Theatre in Review: Heresy (The Flea Theatre)In its basement space, The Flea Theatre is presenting Thomas Bradshaw's Job, which combines graphic depictions of incest, homosexual rape, and castration with lines like "Dad! Dad! Uncle Satan is here to see you!" Upstairs, you'll find Heresy, in which Mary, the mother of Christ, and Joseph, her husband, sip cocktails with Pontius Pilate and his wife, arguing about politics in a way that makes the most bellicose cable-news bloviator sound like Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. In one of the season's more dubious achievements, one theatre company is simultaneously trivializing both the Old and New Testaments. Theatregoers attending either attraction may end up feeling like Job themselves; to my mind, Heresy is the more distressing of the two, simply because A. R. Gurney, one of our best playwrights, is clearly having a very, very bad day. Reprising a strategy that he employed for his novel The Gospel According to Joe, Gurney merges Scripture with contemporary political realities -- in this case, the rise of the modern security state and the power-grabbing tactics of the religious right. In his retelling, Jesus, known as Chris, is a college student who, thanks to his penchant for speaking truth to power, is being held by the government in "protective custody." Because he can't produce a birth certificate he cannot be released, so Joseph and Mary petition Pontius, the local prefect, for his release. Also on hand are Pontius' boozy wife, Phyllis; Pedro, Chris' Irish-Peruvian roommate; and Lena, short for Magdalena, a prostitute who seemingly knows Chris better than anybody. (Chris remains offstage throughout.) Taking down every word is Mark, an unpaid intern in the National Guard, who adds plenty of piquant details to his transcript. ("Did he say 'Suffer the little children unto me?'" he asks one witness, intent on composing his own version of the gospel truth.) Just in case we don't get it, Mary refers to his efforts as "The Minutes According to Mark." Heresy goes wrong in so many different ways that it's hard to keep track of them all. Gurney is normally the slyest of wits, but in trying to address so many burning issues of the day, his pronouncements have turned stentorian and his humor surprisingly slapdash. When Phyllis comments that she "went to an exclusive all-girl's boarding school in the Litchfield Hills," Mary cracks, "Wasn't it called Miss Muff's in the Bluffs?" Phyllis tells Joe not to usurp her husband's prerogatives and then adds, "Is that the right word? Usurp? Or is that one of those sugarless soft drinks?" Every so often, Pontius (known as "Ponty" to his oldest friends) is referred to as "the decider," as if George W. Bush still resided in the White House. When all else fails, the author goes for self-reflexive gags. Disappointed in Pedro, who has turned Chris in to the authorities, Joe says, "I got you and Chris special house seats to Heresy, by A. R. Gurney." Pedro replies, "And it was a great show, Joe, though Chris thought it was a little too glib about religion." He said it; I didn't. Heresy is even weaker as political commentary, especially because Gurney apparently thinks that raising an issue is the same thing as taking part in intellectual debate. For example, there's this exchange, which takes place when Mary says Chris has been designated "incommunicado." Phyllis:
That sounds definitely Spanish. Is your son an illegal alien? Pilate:
It's a legal term, dear. It means he can't communicate. Phyllis:
Then he should learn to speak English. The same treatment is applied to homeland security, the WIC program, pedophile priests, the Patriot Act, gay rights, consumer culture, the environment, and other issues of the day. Heresy isn't a play; it's a stump speech, composed of catch phrases designed to please undemanding liberals who don't need a plot, characters, or amusing dialogue to keep them satisfied. There are some formidable professionals involved, which makes it all the more dismaying that it is surely the most ineptly staged and acted production I've ever seen at the Flea. The cast, led by Reg E. Cathey, Kathy Najimy, and Annette O'Toole, declaim their lines in an increasingly desperate manner, pushing hard for laughs that aren't there. There isn't one plausible emotion expressed during the 90-minute running time; the fact that Mary and Joseph are arguing for their son's life apparently counts for little. Jim Simpson, normally an adept director, maintains a single shrill note all night long. At least Kate Foster's set design is a perfect replica of a meeting room in a mediocre government building, complete with cheap blonde wood and anonymous institutional furniture; Brian Aldous' lighting completes the effect. Claudia Brown's costumes are acceptable, as is Jeremy S. Bloom's sound, except for the unnecessarily loud preset music, which consists of a deafening parade of Christian pop tunes. As a chronicler of the decline of America's Northeastern elite, Gurney is without peer. And the political comedies he has penned for the Flea have certainly had their moments. But what should be a devastating blast of satire is unfocused, unfunny, and all but unwatchable. At one point, Pedro notes, "Chris is through attacking organized religions. It's too easy, he says, like shooting fish in a barrel." On the basis of Heresy, it's not as easy as it looks.--David Barbour 
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