Playwright: John Culbertson. At: Hubris Productions at the Greenhouse, 2227 N. Lincoln. Phone: 773-404-7336; $25. Runs through: April 17
The ceremony of Holy Communion was founded on the common provender of its time and place, so why shouldn't low-sodium saltines and grape soda ( aka "unleavened bread" and "liquid sacrament" ) enjoy similar privileges in ours? And since nobody really knows the face of Jesus, why can't a bearded biker bringing comfort to the troubled be a celestial messenger from on high? Most important, who's to say that a curiously wrought natural phenomenon is not the sign from heaven its humble witness believes it to be? Such are the questions explored by John Culbertson in this unpretentious look at what self-styled sophisticates dismiss as tabloid sensationalism and their obsequious clergymen, as subversive mysticism.
The titular appliance sits on a porch in Elroy, S.C.,'s second-best trailer parkits owner, Mrs. Lou Ann Hightower, having won it in a raffle only to find it too large to move inside. But the young matron has fallen prey to a number of dissatisfactions latelythe major one being her decision, 10 years earlier, to marry her high school sweetheart and stay in Elroy. Dwayne, her currently unemployed spouse, despairs of escaping his legacy of missed opportunities, while Betsy, their neighbor and Lou Ann's BFF, also suffers from a creeping restlessness. Into this slough of despond, however, drops an event promising to deliver them from their malaisenamely, a shadow on the refrigerator door looking very much like a Veronica's Veil portrait of the Christ ( or Willie Nelson, depending on your orientation ) . But can its beneficiaries resist the temptation to exploit their discovery, especially with Elroy's mayor, banker and preacher all exhorting them to practice deception?
Culbertson could have taken the cheap and predictable route to a happy ending instead of leaving his characters wiser, but not altogether bereft of the doubts intrinsic to the human condition. Director Dennis Frymire, too, adopts a refreshingly candid approach to his material, rejecting the gratuitous condescension affected by smug "high-church" zealots seeking to distance themselves from popular images of grassroots Christianity, his ethos echoed by honest and contemplative performances from the cast for this Hubris Theatre production.
And if that's not enough to render you comfortable in the company of these pilgrims, be advised that the invocation "I love Jesus" at the Greenhouse box office will give you a discount on your ticket price. G'wan, say it! Who's gonna hear ya?