In the production of “All’s Well that Ends Well” now at the Duke, Shakespeare seems more than two centuries ahead of his time – and not just because the production dresses everyone in Victorian starch. Here the bard who gave us everything from obsessive love (“Othello”) to foolish love (“Midsummer’s”), delivers a cynical perspective on the emotion as caustic as the modern age. Not for nothing do scholars compare “All’s Well” to Ibsen’s “Doll’s House.” In both, love doesn’t conquer all; it could scarcely tackle a blind flea.

Always a “problem” comedy because of its bleak portrait of love, “All’s Well” doesn’t get nearly the same exposure as Shakespeare’s cheerier plays (even “Shrew” seems rosy by comparison). The Theater for a New Audience version doesn’t apologize for the darkness; rather the company plays to it, turning the whole nutty enterprise into a poisoned bonbon for Valentine’s Day. At first, that darkness threatens to overwhelm Darko Tresnjak’s production – his visual puns and giggly use of Michelangelo’s “David” don’t pierce the gloom of the opening acts. But once we return from intermission (and the action moves to Florence), the play starts to bare its teeth. As callous as George Bernard Shaw at his prickliest, and with the vengeance obsession of a Mamet or LaBute, “All’s Well” runs roughshod over the nicer emotions. It seems a fun way of getting a kick in the teeth.

The chirpy title aside, this play gets its laughs from gallows humor, and so we start off with a bushel load of death. Helena’s (dead) father was once doctor to the (dead) count, and she has been raised in his household, mooning over the count’s worthless son Bertram (Lucas Hall). Beloved by the widowed countess (Laurie Kennedy), Helena (Kate Forbes) is always kept just close enough to grind salt in her wounds, and looking drippily at Bertram from across a room never seems to make him love her back.

Shakespeare clearly enjoyed giving his heroines professions – but he usually clad them in trousers first. When Portia argues before the court, she does so from behind a false mustache, and we’re even meant to believe that Rosalind, cross-dressed, makes a passable shepherd. But when Helena goes to court to try her father’s cures on the king, she does it in her skirts and veil. All this female empowerment, and yet she only demands one reward for her cure – a husband. When Bertram finds himself railroaded into marrying the dowdy, boot-wearing doctor’s daughter, he vamooses for the war.

Grossly humiliating letters follow – Bertram spurns Helena elaborately, claiming he’ll only acknowledge her after she bears his child (and he never plans to touch her). Everyone from the countess to Bertram’s fellow soldiers seem to recognize Helena’s worth, but still Bertram would rather clown around with Parolles (the foxy Adam Stein) and try to bed decent Italian virgins. After wearing herself out with these methods, Helena finally disguises herself, tricks Bertram into sleeping with her, and then confronts him magnificently back in France. It’s a bit like “Pygmalion” if Eliza had learned scheming instead of speaking, and had wound up her plot by hog-tying the Professor into marriage.

Mr. Tresnjak is clearly tickled by such parallels. When she first arrives to bring the king his much-needed medicine, Helena dresses like Mary Poppins, complete with carpetbag. And when the countess, diverted from her grief by Lavatch (John Christopher Jones), the clownish serf, Linda Cho’s every costume will make you think of Queen Victoria in her “Mrs. Brown” phase. The quotes, however, never overwhelm the logic of the piece – these are not gratuitous, cartoonish interruptions, but little embellishments to enhance our affection for the characters.

And affection, especially for Bertram, is in short supply. At least Parolles, while a rotten cad, is charming – too chicken to fight, he fences verbally instead with a savvy old Lord (Tom Bloom), his fellow soldiers, and eventually, Lavatch. Mr. Stein seems largely responsible for the bubbling excitement of the second half, and Mr. Tresnjak populates his scenes with enormously capable foils. When Mr. Stein biffs himself with a drumstick, or welches spectacularly on a duel, he might make you root for him over the golden-haired hero. And though Mr. Hall plays Bertram as brash rather than wicked – certainly one would wish a more imaginative choice for Helena than this spoiled brat.

Still, even if the play’s title sounds a bit sour in the final bow (what a horrible pair these two will make!), it’s still an appropriate one for the evening. At the intermission, the oppressively black marble set or perhaps the desperate, pathetic nature of our heroine, had gotten the audience down. In this weather, did we need so much defeat? But Shakespeare saves his best bits for the last acts, and when he delivers them, he does so in an avalanche of folly, comeuppances, and dirty jokes. Truly, sticking around will be its own reward – because Mr. Tresnjak’s production ends really, really well.

Until March 19 (229 W. 42nd Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, 212-239-6200).