Jodi Long, Jennifer Ikeda, Anna Zavelson, and Jully Lee Photo by Joan Marcus

These four Chinese Republicans are, first of all, women, and, second, go-getters. They're higher-ups at Friedman Wallace, "NYC's most successful investment bank north of 14th Street," as one of them, Iris (Jully Lee), has it. She's in software, while Ellen (Jennifer Ikeda) is a managing director. Katie (Anna Zavelson) is recently out of college and impressing everyone with her work in the wealth strategies department–most especially Ellen, who is mentoring her and sees her as a possible secret weapon in her long-frustrated ambition to make partner. Katie is young and enthusiastic, and she has an advantage her colleagues lack: She doesn't look very Asian. Preceding, and dominating, these three is Phyllis (Jodi Long), an elegant sixtysomething now relegated to the somewhat marginal position of executive consultant, after years as head of investments. Phyllis was the first Chinese woman to become a managing director at a New York investment firm, and she won't let anyone forget it.

They meet monthly for an "affinity group" luncheon at a Chinese restaurant, evocatively designed by Wilson Chin (a revolving stage swiftly evokes the other locations). But it's really a bull session, a chance to dish office gossip and strategize how to further their impressive but still male-dominated careers. And to curse and insult one another.

Really, this is not a friendly bunch. They snipe, they talk over one another, they sabotage each other's goals. One of Lin's most striking points is how an ethnic group nominally rooted in solidarity can let that solidarity rot when confronted with possible personal gain. Ellen, outwardly devoted to the well-being of her peers, does something shocking to Iris when she sees her as a roadblock. Phyllis, played by Long with the rigid body language, withering stares, and stiletto line readings (and stiletto heels; the apt costumes are by Anita Yavich) of a top dog who wants to stay on top and doesn't care what happens to those below her, exudes contempt, often hilariously. Typing on her laptop, warned by Ellen not to bang it when it runs slow, she seethes, "First I can't hit my kids, then I can't hit my dog, and now I can't hit my own damn computer? You people are deranged."

Lin builds the office politics and conflicts slowly and credibly, dropping telling character points along the way. And then, when Katie is passed over for a promotion, the plotting goes a bit astray. Phyllis delivers a buck-up monologue to the sullen Katie that I just didn't buy. Then Katie pulls a political switcheroo that I didn't buy either–nothing in her background or previous dialogue, however well delivered by Zavelson, hints that Katie would do this–and her sudden turnabout powers most of the rest of the action. I spent much of the last half hour thinking, "This wouldn't happen."

The stagecraft can be clumsy: When a character is missing and the others are dispensing where-is-she dialogue, she instantly appears, several times. But Lin does wrap things up with a riveting Ellen-Katie face-off, where Ellen's essential loneliness–childless, divorced, her job is her whole life–comes to the fore, and Katie's humanity vs. the killer instinct she has absorbed from hanging around the other three battle for supremacy. There's a telling moment where Ellen wants to comfort Katie, reaches out to touch her, then thinks the better of it.

It's a fine denouement, and we also appreciate the renewed emphasis on the title's second half, with Ellen sounding positively Trumpian: "Those people who fucking throw their lives away–those people who fucking end up on the street–those are the same fucking people who are pushing us into subway cars and punching us in the face. They want to cry about their missed opportunities and their sob stories and all this other bullshit when the fact of the matter is, they're lazy, they're stupid, all they know how to do is take and take and take and take and take." Sounds pretty current, no? Actually, Chinese Republicans is set in the prehistoric days of 2019, and I'd have liked a few more hints about that. Also a few less abrupt emotional transitions: That this sisterhood would be supportive and then turn on one another on a dime can strain credibility.

That said, Lin can construct a setup and punchline with the best of them, and she gives this talented ensemble–which also includes Ben Langhorst, doing what he can with the rather pointless role of a put-upon waiter–plenty to chew on. Chay Yew directs for pace; I didn't mind the sometimes-unintelligible overlapping dialogue, it's accenting the competitiveness among these ladies. And Fabian Obispo's sound design is some of the best I've heard this season: natural-sounding dialogue, surrounding percussive music for atmosphere, party banter audible only when someone opens the door to the next room.

"Alex Lin is just a girl from New Jersey," begins her Playbill bio. She's a gifted one, a 2026 Forbes 30 Under 30 pick. If Chinese Republicans contains the occasional dramatic infelicity, it also presents a playwright we'll want to hear more from.