Kevin Doyle’s “The Position,” which casts an absurdist eye on corporate culture, runs this weekend at the Ohio Theater as part of Ice Factory 2005, one of many summer festivals dedicated to all things hip and fringe-y. And since it’s heading for the Berkshire Fringe in August, this production seems especially primed to capture the boundary-pushing spirit these festivals exalt. Sadly, though, “The Position” only proves that boundaries are really difficult to push. It may start darkly comic, but it succumbs to mainstream temptation, spelling out a blatant message no one could miss.

The ironic thing is “The Position” actually hits hardest when it doesn’t try to make too much sense. Take the perfectly absurd first scene. Five identically dressed businessmen enter and sit in identical chairs outside a white office door. As they await an interview for “an excellent job,” they each get a prop: an iPod to play with or a Forbes to peruse. Eventually, though, the men hit identical strides: Cross the legs, check the cell phone, fix the hair. Tension builds just waiting for the next man to fall in step with the others, and it’s funny when he does.

Choreographer Nicole Colbert heightens the comedy by sometimes letting an actor break the pattern to do something unique. But the comic reward in a sudden yoga pose is met with an unsettling realization: No matter how many times these corporate drones distinguish themselves, they will always revert to the mindless dance of the suits.

This point sinks deepest with the arrival of the Sixth Man (Paul Newport). Unlike the others, he wears a loud, ugly tie and dirty sneakers, and he can’t quite master the cross-your-legs routine. The character is a familiar absurdist trope, unable to grasp social rules that everyone else understands. If “The Position’s” world is corporate uniformity, then the Sixth Man is the liberation of difference.

Sort of. The brief genius of Mr. Doyle’s writing is that he keeps the Sixth Man from offering easy hope. In several funny exchanges, the character vainly tries convincing the businessmen that they’re “being reduced to the narrowest terms.” But his theory on corporate mind control – involving mineral rocks and old newspaper – makes him just as absurd as they are. His frustration at not being understood evokes more laughter than sympathy.

All the actors hum, and special praise goes to Mr. Newport for his subtly shaded performance. He should also get kudos for the acting nightmare he’s saddled with later. The play, when it switches to preachiness, shoulders him with an interminable monologue about how corporate life kills the soul. The one-note speech cannot be made compelling, but Mr. Newport tries his best anyway. Even when Mr. Doyle, who also directs, has him in a fetal position – screaming “Nooo!” like the aliens have landed – the actor barrels ahead with committed energy.

But after crafting a witty play that disturbs by remaining mysterious, Mr. Doyle squanders the effect with his change in tone. Corporate culture is at its worst when it gives quickly consumable answers to questions we can barely comprehend. So is theater.

Until July 16 (66 Wooster Street, between Spring and Broome Streets, 212-868-4444).