The Sweet Smell of Decay Pervades a Whodunit Mourning becomes Beth Henley. The humor in "The Jacksonian," her delectably lurid new play on Theater Row, is as black as widow's weeds. But with the aid of a crackerjack cast, directed by Robert Falls, this twisty study in murder, Mississippi-style, finds bright fireworks within shades of noir. About that cast, which numbers a precise five: It is made up of four top-tier veterans (Ed Harris, Glenne Headly, Amy Madigan and Bill Pullman) and one young newcomer (Juliet Brett), who bring unblinking conviction to parts that ask them to go out on limbs and hang there. Such commitment is essential to this New Group production (previously staged at the Geffen Playhouse in Los Angeles), which opened on Thursday night at the Acorn Theater. In less assured hands, "The Jacksonian" might come across as a parody of period potboilers. And though none of the characters here believe that there's justice in this woebegone world, permit me to say (with a gentleman's drawl) that such a base interpretation just wouldn't be fair. You see, Ms. Henley isn't flirting with the clichés of Southern Gothic and pulp fiction. She's embracing them with such ardor that she squeezes new life out of them. The result is her most entertaining work since she won the Pulitzer Prize and the Tony Award for "Crimes of the Heart" three decades ago. Set in Ms. Henley's hometown, Jackson, Miss., in 1964, during the death throes of the segregated South, "The Jacksonian" exudes the sweet smell of decay. And though it may take your nostrils a few minutes to get used to the pungent aroma, you're likely to get as high on it as a couple of Ms. Henley's characters do on nitrous oxide. The play's sole location is a motel, the Jacksonian. It has been designed by Walt Spangler with a tactile sense of respectability running to seed. It's looking a lot like Christmas there, what with that nativity scene next to the bar and the wreath of colored lights around a mirror. But before you can say, "Ho, ho, ho," a man tears into view, stage left, with an ice bucket. As embodied by Mr. Harris, he looks the very model of an upstanding citizen, except for that big blood stain on his crisp white shirt. The man disappears, and a raw-faced girl steps out of the shadows, wrapped in a blanket and keening lamentations about Christmas, murder and time. That girl is Rosy Perch. She is 16 and, as bravely (and correctly) played by Ms. Brett, suggests an offspring of the novelists Carson McCullers ("The Member of the Wedding") and Jim Thompson ("The Killer Inside Me"). Rosy is precocious, poetical and self-dramatizing. She will be our narrator, it seems. But can we believe her when she tells us there's been a horrible killing here? Evidently, we can, though one of the other characters states early that everybody lies. That's Eva White (Ms. Headly), a curvy, flirty, devoutly Christian sinner who works as a maid at the motel. She is one of five potential killers or victims (or both). The others include (in addition to Rosy) Fred Weber (Mr. Pullman), the shifty motel bartender. Then there's Rosy's father, Bill (Mr. Harris), a dentist from the right side of town, currently in residence at the Jacksonian while separated from his wife, Susan (Ms. Madigan, Mr. Harris's wife in real life), who is suspect No. We won't know anybody's fate until the very end, and the road to that point will wind, out of sequence, through the seven months that lead to a bloody denouement. "The Jacksonian" plays happily with the suspenseful conventions of the who-done-it (and who-got-it). But its greatest pleasures lie in its evocation of an overwrought time and place, where racist violence is still common, and a confused, collective guilt burdens the air. Every design detail here feeds that atmosphere, including Ana Kuzmanic's costumes, Daniel Ionazzi's lighting and Richard Woodbury's music and sound. The show has the tense look and feel of those early-1960s movies - usually adapted from "adult" fiction or "daring" Broadway dramas - that seemed to me the epitome of grown-up sophistication when I was a child. It's the performers, though, steered with an admirably steady hand by Mr. Falls, who keep this willfully over-the-top play from losing altitude. The characters here are all plumb crazy, in different ways, but you mostly wouldn't think so when you first meet them. Their obsessions, manias, delusions and crimes (which are not only of the heart) are disclosed only by degrees. But as is far too seldom the case in plays about people with secrets, when all is revealed, what was beneath the surface, all along, matches what's on top; everybody has been remarkably true to character and to context. Ms. Headly's Eva is a wonderfully sincere dime-novel floozy, who sees no contradiction in her hypocrisy, while Ms. Madigan's masterly take on genteel hysteria summons Geraldine Page doing Tennessee Williams. And the two guys are heaven. Or do I mean hell? Anyway, Mr. Harris and Mr. Pullman incarnate two different species of dangerous men with a conviction that's scary and deeply funny. The demons beneath Bill's button-downs are let out to play with restrained expertise by Mr. Harris, but step back when he gives them rein. Mr. Pullman, unrecognizable in an Elvis coif, makes an inspired comic creation out of the shady Fred, who seems to move, talk and even see at a sinister, sideways angle. He also gets to take part in my favorite bit of dialogue, though there's a lot to choose from. Fred: "I can't marry Eva. She smells like crayons in a dirty room. Rosy: "Yeah. All the colors you don't want to use. Ms. Henley, for the record, dares to deploy just such colors. Who'd have thought that this gifted writer, so prone to preciousness in the past, would wind up filling the vacuum left by the playwright-actor Tracy Letts when he forsook the outlaw territory of "Killer Joe" and "Bug" for Broadway stardom? "The Jacksonian" makes wallowing in morbidity a tasty, toxic pleasure. The Jacksonian By Beth Henley; directed by Robert Falls; sets by Walt Spangler; costumes by Ana Kuzmanic; lighting by Daniel Ionazzi; music and sound by Richard Woodbury; assistant director, Young Ji; fight coordinator, Ned Mochel; production supervisor, PRF Productions; production stage manager, Valerie A. Wright; general manager, DR Theatrical Management; associate artistic director, Ian Morgan. Presented by the New Group, Scott Elliott, artistic director; Geoff Rich, executive director. At the Acorn Theater at Theater Row, 410 West 42nd Street, Clinton, 212-239-6200, telecharge.com. Through Dec. 22. Running time: 1 hour 25 minutes. WITH: Ed Harris (Bill Perch), Glenne Headly (Eva White), Amy Madigan (Susan Perch), Bill Pullman (Fred Weber) and Juliet Brett (Rosy Perch).