'Crossing Delancey' offers warm, human comedy

“Crossing Delancey” was a play before it was a hit film. 

Susan Sandler’s comedy came out in 1985. Sam Shepard’s “A Lie of the Mind” premiered the same year. But you’d never know it.

Sandler’s play is relentlessly old-fashioned. Imagine one of Sholem Aleichem’s shtetl fables transposed to 20th century America.

Once upon a time there was a young woman. She lived in New York City’s Lower East Side …

Isabelle “Izzy” Grossman (Lauren Ward) is the young woman in question — a smart, single 20-something. She has a job in a bookstore and no love life to distract her, apart from an unrequited crush on Tyler Moss (Joshua Brinn), an emerging author who periodically pops into the shop. (Izzy thinks he’s checking her out; he’s actually checking out book sales.) 

Izzy’s grandmother “Bubbie” (Sandra Musicante) is tired of waiting for grandkids. To speed things up, she goes old-school and teams up with a matchmaker, Hannah (Trudie Kessler). They contrive to introduce Izzy to Sam (Jeff Cima), a good-hearted man in the family pickle business. 

So, the two nice young people meet. It’s not love at first sight, though something stirs. But Izzy’s heart is still set on that author. Whose heart, it turns out, is not in the right place. Along with his groping hands.

Ward’s Izzy is sweet and bubbly. Her character isn’t worldly wise. She’s also no idiot, and the world hasn’t slapped the childlike love of life out of her. Cima’s Sam is the play’s designated Mr. Nice Guy. Sam is neither assertive nor insecure. He’s a soft-spoken mensch with hidden depths. Musicante’s elderly Bubbie is not to be underestimated. She’s a force of nature and an audience favorite. Kessler’s pushy, nosey Hannah is a running joke, but she’s a funny running joke. Brinn smoothly embodies the rat fink writer without telegraphing his narcissistic self-absorption.

Carole Kleinberg directs this talented quartet with a low-key, naturalistic approach. She never elbows you in the ribs to force the laugh. The laughs come naturally and flow from characters, not punch lines.

Those characters are well-written. As conventional as it is, Sandler’s story feels sincere, not manipulative. Her play is funny, in a wise, warm-hearted way. Is there schmaltz? Believe it. But not an overdose.

The play draws contrasts between old and new, modern and traditional, upscale and working class. The obvious takeaway? Nineteenth century solutions still work for 20th century characters. But there’s another, subtler, lesson.

Sandler hints that good writers care (and are deeply curious) about people, as opposed to using them. Sam, the pickle man, may be a budding Studs Terkel. He’s collected stories from the Lower East Side. Evidently, they’re worth publishing.

He’s a nice guy. But he might not finish last.