The set for Charles Grodin’s latest play, “The Right Kind of People,” is relentlessly neutral. There are tan leather chairs, a sofa in taupe, and weird light-up wall decorations in variations on ecru. The protagonist wears brown velvet; he’s practically in camouflage. And all this dun-colored dullness seems only appropriate – the play itself is as lumpy and beige as a bowl full of oatmeal.

At first, by telling the story of a Fifth Avenue co-op board, Mr. Grodin seems to be setting us up for a nasty satire of New York snobbery. The board members are arranged on the sofa (at least some are in blue, so we can make them out) in all their smug glory – the knee-jerk lefty, the pompous guy in a watch-chain, and a brace of closeted bigots. For 90 minutes, they decide on potential buyers, reject them for their tacky outfits, and get a little paranoid about the lobby flower arrangement. But instead of dropping some other, more savage shoe, Mr. Grodin makes these quibbles his entire play. He certainly makes his point about how small the wealthy can be, but he does so in a play of equal pettiness.

Our hero, Tom Rashman (Robert Stanton), the only guy under 50 in the room, spends the first half-hour as Mr. Grodin’s expositional pawn. New to the board, he can ask things like “What’s the social register?” and, my hand to God, “What’s limestone?” so that we can get the explanations out of the way. Brought onto the board by his beloved uncle Frank (Edwin Owens), Tom sees, as we see, that the board members have been corroded horribly by power. The board members see themselves as guardians of their pricy citadel, and years at the gates have made them suspicious of anything new (or potentially mess-making).

Tom wants to believe only the best of his uncle – it is not just familial loyalty that keeps them close, but also some hefty co-investments in Broadway musicals. This lets Mr. Grodin make hamhanded jokes about the risks of the theater, punctuated by two spit-takes and a look to the audience. Director Chris Smith only just restrains himself from adding a shave-and-a-haircut sound effect.

Mr. Grodin’s “climax” almost makes it past the audience unnoticed.In a profoundly uninteresting struggle for board control, Tom fails to back his uncle. The betrayal takes on ridiculous proportions, driving the family apart, and damaging the older man’s health. Here Mr. Grodin misses his comic mark – it’s not just that these pathetic building politics exist, but that they can make or break a man’s psyche. These Fifth Avenue apartments may overlook the Park, but they certainly encourage only the most limited perspectives.

The play wakes up from its doze only briefly, when a brash couple from Kansas City arrives for an interview. Fred Burrell, playing a Midwestern straight shooter, finally puts the toffs in their place. He has only a handful of lines to deliver, but his outraged disgust shows us one of many directions a better playwright might have gone. Instead, in “People,” attachments must be stated aloud, subtlety (except in room decor!) is discouraged, and a sad bit of audience-address takes the place of a conclusion.

While Primary Stages has picked a poor play, it does its usual bang-up job of choosing fantastic actors. Poor Mr. Stanton, with his easy everyman befuddlement, has to churn his wheels wildly just to get a little emotional traction. Mr. Owens telegraphs his state like a madman, but no more, perhaps, than a lonely fellow who wants to be pitied. Out of the gaggle of board members, Doris Belack stands out as the perpetually ruffled Betty Butler, constantly standing on her terrible principles. And certainly it’s a pleasure to see all these old hands on deck. But how grim to watch this leaky script capsize them.

Until March 5 (59 E. 59th Street, between Madison and Park Avenues, 212-279-4200).