With no trajectory, it's an evening about people saying things -- words strung together to form an empty, silly, and meandering narrative. Nothing works. It's a musical with all the song cues and no tunes.
Don't go to Hands on a Hardbody, the new musical at the Brooks Atkinson imported from a critically praised run in California, expecting titillation (the hardbody is a red pickup truck) or a revelation in contemporary musical scoring.
This production misses the mark because it emphasizes the wrong sets of emotions. In a dark, noir-like setting, Holly gets wrapped up in the nightlife. Fred gets lost in the shuffle. But you never feel that either of them is comfortable in their own skin.