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‘Hazard County,’ here we come
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW: “Hazard County”
Yee, haw. Break out the moonshine and buckle up for a lowbrow gag fest that goofs on the hooty pleasures of “The Dukes of Hazzard,” the ’80s TV show that became the most appealing exploitation of redneck stupidity since “The Beverly Hillbillies.”
Hold on, General Lee. Not so fast.
“Hazard County,” the new play by Minneapolis writer Allison Moore at Actor’s Express, is a far more potent jar of hooch than you might expect at the outset, when an actor playing a regular guy riffs about the lunatic response he got to his ‘69 Dodge Charger, a dead ringer for Luke and Bo Duke’s frequently airborne General Lee.
A dark and provocative comedy based on an actual murder that polarized a Kentucky community in 1995, “Hazard County” portrays a family that’s victimized by the aftermath of tragedy in ways that may surprise and startle you.
Though it sometimes careens into territory that’s disappointingly familiar (mercenary journalist exploits lonely widow), “Hazard County” asks complicated questions about prejudice, stereotypes, corruption, deception and the venal motives of the heart. You may not take a shine to the script’s tonal inconsistencies —- too many abrupt turns from silly to sobering —- but there’s a theatrical richness on display here that marries the white-trash camp factor of Tracy Letts, the mysterious edginess of Naomi Iizuka and the cameo style of “The Laramie Project.”
Moore splices a series of comic monologues, in which a succession of characters muse about their personal connections to “The Dukes of Hazzard,” with the story of Ruth, whose husband was shot to death by a young black man in what may have been a hate crime, a matter of racist provocation or both. Ruth (the excellent Amy Lynn Stewart) is not only down and out in Hazard County with a pair of dysfunctional children; she’s harboring some dark secrets that even opportunistic TV producer Blake (Brik Berkes) doesn’t see coming.
A good bit of the outsize humor centers on Ruth’s 8-year-old twins, Quinn and Quintin (played to the hilt by the hyperactive Justin Welborn and Jen Apgar, respectively). Here, the use of adult actors also heightens the potential for violence and erotic tension: Apgar turns Quintin into an Appalachian Lolita in a pink Barbie nightie, and the confrontations between Quinn and Blake are more ominous because neither has a physical edge.
As Ruth’s tough-gal cousin Camille, the normally showy Shelly McCook seems to be holding back so as not to snuff out Stewart’s smoldering flame of a performance. A mixture of strength and vulnerability, Stewart’s Ruth uses a soft shyness and pitch-perfect Southern drawl to evince a figure who’s as seductive as she is nurturing. It’s a beautifully detailed, finely calibrated characterization.
When it comes to life and lust, ethics and race, the world can be funny, messy, random, complicated and tricky. In a region where the Confederate flag continues to serve as a moral irritant to some and a symbol of ancestral pride to others, this smart and ironic play doesn’t attempt to give tidy answers.
“Hazard County” has no road map, and even when you think you know where it’s going, there are blind spots, hairpin turns and sudden stops. It’s a play that requires you to keep your eye on the rearview mirror, and even then, it’s a dangerous and suspenseful ride.
THE VERDICT: A fascinating social treatise —- with frequent campy asides.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays; 2 p.m. this Sunday and July 3; 5 p.m. June 19 and 26 and July 10 and 17.
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