Felicia Finley and Cast Photo by Carol Rosegg

Hybrid, because This Is Not a Drill plays like one-third disaster movie and two-thirds White Lotus, struggling to contain both the bungled history of the response to the supposed attack and the personal lives of the dramatis personae, principally well-off visitors whose individual crises constitute most of the narrative, and most of the songs. The lack of focus becomes apparent immediately, with a brief panic prologue as the warning is issued and the ensemble sings things like "I'm not prepared to draw my last breath." Then we flash back to White Lotus territory, where resort director Madeline (Marianne Tatum, a veteran pro who needs more to do) is welcoming the guests.

Their backstories are unraveled, expositorily and unexcitingly. There's the thirtysomething gay couple, workaholic Chris (Chris Doubet) and swishy Tony (Matthew Curiano), distraught over losing a foster child and conflicted over whether to wed. Revisiting their honeymoon site, Sophie (Aurelia Williams) and Derek (Gary Edwards) aren't sure they still love each other, and Derek has problems breathing, though he sure can hold a long note. Jessica (Felicia Finley) left her two young kids with her mother (Tatum) and is traveling solo, her husband (Bill Coyne) opting to stay home and boff a co-worker, cuing Jessica's several power ballads.

Among the Hawaiians, resort employees Kaleo (Kelvin Moon Loh) and Leilani (Cáitlín Burke) are a loving couple with a rebellious teenage son (Sam Poon) who wears a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and hates making nice with the tourists; he gets into a contrived fight with his parents, who confiscate his phone, setting up their where-is-he desperation as the alert unfolds. There's also a nameless Emergency Alert officer, strongly sung and hideously overacted by Lukas Poost, who fancies himself a rock star and manages to strut the stage and mug at the same time.

Gary Edwards and Aurelia Williams Photo by Carol Rosegg

And few complaints about the rest of the cast, most of whom make the most of what they're handed. Directed by Gabriel Barre, seldom a purveyor of understatement, a couple do go overboard: Curiano's Tony doesn't have to be quite so fey, and Finley, who does sing wonderfully, is more outwardly emotional than we'd expect Jessica to be. But Burke and Loh are a touchingly dedicated couple, Tatum draws sizable laughs on thin material, and Doubet, who has to go instantly from dour, reluctant traveler to let's-rock gentleman of leisure in the celebratory "Cincinnati Boys," just about convinces us of Chris's transition.

It's a handsome physical production, too, with an Edward Pierce set design that's pretty elaborate for Off-Broadway: a large thatched roof that tilts down to represent the confines of a fallout shelter, and projections, by Peter Brucker and Brad Peterson, that depict, among other things, the tweets between Trump and Kim Jong Un that triggered the crisis in the first place. Johanna Pan's costumes are just right for the characters, and Alan C. Edwards' lighting is rife with oranges and greens that ably evoke a tropical paradise.

There is, in fact, much to enjoy in This Is Not a Drill: a sometimes-tuneful score, a stageful of capable performers (and a couple of hams), a hardworking ensemble (Victor E. Chan, Xavier Reyes, T. Shyvonne Stewart) who enthusiastically inhabit several one-line roles. Doubet and her collaborators have basically hit the marks of musical storytelling, setting up and resolving the conflicts efficiently. A possible holocaust is just an odd premise for the frolicsome tone that prevails, and the foreknowledge that no disaster did actually happen that morning takes away whatever suspense there may be. Savor This Is Not a Drill for the musical diversions it offers, but for a coherent narrative that strikes the heart, look elsewhere.