This Show Appeals to Catholic Tastes

In the memory of most Catholics, whether practicing or recovering, a certain nun reigns supreme--the nun whose ruler-wielding, mission-from-God authority stood for everything, while putting up with nothing. The uber-nun.

There was, for example, the nun who taught a friend of mine in St. Paul, Minn. Caught talking in class? Up to the front you were called, the nun took two chalk-dust-laden erasers in her hands, “Open your mouth!” and whap-whap-whap-whap she whaps the erasers together, chalk dust down your throat. Presto: A near-instantaneous case of laryngitis.

Talk about Old Testament retribution.

Nothing so harsh happens in “Late Nite Catechism,” the benign, slight but rippingly performed solo co-written by and featuring Maripat Donovan, now saving souls at the Henry Fonda Theatre.

No one’s settling old scores with this show. Co-author Vicki Quade goes out of her way in the program bio to mention that she’s sending her three kids to Catholic school. And the producers are also advertising a touring edition, available for church fund-raisers and the like. So you know it won’t have the knives out.

“Late Nite Catechism,” in other words, is a world or two away from Christopher Durang’s “Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All for You.” It doesn’t even have the occasional oral sex gag, as does Dan Goggin’s “Nunsense” franchise. This one’s squeaky-clean. Though there’s nothing especially sharp about the material, Donovan’s a formidable comic force--a Sherman tank in a wimple.

We, the audience members, are attending an adult catechism class at St. Bruno’s, in a classroom decorated with the typical Catholic school trappings (the psalm “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord,” and like that). Sister, we learn, has taught for almost 25 years--”three popes,” in other words.

Donovan’s interaction with the audience is the whole show. Woe be unto those caught talking to their neighbor (“Who’s whispering?” Donovan barks, like a Catholic guard dog) or to those who cannot provide the correct answer to the definition of “immaculate conception.” Donovan and her character are both proud products of Chicago, and if you’re from the Midwest, the inflections really take you back.

Funny thing about the Catholic Church in America: Its stock as comic fodder has risen while its general influence and popularity have gone south. Of course, anyone can get laughs in a habit--at least cheap ones, for a while. Even though “Late Nite Catechism” isn’t much, Donovan’s an awfully savvy performer. She zigzags from smiling praise to nail-gun insults in 0.3 seconds flat, admonishing her students when necessary (“Use your playground voice,” she says, urging someone to speak up). Leading a group discussion on various saints up for review, she admires St. Mary Magdalene’s “spunk,” characterizing her charitably as “a professional girl.”

Near the end of a somewhat protracted two acts, the show lands on a note of what could be termed Catholic pathos, or “cathos.” The old days are gone. “We were on top of the world,” Sister says. “We had our own language, our own traditions. Then the Vatican changed it all.”

Whether you’re in sync with such nostalgia or not, for a couple of hours Donovan puts the fear of God, or at least that ruler, in you, and puts “Late Nite Catechism” over.

*

* “Late Nite Catechism,” Henry Fonda Theatre, 6126 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. Tuesdays-Fridays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays, 2 and 8 p.m.; Sundays, 3 and 7 p.m. Ends June 6. $32-$37. (213) 365-3500 or https://www.ticketmaster.com. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes.

Maripat Donovan: Sister

Written by Maripat Donovan and Vicki Quade. Directed by Patrick Trettenero. Set by Marc Silvia. Lighting by Father Jacques Stevenski. Production stage manager Stephen Sweeney.