Jodi Balfour and Babak Tafti Photo by Ahron R. Foster

For all intents and purposes, Lowcountry is a two-hander (a third character bookends and gives some context to the play), and so for most of the time, we are privy to the interactions between the pair. Their back-and-forth time together is marked by truths, half-truths, self-justification, and self-demeaning conversation, with the always-visible bed beckoning just a few feet away behind a poorly jerry-rigged curtain.

He is David (Babak Tafti), the self-deprecating if genial sex offender, a divorced father whose goal, we are repeatedly told, is to regain at least some parental rights with a son he desperately misses. That purported goal, however, has not prevented him from taking the risk of inviting a woman he has been texting with to his shabby, bug-infested apartment (faithfully captured in Arnulfo Maldonado's set design).

That would be Tally (Jodi Balfour), who has returned from Los Angeles to her hometown in rural South Carolina ("We love this great state," she says, "that, uh, started the Civil War"). She says she has come back to help out her father, but we quickly learn she is mostly in retreat from a failed attempt at a Hollywood film acting career, along with many foiled personal relationships along the way.

Who or what to believe when these two share their respective "truths" is the audience's challenge. Sex offenders are not generally known for facing up to what they have done, and David's version ("I'm not a sociopath," he reassures Tally) would seem to fall into that stereotypical categorization. As for Tally, her flair for the dramatic and a proclivity to indulge in wine, marijuana, and deliberate obfuscation make her out to be an even messier mess than is David.

Undoubtedly, it's not exactly fun in the usual rom-com sense to watch these two banter, flirt, and poke at each other for most of the play's 95-minute run time. But Lowcountry is never less than compelling in the hands of these fine actors, well directed by Jo Bonney. Babak Tafti's inherent charm and genial demeanor as David and Jodi Balfour's ability to give us an always-unpredictable Tally make for quite a match-up.

The one misstep, without which Lowcountry could well rest on a commitment to being a quirky two-person character study, is the inclusion of the third member of the cast. That would be Keith Kupferer as Paul, David's Sexaholics Anonymous sponsor and the play's designated villain.

Legally, there is no reason that David and Tilly can't, or even shouldn't date. But Paul demands very strict constraints, holding out the possibility of a restoration of parental visitation rights to David in exchange for a life in punitive isolation. We first encounter Paul at the beginning, as a voiceover on a telephone call. He later turns up in person at a most inopportune time, triggering a sudden change in tone that is difficult to reconcile with the rest of the play. Too bad, because what would seem to be a perfectly fitting ending occurs shortly before Paul's entrance, thanks to a surprising musical interlude that suggests there is, indeed, a place in this world, even for the damaged.