Bobby Steggert, Frederick Weller, Grayson Taylor, and Tyne Daly in Mothers and Sons
(©Joan Marcus)

There’s a distressing air of familiarity about Terrence McNally’s Mothers and Sons, and it’s not only because it’s a sequel to his one-act play Andre’s Mother which was later adapted into an Emmy Award-winning 1990 PBS drama. That short work depicted an encounter between the lover of a young man who had died of AIDS and the victim’s mother, who remained silent throughout. In this 90-minute drama set decades later in the present day, the mother, Katharine (Tyne Daly), finally gets to speak up. Unfortunately, what she has to say isn’t very interesting.

Set in the spacious Upper West Side apartment of Andre’s ex Cal (Frederick Weller), the play, set in real time, depicts the encounter that ensues when Katherine suddenly drops by unannounced for the ostensible purpose of dropping off Andre’s journal. It soon becomes clear that what she is really seeking is a connection to her dead son via the man who loved him and who is now happily married to the much younger Will (Bobby Steggert) and the father of a six-year-old son, Bud (Grayson Taylor).

Cal is obviously nervous during the strained conversation, attempting to regale the emotionally brittle Katherine with the expansive view of Central Park from their apartment and pointing out nearby landmarks. Directing her attention to the Metropolitan Museum, he takes care to explain that while East Siders regard it as the Met, for West Siders the term refers to the Metropolitan Opera.

Katherine, who lives in Texas and who recently lost her husband to cancer, is obviously still grieving for her son, as evidenced by her discomfort upon seeing his face on a poster for a production of Hamlet in which he played the title role. It’s also obvious that she’s still uncomfortable about his sexuality and resentful about the fact that she’s lost everyone meaningful in her life while Cal has gone on to a happy new existence.

The evidence for that becomes visible when his husband and son return home, with the inquisitive little boy not shy about asking their visitor about her relationship with his parents. Myriad emotional issues are brought up, including Will’s feelings about filling the shoes of Cal’s former partner.

McNally here attempts to explore the shifting tides of gay life, when AIDS has receded into the background and marriage has become a viable option for many. At the same time, there’s been little change in the attitudes of many people, especially those of a previous generation who find it impossible to shed their prejudices.

It’s a worthy idea that isn’t developed in a particularly interesting way, with the playwright rehashing familiar themes from such previous works as Love! Valour! Compassion! and Lips Together, Teeth Apart, among others. And here his gift for naturalistic dialogue seems to have abandoned him. Endlessly talky and didactic, the exposition-filled Mothers and Sons feels less like a real-life encounter between disparate types than an opportunity for his characters to act as mouthpieces ticking off key talking points. It all feels too neat and tidy, down to the adorable little boy who represents a shining example of the virtues of gay parenthood.

As usual, Daly is superb, evoking Katherine’s emotional brittleness and sardonic humor with her sharp-edged delivery and perfect comic timing. Steggert is equally effective, coming across as effortlessly natural, while Weller, speaking in carefully rarified tones, seems even more uncomfortable than his character needs to be. Child actor Taylor is a real find, even if his high-pitched voice renders some of his dialogue unintelligible.

Director Sheryl Kaller--also treading familiar territory here after her Broadway production of Next Fall, which trafficked in similar themes—is unable to bring much life to the seemingly interminable, static proceedings. By the time Daly’s Katherine finally prepares to pack up and leave the apartment, you’ll find yourself wishing that her visit had been much briefer.

Golden Theatre, 252 W. 45 St. 212-239-6200. www.Telecharge.com.