Mayor Evans (John Ellison Conlee) speaks with Catalina Vucovich-Villalobos (Phillipa Soo) in Clubbed Thumb’s Tumacho. Photograph by Elke Young; banner photo by Quinn Corbin.
Tumacho, the Clubbed Thumb production now playing a return engagement at the Connelly Theater, begins with a chorus of performers onstage. Their faces are lit hauntingly in red as they sing a solemn tale, introducing how “hope has left/from a town bereft” and the need for “lasting peace.” The scene should be a downtrodden one—except it isn’t these human performers that are supposed to be doing the singing. Instead, it’s the saguaro cactus puppets (complete with Muppet-like faces) each singer wields that are narrating this haggard tale. This grizzled silliness comes to define Tumacho, a portrait of the Wild West where characters combat ennui, hopelessness, and impending doom—without ever taking themselves too seriously.
Written by Ethan Lipton, Tumacho takes place in a nondescript Western town led by the ineffectual Mayor Evans (John Ellison Conlee), where the population has dwindled from 1,000 to fewer than 20 thanks to villainous resident William “Bill” Yardley (Andrew Garman) and his reign of terror against the town’s denizens. The dejected townspeople get excited when Tumacho—a “ghost demon” who, legend says, revisits the town every few years by possessing one of its residents—is said to have returned, wanting some excitement to shake up their hopeless, humdrum lives. But as Tumacho exerts its power over the town, feasting on people and turning them into zombie slaves, the residents soon realize that it’s not always so great to get what you wish for.
From left: Randy Danson, Chinaza Uche, Andy Grotelueschen, and Soo perform as Tumacho’s saguaro cacti chorus. Photograph by Quinn Corbin.
Presented as a play with music, Tumacho draws on everything from classic Westerns to zombie flicks with a quirkiness that revels in daffiness and lowbrow humor, even as it deals with darker subject matter. (The lead-up to a showdown between two men, each determined to kill the other, for instance, is punctuated with a recurring joke about “do do.”) Lipton’s script blends absurdist dry wit—one character says he wanted to start a hostage negotiation company, “but Bill talked me out of it”—with moments of broader comedy, creating a lightheartedly subversive tone. Playing into the production’s offbeat sensibility are designer Raphael Mishler’s props and puppets, which lend a handcrafted feel to the production while playing up the comedy. (A do-it-yourself parade celebrating everything from prairie dogs to “desert birds” through painted posters and hand puppets is a particular highlight.)
The nonstop humor makes for an entertaining and jovial piece, though not all of the show’s jokes land as effectively as they should. The production has a distinctly low-key vibe, with understated staging by director Leigh Silverman and performances that feel more mutedly clever than overly boisterous. While this often works in the show’s favor, making the humor feel more nuanced and intelligent rather than over-the-top clowning, the tone sometimes feels out of sync with the hammier comedic beats, and jokes often come off as more cerebrally humorous than viscerally funny. That being said, there’s still much to enjoy here, aided by a cast that’s clearly tickled by the material they’re performing. Conlee appealingly masters Mayor Evans’s blend of genteelness and awkward incompetence (“How do I plan to address it? By addressing it. With a plan,” he declares), while Garman’s Bill is appropriately evil, but with a brightness that helps the character’s redemptive turn.
Mayor Evans makes his case to bartender Alice. Photograph by Elke Young.
As the revenge-obsessed Catalina Vucovich-Villalobos, Phillipa Soo is endearing if not as comedically polished as her compatriots, and shines in a scene that’s laden with pathos (and tricky lines like “it’s a wicked supposition for a heartsick land”)—while performed entirely as if she has a swollen tongue. Rounding out the supporting cast are winning performers like Andy Grotelueschen, who’s charmingly bumbling as Catalina’s cooking-obsessed admirer, and Bill Buell as elder townsman Sam, who commandeers laughs with a single contortion of his pliable face.
For as ridiculous as its off-kilter spirit is, though, Tumacho still manages to retain a sense of heartfelt tenderness, pushing themes of fighting adversity and compassion for others that feel sincere and never shoehorned in. Lipton’s straightforward music (with additional compositions and arrangements by Ian M. Riggs) helps with this, offering deceptively simple lyrics that go for earnestness over laughs and a country twang that never verges into overwrought pastiche.
Tumacho may not take itself too seriously, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t care about the characters whose stories it tells—and through its careful blend of absurdist silliness and genuine humanity, it ensures that its audience does too.
Clubbed Thumb’s Tumacho plays through March 14 at the Connelly Theater (220 E 4th Street). Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Monday through Wednesday and at 8 p.m. Thursday through Saturday; matinees are at 3 p.m. on Saturdays. For tickets and information, visit clubbedthumb.org.
