I'm glad, in a way, that Lipstick on a Pig doesn't try to actually put lipstick on its own piggish plot. That at least makes it a more honest failure. But this bedside drama of a fractured family trying to recoup itself in its final hours pulls so much that's formulaic and that has been done before that it's like watching a "worst of" compilation that someone thought might be a "greatest hits." Though the play starts off strong with some paternal ambiguity, it's not handled with enough subtlety to be a big revelation, and the play swerves instead into a botched surgery for its dramatic closure. It's odd that a play this clean still manages to stay so mired and muddled, but between the sluggish script from Linda Evans and the hands-off direction of David Epstein, there's really nothing to take pleasure in from this production.