The cast of "Free" (Photos by Christine Retzer, courtesy of [Inside] the Ford)

This is the premise of Barbara Lindsay’s “Free,” a play of such well-meaning sincerity that it pains me to declare it a failure. But its problems are too numerous to call it anything else.

The most unforgivable is Marshall himself, played by Michael Earl Reid. Marshall is the world’s only “floater” — he can literally float off the ground. Discovered by Stoney Madonna (Greg Albanese), Marshall is convinced that his gift should be shared with the world, and for a small nightly fee. The Stoney-Marshall act is born.

But as Stoney obsesses over the show, Marshall grows tired of it. No one cares about his gift, he thinks — and, what’s worse, he doesn’t either. He would do anything to be “normal.” When he meets Patsy (Jane McPherson), one of the maids at his motel, he becomes convinced that making beds and cleaning bathrooms is what he is truly meant to do, not parade himself nightly in front of disbelieving audiences. He puts weights on his legs and vows never to float again — much to Stoney’s unconcealed anger.

This, mostly, is what’s wrong with Marshall as a character. To repress so forcibly a gift so unimaginable is a crime against God-given nature. Lindsay is trying desperately to say something meaningful about our tendency to shy away from our most special talents, but the effort is graceless and at times infuriating. Don’t give your main character one of humanity’s most primal urges and then have him do everything in his power to repress it — especially if his reasons for doing so are artificial and unconvincing.

Complicating matters is that Reid’s portrayal of Marshall is deeply problematic. The play is billed as a comedy, but there is nothing comedic about Reid’s Marshall, a mentally disturbed, infantile man-child. There is no explanation given for this, nor any acknowledgement by the other characters of Marshall’s serious mental condition.

This makes for far too many uncomfortable moments, as when Stoney screams at Marshall (whom he insists on calling “Free”) for abandoning the show and him, his only “friend.” Frustration is one thing, but this is inhumanity.

This is where it gets difficult to separate play from performance. Was “Free” written to be performed in such a way? Albanese’s Stoney can be affecting, but in the emotional scenes, his overacting, especially opposite Reid’s cowering, unbalanced Marshall, is disturbing.

Part of it might be the fault of director Wendy Worthington, who clearly likes this material but can’t find a tone. The scenes with Althea Turlock (an outrageous Dagney Kerr), a dissatisfied married woman who shows up at Marshall’s room demanding he teach her how to float, are very funny, especially when her doting dolt of a husband (Donaco Smyth) shows up to win her back. McPherson’s scenes are also light-hearted.

But everything in between is perverted with an ugliness that stems from the ill-considered choices of the two principal actors. Their relationship is central to the play, its redemption at the end essential to the play’s success. Yet when it comes — the moment everyone is waiting for — there is only confusion: at how we got to this point, why, and for what. The tone once again shifts to an otherworldliness totally unprepared for. Add that to the inhumanity of certain scenes, the high comedy of others, and “Free” devolves into an incoherent free-for-all of characters with unknown agendas trying to force their emotions and beliefs onto each other.

Yet, as problematic as “Free” is, I believe its heart is in the right place. There is something very special buried deep within, a message of substance and worth. Nobody involved in this production seems to fully grasp what that is, and they compensate by overdoing it. Best to pull back and play it straight. “Free” is an imperfect play, and even a perfect performance can’t save it from itself. But at least then, it can fail on its own — the most honorable kind of failure.

Reach Senior Arts Editor Jason Kehe here.