Urbanite Theatre production of ‘Women Laughing Alone with Salad’ runs through May 6

Salad comes in for a beating and so might your own sensibilities about how we treat women in the wild, provocative but not always focused play “Women Laughing Alone with Salad,” which closes the Urbanite Theatre’s 2017-18 season.

Playwright Sheila Callaghan, a writer for the Showtime series “Shameless” (which might give you some idea of the play’s style), was inspired, at least in part, by the feminist blog Hairpin, which in 2011 began posting stock images of women looking overly happy to be eating salad.

Callaghan attempts to put real people (or stereotypes) behind those photos in a play that touches on body images, self-shame, the way women compete with and treat one another, and the insecurity of men trying to understand and properly appreciate women.

The play opens with the three women recreating those photographic images as they laugh uproariously while sitting on a park bench, stabbing at brightly colored bowls and shoving lettuce into their mouths. Meanwhile, Guy (played by Ben Williamson), sits opposite them and carefully and lovingly removes the foil wrapping on a burrito. The women watch with a mix of awe and envy.

From there, the play, directed with energy and intensity by Ria Cooper, gives personalities to the three women, who become interconnected. Annabelle Mayock plays Tori, Guy’s bulimic girlfriend, who is so thin people worry about her. Summer Wallace plays the more full-bodied Meredith, a flirtatious dancer Guy meets at a bar and brings home for a threesome. And Vickie Daignault plays Guy’s mother, a high-powered executive who now goes to disturbingly extreme measures to keep herself looking fresh and youthful.

Salad and vegetables are ever-present. In one scene, Guy works as a waiter and serves a plain green pepper, which he describes in flowery language: “Here’s a 46-calorie vegetable with a side of braised nothing.”

Guy lives with Tori but becomes fascinated with Meredith, maybe because she’s so different than his girlfriend, or maybe because she reminds him of his mother, Sandy, an imperious woman whose great expectations for her son could never be met.

It's a lively production with spirited performances from the four actors, who seem willing to try anything to provoke a reaction. It features lettuce flying, catfighting and a lot of seemingly impromptu dancing in a story that borders on the absurd by the end of the first act. Perhaps that’s why nearly half of the audience left at the intermission Wednesday night, surprising at a theater that usually attracts an adventurous crowd.

I understand the frustrations that may have caused the departures, but those who exited early missed out on a different perspective in the second act, which has the actors reverse gender roles as the characters explore how women view men in an extended scene set at a pharmaceutical company developing an ad campaign for a new antidepressant.

Wallace and Mayock play stereotypical “bros,” each trying to prove his masculinity in the way they scratch themselves, grab their crotches and talk about beer, sports and women. Daignault plays Guy at an older age, still trying to come to grips with women as he reviews ads and meets with his new boss (Williamson), who doesn’t like Guy’s attitude toward superiors or women in general.

The audience is seated in a U-shape around an open playing space, which scenic designer Jeff Weber fills with a variety of white benches that are rearranged in different positions to represent bedrooms, living rooms and a park. The locations are enhanced by a series of large screens showing fuzzy images of a nightclub or a park. Lighting designer Ryan E. Finzelber works some magic with colorful hues that transform each space, and costume designer Frank Chavez establishes the essence of the characters through clothing that ranges from trashy to demure.

At times, the play is puzzling as it pokes fun at stereotypes. While I wasn't personally involved with the characters, Callaghan does leave you with something to think and talk about, even if part of that conversation is focused on what it all means.