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Naturally, whether Tyrone is actually vacationing from the fiery netherworld or merely a manifestation of Jason's myriad insecurities, is the central concern of the plot. (I guess you're not supposed to focus too much on the fact that Jason operates Tyrone with both hands, but whatever.) The actual story is a bit heftier, as the action is set in the Lutheran church of a staunchly religious community where Jason's recently widowed mother, Margery (Geneva Carr), who's emotionally screwed up herself (and hardly helping her son), is teaching a puppet class for Jason, the kindly but nerdy Jessica (Sarah Stiles), and the disruptive and sex-crazed Timothy (Michael Oberholtzer). Sin, or at least the appearance thereof, is rife around these parts, and no one amid this crew—which, in addition to Jason (Steven Boyer) includes the presiding Pastor Greg (Marc Kudisch)—is well equipped to deal with it. Maybe God isn't the answer; it certainly isn't for Pastor Greg, as Margery is not exactly open to his advances. And He is apparently out of the room entirely when Margery and Timothy begin trysting, well, over pretty much everything. But it doesn't take a malevolent chunk of form-fitting wool making mischief to leave you wondering by the halfway point whether anyone isn't possessed by some sort of evil spirit. In theory, anyway. Written, acted, and directed (by Moritz von Stuelpnagel) in incredibly broad strokes, the characters neither request nor generate a great deal of sympathy. If not for Boyer's aw-shucks ingratiating manner, which contrasts so brilliantly with the rampaging id of Tyrone, and the all-consuming confliction Carr displays when caught between spiritual extremes, there wouldn't be much to latch onto here at all. Most of the first act and a half plays like a garden-variety farcical, if vivid, anti-religion screed, whereas the last chunk of Act II is devoted to a more serious psychological exploration of Jason's underlying problems—a tonal shift profound enough to induce whiplash. Hand to God seems structured, in fact (and perhaps understandably), to throw as much attention as possible on the raunchy Tyrone. And yes, he is enjoyably despicable, as much for his unhinged, amoral ravings as for Boyer's flawless delivery of them. But overturning the cherished Muppet aesthetic was done by Avenue Q more nearly 11 years ago, and because on that front Askins hasn't broken any new ground, a lot of things that should be funny come across instead as familiar (at best) and hackneyed (at worst). (There's even a protracted scene of puppet-on-puppet sex that, aside from the dull dialogue surrounding it, looks identical to a particular moment in the aforementioned long-running musical.) What works best are the moments that are furthest removed from these scenes, focusing on the emotional transition that Jason and his mother are having such trouble making. Boyer and Carr are both excellent at showing how their characters are covering up the scars that still sting, and the trouble that deception causes; each has a moment or two of considered agony that propels the other to new heights (or depths) of behavior, and easily keeps such instances believable even when the world around them is anything but. (Though it's worth pointing out that Beowulf Boritt has designed a strictly naturalistic set against which the zanier antics may play out.) Because everyone else is playing a cartoon, the other relationships don't really kindle; it's easy to see how they might, and thus make everything more powerful, with a better balance between the roles that upped the stakes on all sides. As it is, Hand to God is, until its off-kilter final 20 minutes, a potentially intriguing drama laden down with old ideas, of writing and performance, that aren't capable of masking themselves as new. Who or what (if anything) Tyrone is doesn't matter as much as whether the mother and son find each other, but it's tough to get that far when the devilish surroundings ensure that too much of this puppet play just isn't deeply felt.
Hand to God
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