HUSH PUPPET Redmoon’s leading man hits the bottle.

Photo: Sean Williams

Three years ago, Redmoon Theater and literal puppet-master Maugeri struck oil with their miniature spectacle The Cabinet, a kinky toy-theater adaptation of the Dr. Caligari myth. That long-running phenom, as unsettling and dark as Boris Karloff’s shadow, succeeded by activating the salivary glands of an adult palate. Maugeri’s latest doesn’t have the narrative thrills or lingering menace of The Cabinet, but it does share a crucial ingredient of success: It’s a visual spectacle intended for grown-ups.

Set in a Depression-era cemetery, Boneyard Prayer examines the regrets of an alcoholic no-account who accidentally caused his infant son’s death. A mournful, hour-long meditation on grief and regret, the show at its emotional core isn’t much different thematically from, say, David Lindsay-Abaire’s Rabbit Hole. But here’s the rare instance in which an elaborate surface makes a positive difference. In execution, Maugeri and his creative team find original, arresting visuals and render them with such ramshackle-yet-confident elegance that the event stands on its own.

Employing dirt the way Metamorphoses used water—the set and cast are caked in it, and as the gravediggers do their thing, peat hangs in the air like dread— Boneyard is surely the messiest show Chicago has seen in ages. But Tracy Otwell’s spare, gothic scenic design is all clean precision, even if it leaves grit under the fingernails (and John Horan’s sophisticated lights warrant superlative praise). Finally, Charles Kim’s original score, played mostly live on a beat-up saloon piano with a ripping electric-guitar undercurrent, reinforces this slight look at one man’s disappointments and turns it into a gritty, sorrow-soaked little opera.