Steel Beam's 'Greater Tuna' tasty, but without bite

Don't be fooled by the "Greater Tuna" catchphrase describing the play as a "comedy about Texas' third smallest town - where the Lions Club is too liberal and Patsy Cline never dies."

That tagline may conjure the image of an affectionate homage to rural America, where lovable eccentrics offer hearty servings of homespun wisdom. But that's not the show creators Jaston Williams, Joe Sears and Ed Howard deliver. No sugarcoating sweetens this two-man satire on the God-fearing, gun-loving, book-banning good-ole boys and gals of tiny Tuna, whose residents make political incorrectness an art form. And frankly, "Greater Tuna" is better for it.

The play makes pointed attacks on small minds, and most of its arrows hit the bull's-eye, although the outsize stereotypes "Greater Tuna" employs make the target impossible to miss. Still, the 1982 show - which grew out of a skit, played off-Broadway and spawned two sequels - is a hoot. And in the right hands, it has the potential to be deliciously scathing.

Unfortunately, director Bernie Weiler's pleasant if somewhat vanilla revival for Steel Beam Theatre lacks the kind of bite that would make this "Tuna" truly tasty.

Steel Beam's production stars the agreeable duo of David Belew as Thurston, and newcomer Jackson Schultz as Arles, disc jockeys at WKKK, Tuna's 275-watt radio station which alternates news and farm reports with public service announcements from some of Tuna's quirkier residents, all of whom are played by Belew and Schultz.

There's Didi Snavely, owner of Didi's Used Weapons ("if Didi can't kill it, it's immortal") and her husband, the hard-drinking hippie R.R. Bertha Bumiller (who disapproves of "Roots" because it tells only one side of slavery); dog-loving Jody; sullen, reform school graduate Stanley and wannabe cheerleader Charlene. Bertha's extended family includes the corpulent, canine-hating Aunt Pearl. Then there's the oddball Phinas Blye, perennial candidate for city council; sweet-tempered Petey Fisk (a wonderfully vulnerable Schultz), the town's humane society representative and social conscience; concerned citizen Elmer Watkins who wants to make the world a better place ("for the right kind of people") and the cliché-spouting Reverend Spikes, who welcomes anyone (even Catholics) into his fold.

"Greater Tuna" fares best when it centers on the genial radio duo, and some of the best moments of Steel Beam's production involve the charming rapport Belew and Schultz demonstrate as the small-town hosts who are more savvy than they appear.

Costume designer Lynn Provost's bouffant wigs and outrageous apparel (including the liberal use of fat suits) generate laughs and Brian Ream's video montage of vintage black and white photos set a properly nostalgic tone for a play whose pop culture references, props and costumes point to mid-century Texas, but whose puzzling inclusion of a cell phone places it squarely in the 21st century.