At Theatre Artibus, an absurdist take on the rigors of marriage.

One of the many wonderful things about Theatre Artibus productions is that, even if you kinda-sorta-maybe have an inkling of what their new show will be “about,” you’ll likely be wrong. In the case of Knuckle Sandwich, the promotional material suggests some kind of marital showdown. And while there’s plenty of “conflict is what keeps this marriage going” in this silly show, you’d have to squint very hard to discern any real takeaways.

Featuring Artibus co-founders (and married couple) Meghan Frank and Buba Basishvili as Marla Knuckle and Rob Sandwich, Knuckle Sandwich is staged on a colorful, cartoonish boxing ring set designed by Tom Varani and Basishvili. The duo makes full use of its elastic ropes to showcase the theatre’s penchant for physical comedy, along with elements of vaudeville and silent film.

Trappings like boxing gloves and robes and soft projectiles ranging from flowers to many, many socks add to the mix. Music plays a big role in this production, starting with the opening classic “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” by Dean Martin.

Secret ingredients

Marla and Rob walk us through five “easy” ingredients for relationship success — but they deviate so much from any kind of true revelations that you’ll be forgiven if you can’t recall a single one of them (I couldn’t). Mostly, the energetic duo wants to present a variety of comedic tableaux, using their bodies exclusively at first and later adding dialogue.

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Frank plays the more pugilistic of the two, tearing around the stage in a fantastic getup that’s three-quarters wedding dress and one-quarter sports attire. With a goofy ’70s blond wig and televangelist’s-wife glasses, Marla is the perpetually offended spouse trying to get her husband to toe the line.

As Rob, Basishvili is more of a pushover, and I found myself hoping his character would develop more of a spine to heighten the conflict beyond the physical. That never quite happens, leaving us to guess at the end what, if any, resolution has been reached and if this couple has a future.

Although expectations for meaning in a show labeled “nonsense” in the program notes are, by definition, limited, Knuckle Sandwich would benefit from a bit more of a through-line or stakes to hang onto. It’s enjoyable enough to watch the many carefully crafted scenes unfold and the fun audience-participation elements (including the chance for everyone to throw rolled-up socks at Rob), but even in absurdist theatre, it’s nice to have a few handholds as we slide down the silly, slippery slope the creators have devised.

I also couldn’t help wondering what this would have looked like if they’d stuck to their silent-film guns and made the whole thing wordless — as in other Artibus productions (most notably Basishvili’s remarkable one-man show The Bluebird). The first 10 or 15 minutes have no dialogue at all, and I was prepared for it to stay that way throughout. Indeed, it was almost startling when they started talking.

What Knuckle Sandwich offers isn’t wisdom about marriage but evidence of one: two real-life partners trusting each other enough to flail, flop and throw punches for an hour. That chemistry is the show’s secret ingredient. With a bit more story to match it, they’d have a knockout.