"4000 Miles," at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater These include, aside from Ms. Herzog's beautifully rendered portrait of the relationship between an old-style lefty grandmother and her new-style lefty grandson, the extraordinary performances from the two actors in those roles: the veteran Mary Louise Wilson and the relative newcomer Gabriel Ebert, bringing matching reserves of heart, humor and, most important, honesty to their roles under the sensitive direction of Daniel Aukin. This is the rare theatrical production that achieves perfection on its own terms. Those terms are not the stuff of fire-breathing drama, full of flinty confrontation and soul-baring emotional revelation, Drama with a capital D. Ms. Herzog's gift is to capture the precise texture of life in all its ambiguity and lack of tidy resolution, while still holding our attention fast by tapping into the compassion and curiosity about human nature that draws us (let us hope) to the theater. As the play opens, Mr. Ebert's Leo is arriving at the front door of his grandmother's Greenwich Village apartment at 3 a.m., looking scruffy and towing a baggage-laden bike into the kitchen. Vera (Ms. Wilson), startled from sleep, can only mumble questions expressing perplexity and mild consternation before returning to her bedroom to put in her dentures. Leo has been cycling across the country but at some point stopped communicating with his family back in Minneapolis. An affirmed eco-enthusiast, he doesn't even have a cellphone. His unexpected arrival stirs Vera's anxiety about his emotional state, not to mention her guilt when he insists that she keep the news of his visit from his mother, with whom he has a complicated relationship. The interaction between grandmother and grandson also has its complexities. Leo bridles at Vera's alarmed questions and her tactless references to his "chubby" girlfriend, who is in college in Manhattan. But underneath the prickly awkwardness, each is happy to see the other, and once Leo has spontaneously grabbed Vera in a big bear hug, the mild tension dissipates, and he agrees to stay on rather than find somewhere to pitch a tent. ("You're in Manhattan!" Vera scoffs.) The play takes place over a few weeks, during which nothing of great moment takes place. Vera, the widow of a once-celebrated radical, lives a solitary life, most of her contemporaries having died too. She's a little unsteady on her feet, but still mobile, independent and feisty enough to grow irritable at the antics of her neighbor, another elderly woman with whom she trades nightly phone calls to make sure neither has come to grief. It is actually Leo who is fragile, at least emotionally. Although Ms. Herzog's writing is too unerringly natural to indulge in stock exposition, we gradually discover that Leo is still reeling from a tragedy that took place during his cross-country trip, and his grief is compounded by the announcement from his girlfriend, Bec (the excellent Zoë Winters), that she thinks they should part ways. Leo is, in a word, lost. And the manner in which he slowly finds himself again, through a growing intimacy with Vera, is the moving heart of the play. Mr. Ebert depicts Leo's secret suffering with admirable subtlety: outwardly easygoing, seemingly content to idle his days away with no firm plan for the future, Leo will suddenly withdraw into himself, curling his head down into his chest as if he wanted to disappear. In a very funny scene in which Leo brings home a girl he met at a bar (played with terrific, offbeat timing by Greta Lee), Mr. Ebert shows us both Leo's desire to lose himself in a little casual sex and the emotional frailty that he is quietly trying to conquer. The play's climax is hushed, but no less affecting for its simplicity, as Leo finally describes to Vera the details of the accident that took place during his trip. Mr. Ebert delivers this monologue with restraint and a transparency of feeling that breaks your heart, even as you feel that Leo's own is slowly mending. And it's a measure of Ms. Herzog's ability to mix pathos and humor in perfect proportions that Leo's confession is followed by a decidedly funny response from Vera. Ms. Wilson's performance is of the kind that defies easy description. There are no moments of bravura histrionics, no emotional peaks to climb. Vera's pragmatic humor about her failing senses is utterly without self-pity, and she indulges only in the occasional confession or reflection, most amusingly during a scene in which Leo and Vera watch the sunset while getting high together and find themselves talking frankly about sex. But by the play's end, we feel we know this woman as intimately as Leo does, and what's more, care about her just as deeply, almost as if she were a member of our own family. Like all great performances, Ms. Wilson's has remained fixed in my memory since I first saw the play almost a year ago, as an example of stage acting at its most accomplished. "4000 Miles" is not the kind of theater that sweeps us into a heightened other world, but rather brings us into a rewarding intimacy with the one outside our own front doors. It's a small story about a big idea: the power of compassion to heal, and by the time the play has concluded, your own capacity for empathy has been stirred, and perhaps even enriched. 4000 Miles By Amy Herzog; directed by Daniel Aukin; sets by Lauren Helpern; costumes by Kaye Voyce; lighting by Japhy Weideman; music and sound by Ryan Rumery; stage manager, Kasey Ostopchuck; managing director, Adam Siegel; production manager, Jeff Hamlin. Presented by Lincoln Center Theater, under the direction of André Bishop and Bernard Gersten. At the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater, Lincoln Center; (212) 239-6200, telecharge.com. Through May 20. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes. WITH: Gabriel Ebert (Leo), Greta Lee (Amanda), Mary Louise Wilson (Vera Joseph) and Zoë Winters (Bec).