Hand to God, at the Unicorn, is much more than just horny puppets
In the beginning, there was a nubby purple puppet. Goony-eyed, spiky-haired, with an Elmo-style lemon-wedge smile. His name was Tyrone, and we saw that He was Good.
Until, that is, he opened his mouth to praise the virtues of “extracurricular fucking.”
So begins Robert Askins’ Hand to God, a gleefully irreverent comedy set in Cypress, Texas, and now playing at the Unicorn Theatre. Director Cynthia Levin and puppet director Paul Mesner craft an indelible opening sequence. Vivid purple lights (courtesy of Alex Perry) cast Tyrone in an otherworldly glow. A low, anxious note (courtesy of Jae Shanks) thrums through the speakers, cooling Tyrone’s laugh-laced monologue about the invention of the devil.
By the time the lights swell up on a group puppet practice in a church basement, we can already see the (Satanic) writing on the wall. Margery, a beleaguered and recently widowed youth coordinator, is struggling to motivate teen volunteers to construct puppets for an upcoming performance in front of the congregation. Timmy would rather brag about his sexual conquests than play with felt. Jessica would rather give her puppet a Dolly Parton rack than sing about how much Jesus loves her. Margery’s son, Jason, is the only one who seems interested in performing — but he mostly uses Tyrone, his puppet, to instead practice old Abbot and Costello routines.
As Margery, Heidi Van is an emotional instant-read thermometer, expressions flitting and flushing across her face at subconscious speed. Van’s anxiety is palpable but never overplayed — her midplay breakdown is convincing when it could be campy, and we laugh all the harder for it.
Bob Linebarger is at his absolute best as Jason/Tyrone, transitioning seamlessly between Jason’s timid, aw-shucks innocence and Tyrone’s gritty Sling Blade growl. The back-and-forth could be dizzying, but Linebarger finds creative ways to isolate the puppet’s movements; a sequence in which he tussles with his own hand plays like a Commedia routine. It’s a testament to Linebarger’s skill that we quickly stop looking at him when Tyrone “speaks.”
As Timmy, Matthew Lindblom gives a strong reading of attention-deficit adolescence. Lindblom’s calling card as an actor is his singular commitment to a character’s physicality, and his intensity here is matched with precision. As Jessica, Mariem Diaz is especially effective in Act II, making a graphic sequence of puppet coitus oddly heartwarming. And Marc Liby plays the sheepish Pastor Greg for laughs, but peppers his performance with unexpected turns (including sincere grief over the fate of a stuffed Pooh).
Scenic designers Emily Swenson and Sarah White give Levin ample playing areas to exploit in a clever set with pieces that slide out like pocket doors to quickly suggest new interiors. A wallpaper runner of Jesus fruit with Anne Geddes-sunflower smiles is especially (hilariously) heinous. Costumer Leah Mazur deserves special commendation for transforming Van into an almost unrecognizable Texas show pony: easter-egg eyeshadow, alligator hair clips, blouses as puffy as her bangs. And prop designer Bret Engle helps dress the church basement with hellish accoutrements.
Hand to God stumbles a bit with a predictable resolution. (Fans of Jodie Foster’s bizarre film The Beaver can credibly claim an homage.) But novelty isn’t the script’s selling point. Profane puppets aren’t likely to surprise audiences this long after the popularity of Avenue Q.
Hand to God excels instead in airtight scene construction and authentic, unpredictable humor. A tricky scene between Margery and Timmy left opening night’s audience howling with laughter, all propriety abandoned. Askins’ humor emerges from desperation, not bald punchlines. The result is one of the funniest plays I’ve seen in recent memory — one that appeals to the fouler devils of our nature, and reminds us what they’re good for.
Hand to God
Through October 2 at the Unicorn Theatre, Levin Stage, 3828 Main, 816-531-7529, unicorntheatre.org
