David Schwimmer's latest directorial effort, Fault Lines, starts out with a cue from his long-lasting festival of canned laughs, Friends: a couple of likable buddies shoot the shit as the audience waits patiently for something to happen. In the middle of an emotional conversation about their friendship and the direction it has taken, in walks an annoying, intrusive guy. At this point, Stephen Belber's play takes a dark turn, shifting into murder-mystery mode before finally settling in as a psychological drama. Schwimmer milks some of the lines for laughs, but this is the uncomfortable kind of humor that creeps under the skin in order to provoke — just like the play itself.