From left, Matthew David, Rhiannon Ragland, Alex Leydenfrost and Michelle Mountain in "Best of Friends."

photo by Danna Segrest, courtesy of the Purple Rose Theatre Co.

Several years ago, after a four year stint in grad school, my girlfriends and I tearfully parted ways, and I moved back to Michigan (and my long-suffering boyfriend) and wondered, “So, how do adults in ‘the real world’ develop friendships? How do they meet each other? How do they grow close? Is that even possible in adulthood?”

I never found satisfying answers to these questions, and the experience ultimately led me to conclude that this adult friendship thing was, in fact, a tricky business - a business that Jeff Daniels’ comedy “Best of Friends,” now having its world premiere at the Purple Rose Theatre, aims to explore.

Focused on two childless couples that stand on the threshold of becoming close friends - younger, middle class Ken (Matthew David) and Hannah (Rhiannon Ragland), and older, well-to-do John (Alex Leydenfrost) and Beth (Michelle Mountain) - “Best” chronicles the devolution of these four people, and the willful, no-holds-barred destruction of their status as “couple friends.” For when one member of the foursome quietly commits a small, but notable, theft in the other couple’s home, suddenly, the game is afoot, and the couples embark on an escalating battle of wits and cruelty.

Near the beginning, each character talks about how the other couple likes so many of the same things, and how they have similar worldviews. (Daniels basically asks us to take the characters at their word on this point.) But the statements ring hollow. Other than the fact that the couples live in the same community, and the two men can casually talk about baseball and play golf - they meet on a golf course, when one is reluctantly paired with the other (and then says something really rude to boot) - it’s awfully hard to imagine these two couples sharing much of anything in common. And that’s a problem. If a genuine affinity isn’t there to begin with, what, exactly, is at stake and being lost?

In addition, while the first scenes seem quirky but thoughtful about their subject - the challenges of intimacy in both friendship and in marriage - the play soon takes a surprisingly over-the-top, dark turn that I didn’t feel prepared for, and thus homes in on another topic entirely: middle-class, suburban America’s seemingly boundless capacity for an insidiously banal brand of evil. Nothing said between these “friends” can be taken at face value, and that’s where much of the play’s tension lies.

Daniels’ script certainly contains sharp moments of laugh-out-loud humor, and director Guy Sanville knows precisely how to stage them, as well as the play’s jumps in time and place (though I’ll confess that I’m never a fan of characters talking/yelling over each other, and there’s more than one instance of this in “Best”). Mostly, though, I found myself feeling more and more depressed as the characters’ ugly antics grew increasingly outrageous. Watching unlikable, petty grown-ups hurt each other for an intermissionless hour-and-change can be brutal, whether there are funny moments along the way or not.

Even so, the four actors - particularly Ragland and David - do some really good work; Vincent Mountain’s thoughtful set design (in conjunction with Danna Segrest’s properties design) provides a visually simple, versatile space that can stand in for each of the couple’s homes; Sally Converse-Doucette’s costume design conveys much about the characters’ personalities and social class before they even open their mouths; and Dana White’s lighting design helps to clarify the play’s various shifts.

Wisely, Daniels establishes the rules of the play’s world early on, having the characters engage with each other as well as the audience. But even so, the play I ended up watching wasn’t the one I expected after watching those first scenes, story-wise, thereby giving "Best" the feel of a mean sucker punch.

Jenn McKee is the entertainment digital journalist for AnnArbor.com. Reach her at jennmckee@annarbor.com or 734-623-2546, and follow her on Twitter @jennmckee.