Cotton Patch Gospel

Soon after Cotton Patch Gospel begins, there's an uneasy uh-oh moment when we realize the import of the show's title: This is a retelling of the Jesus story set in the contemporary South. We brace ourselves to be preached at for two hours via Southern cliches and cringe-worthy, feel-good moralizing. However, these apprehensive feelings give way to bouts of pleasure, partly thanks to Chapin's infectious bluegrass music, but it's mostly because of the impressive talents of Gregory.

Gospel is essentially a one-man show with singing and minor-character backup from a five-man band (banjo included, natch). And, yes, there's plenty of the expected (podium-pounding preachers and slack-jawed drunks) as well as the precious (Pilate is governor of Georgia, Judas is "Judd"). As storyteller, honey-voiced singer and lightning-quick shape-shifter (tugging our heartstrings as a man who's lost his child, then tickling us as a reverend punching his "d's" in "God"), Gregory is a slick, captivating showman. From creepy KKK man to disciple to the son of God Himself, Gregory achieves both humor and pathos. If even Gregory can't make a flawless, self-aggrandizing character like Jesus dramatically interesting, fortunately there are lots of more colorful folks for him to inhabit.

Gregory founded Provision Theater Company "to produce works of hope, reconciliation and redemption" (more uh-ohs), and Gospel doesn't really solve the problem of being more sermon than entertainment. But as long as Gregory's the man evangelizing, this should delight the converted. And church youth groups across America will eat this stuff up.—Novid Parsi