Hand to God, Vaudeville Theatre, London, review: Hand on heart, it’s hard to recommend
Still, it really doesn’t hold back, and isn’t afraid to get very dark
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Your support makes all the difference.Well, thank God for the extended puppet sex sequence. Not words I ever thought I’d write, perhaps, but a filthy finger-led fornication scene is one moment when this hotly-tipped American play lives up to the expected hilarity. Hand to God was a hit in New York, going from off-off-Broadway to on, on, on – and transports its profane puppetry straight into the West End.
Jason has issues: his miserable dad over-ate till he died of a heart attack, and his momma Margery has since devoted herself to the church – and, specifically, to Christian puppet workshops. Such muppet ministry is real, by the way, inspired by playwright Robert Askins’ own childhood. But Jason’s knitted, tufty-haired alter-ego Tyrone is sinister - both belonging to his left hand and menacing – and soon gets out of control, spewing obscenities at both Jason’s love-interest and his pastor, and chomping down on ear-lobes. But is it the Texan teen’s traumatised subconscious acting up, or has he been possessed by the devil?
Well, what do you think? Religious attempts to create myths, excuses, and figures-of-blame for human misdemeanour is a pretty soft target.
In director Moritz von Stuelpnagel’s production, there’s also a slight problem with tone: while Tyrone’s sock-it-to-‘em satanic sarcasm is frequently very funny, elsewhere it’s not clear if we’re meant to be moved by pathos and the “be true to yourself” pat messages, or sniggering at these (often underwritten) characters and their repression.
It’s a shame, because the possessed-puppet is a neat conceit, brought to life with a really terrific performance. There’s no ventriloquizing pretence – we know Jason speaks for Tyrone – but Harry Melling still has to act and react at the same time, a double-act that escalates until he’s literally throwing himself around the stage. He’s superb: at first awkward and embarrassed and adorable as Jason, with a miniature semaphore of twitching finger taps and eyebrow acrobatics that signal his shy feelings. As Tyrone, he’s hoarse and coarse, funny and foul, giving the puppet a convincing life of its own. That Melling manages both at the same time punchily makes Askins’ point about the conflicted nature of human beings.
He’s ably supported by Jemima Rooper as Jessica, an equally gawky puppetry enthusiast and deadpan presence. That sex scene – when they both look apologetically resigned as their puppets copulate wildly – really is laugh-out-loud.
But you sort of expect the whole show to be full of such madcap mayhem, and it just isn’t. A sketchy subplot where Margery (a squawky, unsure Janie Dee) realises she lusts for violent, rough sex with a teenager feels a bit off-colour – we don’t know how young these kids are meant to be, but reverse the gender and there’s no way this would be played purely for laughs.
Still, Hand to God really doesn’t hold back, and isn’t afraid to get very dark. I have a feeling it might have acquired cult status as a fast and furious fringe show; faffy sets and a big proscenium arch don’t really help its energy. Hand on heart, it’s hard to recommend.
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