In a word-association test, if someone said “Chekhov,” my bet is that no one would respond “musical.” Yet Moscow, the current Diversionary Theatre offering, labors mightily to coherently blend those two incongruous elements. It doesn’t succeed.

John Whitley and Kevin Koppman-Gue.

^{Photo byKen Jacques}

Nick Salamone’s script borrows the premise of Sartre’s No Exit — three persons, with conflicting personalities, are trapped in a limbo between life and death. Here they’re all gay, confined in what appears to be a windowless theater, and come across a copy of Chekhov’s The Three Sisters. Jon, who has a theatrical background, sees their existential parallel with Chekhov’s trio of siblings, who yearn to leave their country home and go to Moscow but who feel trapped by circumstances. Jon proposes (much like the prisoners in Kiss of the Spider Woman) that they should pass the time doing a musical version of Sisters.

One companion, Matt, likes the idea. The other, Luke, resists. Yes, their names are Matt, Luke and Jon. And Jon had a good friend who died. His name was — ta da — Mark. Significant? Not in this tale, unless it makes you surmise that the Gospel authors wanted to do musicals.

Those names comprise just one of the Salamone contrivances that contribute to disbelief in the whole enterprise. Another: Matt, it turns out, came from Moscow, Idaho, allowing him to sing about (irony alert) leaving Moscow.

Luke, a not-so-smart street hustler, would rather play sockball than do musical theater, but his reluctance conveniently vanishes whenever Salamone’s script calls for an ensemble number. Actually, motivations — other than Jon’s desire to put on a show — are murky throughout, including the physical and emotional attractions that ebb and flow among the three.

You needn’t be overly familiar with Chekhov’s play because Jon, sometimes assisted by Matt, constantly details the Sisters plot and actions. When he’s not, the characters reveal their backstories and secrets. Luke, from Alabama, was good at baseball but was caught by his father giving head at age 14. His father ran him out of town by wielding a Bible and a baseball bat. Matt, it turns out, is a virgin who was sexually abused as a child. Jon, not surprisingly, is a control freak.

None of the stories carry any insight, and they don’t coalesce into a meaningful whole. A Three Sisters-like finale hints of improved togetherness but clarifies nothing.

Salamone exhibits more skill with lyrics than with libretto, especially in his rhyming. But too often, the upcoming line could be written by the audience. As for Maury R. McIntyre’s music, the melodies sound too similar and repetitious. A couple of numbers ended so abruptly, there was a long pause before any applause, indicating that the audience didn’t realize the song had finished.

The cast — Angelo D’Agostino as Matt/Masha, John Whitley as Jon/Olga, and Kevin Koppman-Gue as Luke/Irina — acts about as well as the dialog allows, although Koppman-Gue’s accent, never truly Deep South, frequently goes North. Whitley sings best, while D’Agostino tries hard to juice up his numbers with some extra soul. Ira Spector’s direction can’t cover up the script’s many inadequacies.

Karin Filijan’s lighting, mostly netherworldly, was sometimes tentative. Megan Schmidt’s black-walled set featured backstage and sockball props and remnants of theatrical curtains, some of which assist in her costume design — the shawl, skirt and babushka that the men use when portraying the sisters. Musical director Patrick Marion’s piano provides the most prominent accompaniment, assisted by Anna Brown’s violin and Rik Ogden’s flute.

Cast, credits and musical numbers