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Big fans of sock puppets and statutory rape may enjoy this wannabe provocative comedy import from Broadway. But in general ‘Hand to God’ strikes me as a show squarely aimed at holidaying Bible Belters in search of light blasphemy – not really a huge constituent of the West End crowd.
Jason (Harry Melling) is an awkward American teen enrolled in his widowed mother Margery’s (Janie Dee) faintly inexplicable church sock puppet workshop, alongside bad boy Timothy (Kevin Mains) and moderately quirky Jessica (Jemima Rooper). Buzzing around is Neil Pearson’s Pastor Greg, fussily attempting to woo Margery with scant regard for the fact her husband only died six months previously.
Anyway, long story short, Jason’s hand puppet Tyrone is possessed either by the devil or (more likely) his awkward owner’s suppressed id, and sets about causing trouble: battering Timothy, saying inappropriate things to Jessica, denouncing God as a lie and crucifying the church’s collection of fluffy animals. Meanwhile virtuous, decent Margery reveals herself to in fact be the wanton hussy that we know all women are – right lads? – and decides to aggressively seduce hapless, clearly somewhat vulnerable Timothy (who isn't exactly unwilling, but is apparantly a minor).
Objecting to Robert Askins’s thin, fringey comedy on grounds of political correctness is potentially playing entirely into its hands, but here’s the thing: I can’t image a London audience possibly being remotely shocked by its lampooning of organised religion, or to fail to grasp the fact that Tyrone is the result of shy, gawky Jason ‘acting out’. But the fact that Margery doesn’t need any sort of puppet pal to morph into a cougar wank fantasy is troubling – I’m not sure that cartoony misogyny is the sort of provocation we really need in our theatres.
What ‘Hand to God’ does indubitably have going for it is a first rate cast who lay into material way beneath them with an aplomb that suggests they’re at least being paid decently. Melling steals the show as the schizophrenic Jason/Tyrone, but everyone is good: Rooper manages to remind us why she’s one of the best comedy actresses of her generation while rocking an almost non-existent part.
The only real intrinsic charm of Moritz von Stuelpnagel’s production lies in the puppetry - there are some genuinely funny moments (again, brilliantly enabled by Melling) in which the diminutive Tyrone duffs up much larger humans, plus there’s a lengthy puppet sex scene that’s almost as funny as it thinks it is (clearly indebted though it is to ‘Team America’).
But bright spots and a good cast don’t save the whole, a flimsy sketch of an idea promoted far, far beyond its means. There’s lots of talk of heaven and hell, but this feels a lot more like purgatory.