Lucky Lindy, as we all know, didn’t turn out to be so lucky after all. Following his famous flight in the Spirit of St. Louis, Charles Lindbergh faced invasive public scrutiny, lost his child in a botched kidnapping, and destroyed his reputation by opposing American involvement in World War II vociferously. Apparently, celebrity is a far more corrosive and dangerous force than the salt winds over the Atlantic.

In “Flight,” now at the Lucille Lortel, playwright Garth Wingfield tells Lindy’s story with clarity and affection. An attractive production and a high-flying cast helps the piece transcend many of the usual limits of biopics – but, as is often the case, a “life” never quite turns into a satisfactory play. The tenderest attention is reserved for Lindbergh (Gregg Edelman) and his wife Anne (Kerry O’Malley), whose quiet relationship onstage actually feels like a marriage. Repeatedly, though, we see their peaceful life ripped apart by the newspapers.

Brian d’Arcy James plays the whole bloodthirsty gang of newspapermen, cracking out lines like he’s slapping a drunk. The Reporter (in one of his many guises) forces fame on Lindbergh, and fame is madness. Women offer their own babies as substitutes for the son the Lindberghs lost; a newspaper photographer grabs shots of their dissected child on an autopsy table.

The play takes an unexpected turn when Lindbergh goes from being fame’s victim to its deluded collaborator. Accepting a medal of honor from the Third Reich, defending German scientists in the press, and pitching his full effort into keeping America out of World War II, Lindy loses a lot of his flyboy glamour.

Mr. Edelman’s Lindbergh has so won us with his aw-shucks charm that we desperately want to believe him when he says he has been misunderstood. But director Nick Corley uses archival footage (projected by designers Michael Deegan and Sarah Conly) of the addresses in question – and Lindbergh damns himself.

As a play, the ride has its spots of turbulence. But as a cautionary tale about fame, callousness, and pride, it’s still a “Flight” worth boarding.

***

The concentration of British plays at the Brits Off Broadway Festival at 59E59 should serve as chastener to our city. When it comes to theatrical responsiveness to contemporary realities, New York has a lot to learn. Here we sit, in a city that was only months ago roiled with festivals and street puppets and politically oriented plays. Yet after the election, our theater has found other things to think about.

Perhaps it’s because of how slowly scripts work their way through literary departments (readers are only now highlighting scripts from 2002). Perhaps it’s because most of the war dead live in states rather more landlocked than our own. Or perhaps it’s because today’s playwrights feel shy about jumping into a messy topic that won’t permit irony.

Whatever the reason, the main venue in New York discussing our national affairs is 59E59. From one-man shows about the Palestinian territory to their biggest opening to date, “The Pull of Negative Gravity,” the cross-section of British drama seems in the grip of monomania about the Middle East.

Jonathan Lichtenstein’s “The Pull of Negative Gravity” sums up in one evening the great price and pleasures of the politically responsive play. Mr. Lichtenstein and the production from Mercury Theatre Colchester barely take time to shape their story – too much emotion geysers onto the stage for that. Performances are earnest, and often shade into melodrama. The piece is unrelenting, repetitive, taxing, and occasionally absurd. Mr. Lichtenstein and company don’t seem interested in a “well-made” play – this is a barbaric “yawp” of outrage and despair. But the chaos feels appropriate: Yawps don’t usually follow the rules.

A small farm in Wales waits for one of its own to return from the war. Dai (Lee Haven-Jones) won’t be coming home to much – times are hard and the land has been steadily losing money. In his absence something else may have been lost as well – his brother Rhys (Daniel Hawksford) has been courting Dai’s fiancee Bethan (Louise Collins.) Bethan’s tensions are about to pull her apart, and when she isn’t tending soldiers in the burn ward or Dai’s mother (Joanne Howarth), she stands on the hilltop trying to “dance” with landing helicopters.

Dai’s absence has nearly driven the family mad – but his return turns them toward catastrophe. By play’s end, nearly everyone (and, you feel, the land itself) has committed suicide of one form or another. No play can bear all these deaths – spiritual and actual – and soon the body count is approaching the Jacobean. But wag our fingers as we might at the excess in “The Pull of Negative Gravity,” and it still seems to be pointing back at us.

“Flight” until June 19 (121 Christopher Street, between Hudson and Bleeker Streets, 212-279-4200).

“The Pull of Negative Gravity” until June 5 (59 E. 59th Street, between Park and Lexington Avenues, 212-753-5959).