The adage "write what you know" is one of the most well-worn pieces of advice in the old literary playbook. For Jeff Bowen and Hunter Bell, the creators of the musical "[title of show]”—which runs through February 13 at the Boston Center for the Arts— this saying became the playbook. And as an aspiring writer, perhaps I can follow in their footsteps.

I considered writing this review. Then I wrote some words of this review, deleted some words, played some video games, tried more words, ate some food, tried more words again, ate more food, more words, more video games, more food. And then I deleted it all.

Here I am, writing about writing a review of a “musical about two guys writing a musical about two guys writing a musical.” Simple. Yet, catchy enough to make it all the way to Broadway.

The show follows a rather unexciting and predictable plot line: the development of the production itself. Originally created as a submission to and eventual performance at the New York Musical Theatre Festival, "[title of show]" (which is so named after the "title of show" position on the Festival's application) marches from the musical's conception in 2004 to its run off-Broadway at the Vineyard Theatre, after which it transferred to Broadway. These developments in the show's history were incorporated into the script as they came.

However, it is not the plot that one would expect to drive this performance. Any suspense about the internal play's success is muted by the performance's very existence. Once the premise is established—here are four friends sitting on four chairs in a New York City apartment trying to achieve their dream—the expectations are set for a show that has cloyingly put a keyboardist, Larry (Will McGarrahan), in the corner of the apartment space to acknowledge as its self-awareness sees fit.

What ultimately engages, then, is the snap of the dialogue and the wit of the lyrics. In the original productions, Bell (who wrote the book) and Bowen (who penned the music and lyrics) co-starred alongside their three original collaborators: Susan Blackwell, Heidi Blickenstaff, and musical director Larry Pressgrove. In this production presented by the SpeakEasy Stage Company, the actors benefit from such an organic breeding ground; the chemistry between them is easily channeled into the jokes that play on the comfortable freedom of imagination that comes from being among friends.

Such evidence of homegrown humor often takes the form of the portmanteau: "hangry" as a word for hunger-induced anger, "procrasturbating" as one for procrastinating by masturbating. The interactions of the characters—Jeff (Jordan Ahnquist), Hunter (Joe Lanza), Heidi (Amy Barker), and Susan (Val Sullivan)—necessitate both the familiarity of raunchiness for hilarity's sake and the innocence of expression. From this dynamic, the most memorable moments are born: an entire number dedicated to the idea of a monkey riding a speedboat constructed around the theme of "Broadway musicals"; the hilarity of "What Kind of Girl Is She?" as Heidi and Susan both imagine that the other "might try to steal my husband! She might try to have my baby!"; and the earnest resistance in the face of critics and the breezily creative as embodied in the line "a little part of me just wants to punch those motherfuckers in the teeth," from the song "Die, Vampire, Die."

But at about the time the show reaches off-Broadway, the shtick starts to get a bit stale. Hunter's attempt to exclude the too-committed Heidi from the Broadway run puts an exceptionally cliché bump in the fabulous foursome's trail, while the inclusion of any of the musical’s developments or numbers starting with the song "Change It, Don't Change It/Awkward Photo Shoot" only serves to supplement the uncomfortable, forced mood in the most unfortunate of ways. "A Way Back to Then" is the exact sort of mushy, heartfelt song that Jeff stops Hunter from singing in the beginning; "Nine People's Favorite Thing" is a cute and mediocre attempt at a number based on a number.

“[title of show]” offers self-referentialism, off-color jokes, and hilariously naïve attempts at inner-city slang. But like a wittier "Will and Grace," its execution—endearingly realized in this iteration—is weighed down by sticking too closely to the book.

—Staff writer Beryl C.D. Lipton can be reached at blipton@fas.harvard.edu.