage” June 11 – 28, which runs at the J’s Wool Studio Theatre (2 Millstone Campus Drive, St. Louis, MO 63146). Performances are on Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Showtimes and tickets are available by phone at 314.442.3283 or online at jccstl.com/njt

Bridgette Bassa gets feisty with Nick Freed. Photo by Jon Gitchoff.