The titular tomahawk is brandished by a naked man (Lewis Brians, only nominally naked) in a Native America getup, who recklessly roams the neighborhood in this musical play by writer-director James Domine, based on his novel The Naked Man and featuring songs by the garage band the Screaming Clams. Program notes inform us that the play is a quest for truth, but the search proves futile. The shallow, cartoonish characters include a pair of gleefully corrupt cops (Rob Martinez and Christopher Jones) and a couple of boorish slackers, C.J. and Dogue (Chris Benton and Michael Fox), who devote themselves to bonking any woman in sight, smoking grass, arguing about the existence of God and extraterrestrials and cadging beer from their disreputable landlord, Hal (Brians). Barfly Mama Cass (Debbie Stavitsky) quite accurately informs us, at the end of Act 1, that “none of this means a damned thing.” The actors and the band give it their all, but this script is dead in the water.
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