The preshow atmosphere rocks. Heavily painted ladies litter the sizable room, disporting themselves languidly among the eclectic audience, one soiled dove even proffering a tray of complimentary Jack Daniels shots. The haute roadhouse vibe is enhanced by the taped music, which occasionally pleads "Sweet Jesus, heal my hangover today." A scrim barely conceals the band's instruments, lights (Jason Mullen and Martyn Bookwalter) play off of thrillingly indeterminate surfaces, the anticipation mounts. The civilized 9-ish curtain and the fact the place is packed with grownups on a school night only add to the buzz.
The novelty act that opens the evening was the Rev. Tommy Gunn the night reviewed. He pounded a nail into his nose, then followed up with a power drill following the same intercranial route. It was excitingly down-market and gave that frisson of dubious entertainments one might traditionally seek in a touring carnival. The show proper begins with the introduction of Tina (Nikki McCauley), a woefully unappreciated stripper whose horribly damaged face is half-hidden beneath a mask. The story beneath the mask is what Charlie Terrell's script purports to tell. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Phantom of the Titty Bar.
Individual elements of this show are impressive, but the whole, under the direction of Joe Peracchio, is a lumpy mess of naughtiness, loud music, and Southern Gothic storytelling that takes far too long to get where it's going. The dancers (Renee Schuda, Mariah Perkins, May Har Li, and Lisa Reyrnes) are delicious, executing R.J. Durell's dirty-girl choreography with an insouciant cleanliness. Terrell (who also created the piece) and his band, The Mojo Monkeys, are first-rate, though as the evening wears on it becomes evident that this style of rock is one of the less-effective ways to move a story along. The play that is supposed to be anchoring all of this, though, is a disjointed affair executed in a variety of acting styles, "highly florid" being the default option. Michael Childers as the profoundly flawed preacher these tales of sin, redemption, and retribution require is dynamic, but even his estimable contributions can't keep this thing from stalling. Despite the initial rush, the Jesus Pill turns out, in the long run, to be a downer.
Presented by Amoeba Music and Polly Parsons at King King, 6555 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. Wed. 9 p.m. Jun. 21-Jul. 26. www.takingthejesuspill.com.