It isn't often that I have just no reaction to something. I mean, I can develop an opinion on what you had for breakfast (and I probably will, by the way).
So what to make of my near-total indifference to "The Primrose Path" at the Guthrie?
A part of the problem is that this play is kind of supposed to be about nothing. Based on one of those Russian novels that's obscure enough for people who've read it to feel smug, it's the story of some wealthy, provincial people who all they think have a say in whether the virtuous and totally bland heroine, Liza, marries a swaggering young dullard or commits social suicide by wedding a mysterious, tainted nobleman.
As I understand it, this was supposed to be some kind of commentary on how silly Russia's landed gentry were -- why do these vacuous fools care so much about speaking perfect French when they live in a pre-Soviet backwater? -- but this isn't social commentary that has withstood the test of time. We like mocking the bourgeoisie every bit as much now as we did back then, but this play doesn't try to draw parallels or act as a mirror for today's society or anything useful like that.
Of course, lots of plays have succeeded despite being about nothing. I mean, Oscar Wilde made a career out of that. But those plays had witty scripts or sumptuous costumes or lavish sets. "The Primrose Path" is attractively staged, but in such a way that leaves no doubt the director wanted you to focus on something besides the stage and costumes.
But what? I have no idea.