Theatre in Review: Hand to God (Booth Theatre)

	Steven Boyer. Photo: Joan Marcus

I'm late to this party -- this is the third New York production of Robert Askins' play -- so you may already know that Hand to God is the demon sock-puppet play. Then again, "party" hardly seems like the right word. "Walpurgisnacht" might be more suitable, for Hand to God is a blast of Swiftian satire the likes of which Broadway has not seen in I don't know how long.

Askin wastes no time in getting down to his satanic funny business, presenting us with a church basement, somewhere in Texas, where a Christian puppetry workshop is taking place. The leader, the recently widowed Margery, plans to have her team of adolescents put on an inspirational show for the congregation. It's a goal that seems hilariously unlikely, given the three participants: Timothy, a sullen underachiever who slouches and hurls sexual insults at the others while openly flirting with Margery; Jessica, a flat-affect nerd girl who takes no crap from anyone; and Jason, Margery's son, whose sock puppet, named Tyrone, cannot be stopped from delivering a stream of invective and abuse.

The foundation of Askins' play is the wildly comic contrast between the happy-clappy Middle American Christianity that the characters supposedly adhere to and the sordid details of their real lives. The angst is cross-generational: Since the loss of her husband, Margery has been holding onto her sanity by her fingertips. The squeaky-clean Pastor Greg has his heart set on her, although his wooing style couldn't be more inept. (Smiling broadly, he says, "I've got empty arms, and ears made just to hear you cry.") Instead, Margery, who is furious over her loss and feels she has been good long enough, settles for bouts of sadomasochistic sex with Timothy, one of which dislodges the sink in the ladies' room.

Meanwhile, Jason cannot escape the presence of Tyrone; even when the puppet is thrown out of the car during a mother-son dustup, he turns up later, when Jason is in bed, ready for trouble. Growling in a voice that sounds like a blues shouter crossed with Mercedes McCambridge in The Exorcist, Tyrone spews forth a horrifying, if clarifying, blend of uncomfortable truths, id-based desires, and snatches of The Righteous Brothers' hit "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling." What starts as a disruption quickly turns into a siege. When Jason finds out about his mother's extracurricular activities, he and Tyrone turn the church basement into their demon lair, complete with satanic symbols and crucified dolls. From here, the action turns into something like the Grand Guignol, as Tyrone lashes out at Jason's enemies, and Jason takes the most desperate of measures to free himself from Tyrone. The climactic scenes of Hand to God are not for the faint of heart.

Askins' freewheeling black humor cannot be denied, but, without the right director and cast, Hand to God might seem silly and sophomoric. I cannot imagine what the play looks like on the page, but director Moritz von Stuelpnagel (aided by fight director Robert Westley, whose contribution cannot be ignored) and a remarkable cast brilliantly bring the playwright's vision to furious, bloodstained life.

Leading the way is Steven Boyer, in what is surely a career-making performance, as Jason. He is amusing in repose, sitting still and nervously eyeing the little devil at the end of his hand. He is even funnier when bringing Tyrone to profane life. And when Jason and Tyrone engage in pitched battle, the actor's ability to manipulate the puppet -- essentially beating himself up, while switching characters every few seconds -- is nothing short of breathtaking. And, as it becomes clear that Tyrone is not an occult being but an expression of Jason's tormented soul, Boyer adds a layer of genuine heartbreak to the comic mayhem.

The rest of the cast has also tapped into the author's off-the-radar wavelength. Geneva Carr's Margery is a fine, funny example of a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, whether she is dispatching Pastor Greg's romantic pitch with a single vehement "no," melting down in the middle of traffic, or trying to look natural when discovered with her arms trussed up with Timothy's belt. Michael Oberholtzer's Timothy is an especially vivid study of a teen rebel without a cause, his insolence slipping away as he finds himself in over his head with Margery. Marc Kudisch's Pastor Greg earns laughs as he confronts one ghastly situation after another, but is also genuinely touching in his tentative attempts at reaching out to Jason. Sarah Stiles delivers Jessica's putdowns with rare aplomb. (Taking aim at Timothy, she sneers, "You're so far in the closet you're in Narnia.") She also takes part in the play's most show-stopping sequence, in which Jessica, trying to reach Jason, seeks him out in the basement; there, they strike grim deadpan poses as their puppets take part in a sexual orgy for two.

Hand to God is tricky to stage because it takes place in various locations, including the basement, the pastor's office, the churchyard, Jason's bedroom, and the interior of Margery's car, but the set designer, Beowulf Boritt, using two turntables, manages to fit them all into the narrow confines of the Booth. The basement set, with its low ceiling, is appropriately claustrophobic; the room's satanic transformation earns one of the evening's biggest laughs. Sydney Maresca's costumes, Jason Lyons' lighting, and Jill BC Du Boff's sound are all smartly done. The hard-to-forget puppets are designed by Marte Johanne Ekhougen.

Hand to God arrives on Broadway at a most apt moment. As America's culture wars are once again heating up in advance of new presidential election, it makes a devastating case that modern Christianity is often so insular that it is incapable of dealing with the darker sides of human existence, and, by extension, with evil itself. There is a happy ending of sorts, but it's no surprise that Tyrone, in new and disconcertingly larger form, gets the final world. Askins' comedy is full of fire and brimstone, offering a scalding takedown of superficial piety. Believers everywhere should welcome it; I wonder how many will. -- David Barbour