Early in the new off-Broadway production of “The Merchant of Venice,” it is noted that the play, which has inspired some debate over how it should be classified, is “meant to be a comedy, full of laughs and young people in love, and that is what we want to deliver to you tonight.”

This clarification is offered by a wisecracking, if rather hapless, talk show host named Antonio — yes, like the title character in “Merchant,” whom he will portray in the play within a play that Igor Golyak, artistic director of Arelkin Players Theatre, has conceived here. Mr. Golyak and his company come to Shakespeare’s work fresh off their second celebrated staging of “Our Class,” a blistering, fact-based account of Jewish and Catholic schoolmates turned against each other as the Nazis gained power in Poland.

That previous production, in spite of its harrowing subject matter, was buoyed by a sense of warmth and whimsy that’s also very much present in this “Merchant,” which features cuts to the text alongside new material. Unfortunately, the director has allowed his whimsical and wacky flourishes to overwhelm the content; that’s until the final scenes, which all but undermine the proposal that this is ultimately a funny, happy piece — or suggest that this may have been an ironic premise, at least in a modern context.

The relatively lean cast features several players who appeared in “Our Class,” led by Richard Topol as Shylock, the Jewish moneylender who seeks a pound of Antonio’s flesh as payment for a loan, and Alexandra Silber as Portia, the virtuous young woman who eventually disguises herself as a male lawyer to save Antonio, who had borrowed the money to help his friend Bassanio woo her. 

An alumnus of the hit TV series “Grey’s Anatomy,” T.R. Knight, joins them, playing both Antonios. The first character leaps onstage at the beginning to explain that his “highly rated cable access show” is experiencing some technical difficulties in its presentation of “Merchant” — prominent among them the abrupt departure of actors, crew members, and musicians following the dress rehearsal. 

Thus the audience for Mr. Golyak’s “Merchant” is enlisted to react as we might at the recording of a live TV show, with the host encouraging us to “cheer and laugh and boo.” There’s a flashing “Applause” sign, and the set, designed by Jan Pappelbaum, also features a desk and couch that evoke a late-night chat program, as well as a large, prominently placed, golden Christmas tree.

The tree, along with various Christmas tunes played before the show, and other seasonal touches, reinforce another central dilemma in “Merchant,” related to the question of how to define the play: what to make of Shylock, the non-Christian outsider, and of his fate. The play’s original title, we’re reminded, referred to the “extreme cruelty of Shylock the Jew,” whose behavior can certainly be egregious; yet in one of its most famous and moving passages, the character emphasizes the humanity he shares with the others.

Mr. Topol’s Shylock is introduced, essentially, as a comic villain: Costume and properties designer Sasha Ageeva has provided him with a cape suggesting Count Dracula and Groucho glasses; the latter, of course, with their protruding fake nose, evoke age-old antisemitic tropes. The actor uses these and other props strategically in delivering a surprisingly nuanced portrait; perhaps because of the character’s isolation, Mr. Topol doesn’t get mired in much of the aggressive silliness that distinguishes “The Antonio Show” and its frenzied presentation of a classic drama.

Most of the others aren’t as lucky. Ms. Silber’s Portia shows glimmers of the elegance and wit the actress has brought to numerous performances, but is often reduced to romping around in a skimpy pink outfit; in one scene, she engages in mock sadomasochistic antics with José Espinosa’s hunky Bassanio, who then poses and preens, bare-chested.

As Shylock’s daughter, Jessica, and her lover, Lorenzo, Gus Birney and Noah Pacht engage in their own randy, albeit less explicit, shenanigans. There are also puppets, among them two little red creatures who, manipulated by Mr. Knight, play minor characters; they also get to cavort in a production number in which their handler, inexplicably, offers a hokey love song as a “palate cleanser.”

All of this frolicking will, for some, make the tonal shift that arrives at the end of this “Merchant of Venice” puzzling; others may see it as I did: as an attempt to highlight the play’s tragic undertones, and to remind us that the overwhelming emotional intensity we associate with love, and happiness generally, has a flip side. Either way, I suspect most will find the production more exhausting than exhilarating.