There’s something a little slithery about the way Drew Sharpe maneuvers his sleeve-and-stick orange puppet Tyrone in the first moments of Hand to God at Keegan Theatre, even before it opens its toothless mouth. It looks innocent enough, with side-facing eyes and tuft of red hair. But as Sharpe’s hand spreads and a vulgar diatribe on the origins of the society and evil comes spewing out, one can’t help but look instead at the snakelike arm that’s enlivening the possessed puppet. You half expect, in the midst of this slick sleight of hand, for Tyrone to offer you an irresistible apple.
There are no apples to be found in the Cyprus, Texas, church that is home to playwright Robert Askins’ perverse parable of religion and repression. … Askins’ play pulls no punches, becoming increasingly crass (and, frankly, hilarious) as Jason and Tyrone’s hunger for revenge grows and grows. This villain is eerily reminiscent of another blood-thirsty puppet, Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors. But whereas that plant’s growth was driven by greed, Tyrone’s rise at Jason’s hand (literally) is one of yearning for agency.
Under Josh Sticklin’s direction, most of the production elements adhere successfully. Puppet designer Luke Hartwood’s contributions — whether they be the increasingly scary Tyrone or a suddenly gussied-up Jolene (Jessica’s puppet) — are made of raw materials the audience can see clearly, but which can come together quickly to startling effect. Scenic designer Matthew J. Keenan’s turntable set is gorgeous, offering on one side a sweetly adorned (until it’s not) church classroom, on another side a cramped pastor’s office, and on the final side a flexible space that easily becomes a car, a bedroom, and a playground.
For his part, every aspect of Sharpe’s performance makes it clear that he understands what his roles require, and he portrays both Tyrone and Jason exquisitely. Incorporating distinct movement and voice stylizations to separate the two characters, he’s able to switch between them in an instant. You never get the sense that the actor is in on the joke, or that the character is fully aware of the absurdity of his situation. In Jason’s submission to Tyrone, Sharpe captures the boy’s terror and the puppet’s ecstasy. And, every so often you find that it’s suddenly a little harder to see where one starts and the other stops.
