By Kelly Oristano

I’m sick of following my dreams. I’m just going to ask them where they’re goin’, and hook up with them later. — Mitch Hedberg, American comedian (1968-2005)

Snow Fever: A Karaoke Christmas, on stage now at Oregon Contemporary Theatre, is a light, funny, tacky taxidermied treat. As such, it is a perfect way to see off an imperfect year.

Written by Robert Caisley and directed by Kirk Boyd, OCT’s staging is part of a “rolling world premiere” as the play debuts at a handful of regional theaters this holiday season.

These other theaters will be lucky if they are able to gather a cast as strong as the powerhouse that Boyd has assembled.

Snow Fever is a small-town, bar-based, ensemble comedy. At its best it’s like a cult classic sitcom that you wish there were more episodes of, and that you can’t wait to share with that one friend who will get it. And it wisely stays at its best for most of the runtime, refusing to turn toward drama or heft or maudlin point-making that contemporary comedies often cannot avoid. The stakes are comically low. Will there or will there not be karaoke? (The answer is in the title.) But the energy and fun are as high as the stakes are low.

The script is rife with tropes and jokes and the cast have imbued the broadly sketched characters with a delightful believability and (sitcom-level) realism. At various points, all six members of the ensemble become the featured character.

Maybe it’s a show about Brendan, (Chauncey Mauney) the mildly misanthropic proprietor of the Wet Whistle, Montana’s dive-est dive bar. It’s commonly said that if you think everyone you meet is crazy, maybe it’s you that is crazy. Brendan isn’t crazy, but his world is, and every interaction in it pushes him to the brink of madness. Imagine Basil Fawlty in Carhartt and Dickies.

But it could be a story about Lucy, (Liv Tavernier) the newly hired server, college student, fish out of water wherever she is, trying to choose a major from a list as varied as Philosophy and Advertising. Lucy’s show might resemble Ally McBeal or Sutton Foster’s Younger.

Or it might be about Laverna, (Storm Kennedy) previous owner of the Wet Whistle (neé Taverna Laverna.) Montana Matriarch or Townie Queen, trying to ride above it all, often falling into the gutter, Laverna is the type of woman people describe as “a survivor.” This point is driven home when she sings a rousing karaoke version of I will survive. If Laverna is the star, then the show is like Roseanne, or Reba, or either version of One Day at a Time.

Perhaps the show is about Greta, (Inga Wilson) karaoke DJ who literally just got off the train and, like the audience, has some strong reactions to the way things work at the Wet Whistle. Her outsider tale has shades of Bagdad Cafe or The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

What if it’s about Kenny? (David Arnold) Clearly drawn in the “wacky neighbor” mold that goes back to I Love Lucy, Kenny is the glue that holds this ragtag group of dreamers together. Indeed, Kenny is so wacky that he once slept outside because he “forgot to sleep inside,” but without him it’s clear the others would fly apart in an instant.

And hanging over them all, like Maris Crane (of Frasier,) or the Ugly Naked Guy (of Friends,) or Bob Sacamano (of Seinfeld,) or, if you want to get heady about it, the father in Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie, the larger-than-life character who is referenced in hushed tones but never seen (until the last bit of Act 2 in this case), that being Fitz Ungerbrof, (Steve Wehmeier), who is referred to in the Wet Whistle, at Laverna’s behest, only by his initials.

OCT have maintained or exceeded their usual high standards here in both production and performance. The Wet Whistle set, as designed by Jeffrey Cook and built by Amy Dunn (and her heroic team) is a warm, wood-paneled, classic rural drinking joint — inviting and solid, but also with exposed cords and tape everywhere and generally needing more upkeep than Brendan is able to provide. The lighting, wardrobe, sound, and props combine beautifully to convey the sitcom-style realism that perfuses the production.

The cast across the board are excellent. The ladies present three widely varied and engaging women characters, and the three men read as versions of the same man at different stages of life and in different stages of distress or discontent.

There’s a great scene in the middle of the show where only the three women hold the stage and Laverna, who was the only woman around until Lucy and Greta arrived, says, “It’s nice to have a little estrogen splashing around here.” And it is. Storm Kennedy is bawdy and hilarious, Inga Wilson is mortified and hilarious, and Liv Tavernier is bewildered and hilarious, and when the three of them play together it is marvelous theater.

The boys don’t play together as nicely; the script won’t let them. Chauncey Mauney’s Brendan sets the tone for the whole tale, and his charismatic performance keeps the action moving. David Arnold is fantastic as Kenny. Wacky neighbor roles often create standout performances; Arnold’s Kenny reminded me of Kevin Corrigan’s stellar turn on Grounded For Life. Steve Wehmeier’s F.U. doesn’t show up until the last 15 minutes, but as soon as he does, it’s his show until the curtain falls. His portrayal has fully captured the hermetic misanthrope we’ve heard about at length from Laverna and Brendan.

Though Snow Fever is low stakes and never given to serious drama, if looking hard enough, one can find deeper themes running around. There are, to be sure, broken things, broken people, broken promises, and broken noses in this play. There is an examination of aspiration versus a lack of aspiration and how that influences contentment. There are light discussions about addictive behaviors, and kindness versus cruelty.

But, when (not if) you see this show, go for the funny. You’ll leave the Wet Whistle feeling better than when you came in.

Editor’s Note — Snow Fever: A Karaoke Christmas continues at Oregon Contemporary Theatre through Dec. 22, 2024. Details and tickets at octheatre.org