One of the keys to drama, Hamlet advises the players, is “to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature…” If this is true, Jobsite’s “Hand to God” announces in capital letters that we are in deep shit.
UPDATE: On March 11, Jobsite's David Jenkins informed Creative Loafing Tampa Bay that "Hand To God" will be available as a stream through March 21. Watch it via strazhome.uscreen.io.
Hats off to the Straz Center, though, for making the return to live theatre as safe as possible. The fact that the Jaeb has geometrically more cubic feet of space than the Shimberg Playhouse is a real plus. The tables are well-spaced; you can’t enter without passing a health survey, and there’s plenty of masked staff to enforce temperature checks and one-way traffic. The off-limits water fountains along with some restroom sinks, sport unmissable bands of bright red tape to remind you how to stay healthy.
"Hand to God" by Robert Askins at Jobsite Theater
Jaeb Theater at The Straz Center
1010 N. W.C. MacInnes Place, Tampa
813-229-7827; jobsitetheater.org
Tickets: $35.50 – $99.50 per table (4 people)
Through March 14
But as you enter the theater, one look at Brian Smallheer’s church basement set is instantly transporting. The cinder block construction and industrial green doors and trim conjure every stereotype. The chairs have tennis balls on their legs for protection and there are stuffed cubbyholes, giant bean bag sacks, religious education posters, and a bulletin board proclaiming “Jesus Loves You.” This I know.
It’s here that “Sesame Street meets The Exorcist.” The recently widowed Margery, embodied with great gusto by the ginger-haired Katrina Stevenson, all Texas drawl and sexually-repressed sweetness, leads a trio of teens creating a Christian puppet ministry. Her meek, grieving son Jason (Nick Hoop) has a crush on chipper Jessica (an appealing Kara Sotakoun). Black clad slacker—bad boy—school bully Timothy (Evan Fineout drooling teen hormones), imagines Margery as his own Mrs. Robinson.
The besotted Pastor Greg (a hilariously foolish Brian Shea) can’t wait to “minister” to the mourning Margery by taking her hands and intoning, only to awkwardly offer that “I’ve got empty arms and ears” as his failed pickup line.
Director/sound designer David M. Jenkins’ heavy metal pre-show score hints of the neo-Nietzsche tone yet to come and then amps up to full bore head-banging transitions between scenes as the “Christketeers” efforts go awry. Tensions build as Jason’s puppet Tyrone becomes more and more profane until all HELL breaks loose and lighting designer Jo Averill-Snell gives us a glimpse of Dante’s Inferno.
Tyrone’s hellfire yarn hair and safety pin jaws are a not so subtle signal of what’s to come. The Act 2 Tyrone sports a Mohawk and studded black punk arms as things turn decidedly Satanic. The puppet designs by Linda Roethke with construction by Suzanne Cooper Morris are inspired. Jessica’s Jolene puppet appears at first to be a sweet “girl next door” companion for the mild-mannered Tyrone, but as he gradually morphs, Jolene makes a surprise appearance that leaves no doubt as to her carnal puppet desires.
After seeing the slightly demented look in Tony-nominated Stephen Boyer’s gaze on Broadway, I was waiting for the bedroom scene dialogue between Jason and Tyrone, where the demon puppet first becomes conscious. It demands emotional athleticism from the actor portraying the competing wants and desires from what are essentially two different brains. Askins builds upon the long history of the divided self in literature (e.g. Jekyll and Hyde) and has been quoted that monotheism is anxiety. “When you’re down to one God, you’ve either got right or wrong.” Nick Hoop’s boyish innocence is a far more angelic countenance than Boyers, which makes the demonic transformation of Tyrone riveting as it walks the knife’s edge between humor and gasp-inducing horror.
Fans of “South Park” will be in their element, but those easily offended are in for a rough night.
Margery didn’t bargain for blasphemous sock puppet domination or the sexual tension that leads to Jack Daniels. Askins’ script is both moving and profane. To say any more, would be to deprive you of the unforeseen turns. Suffice it to say that the play is filled with offensive, in-your-face belly laughs that will either leave you gasping for breath or retching into your mask. The show is uproariously funny, and Jenkins is adept at keeping his cast buoyant as the actors surf the tidal waves of laughter pouring forth from the live audience.
I haven’t seen the written text, but my recollection of the denouement on Broadway is one of surprise with Satan triumphant. Jenkins’ choice here is more human and psychological, with a philosophical puppet “deus ex machina.” In any case, religion still stumbles, parenting is hard, grief is disorienting, desire is complicated and this production features the most hilarious and exuberant puppet porn Kama Sutra imaginable. Just have your adult pod quartet grab their masks and come to laugh your asses off.
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This article appears in Mar 4-10, 2021.