It’s hard to imagine that, when writing Little Shop of Horrors in 1982, composer Alan Menken and book writer and lyricist Howard Ashman were hoping to elicit a reaction of, “Well, that was sweet.” After all, a people-eating plant capitalizing on one man’s unchecked greed to devour human flesh and take over the world is hardly the stuff of rom-coms. Sociologists may tell you that, in the four decades since its premiere, society has become desensitized to such acts as a result of the violent images both in entertainment and the news. But, in the case of Ford’s Theatre’s garden-variety Little Shop, running through May 18, the more likely culprit is simply that, in its slickness, the show struggles to leave any blood on the stage.

By the time the cater-waiter steps onto the stage juggling a hulking, teetering wedding cake in Studio Theatre’s production of At the Wedding, the ultimate matrimonial indignity of a ruined cake seems damn near inevitable. After all, up until this point, playwright Bryna Turner has lobbed out one old wedding-story chestnut after another like bridal bouquets: drunk mother, meddling ex, aggrieved bridesmaid. But in that moment, when its beautifully frosted tiers seemed destined for dancefloor disaster, the cake steadies, making a clean exit and offering a refreshing reprieve from the plot twists and laugh-a-minute dialogue that make up the bulk of Turner’s play.

“Phone rings, door chimes, in comes… Company?” That refrain is one of Stephen Sondheim’s greatest earworms (second only perhaps to “Bobby, Bobby baby, Bobby bubi, Robby,” etc. in the same song). And, in the touring production of Marianne Elliott’s inventive reimagining of the beloved musical, playing at the Kennedy Center through March 31, it presents more like a cautious question than a confident declaration.