Actor channels ‘God’s own DJ’ in ‘Native Speech’

Ernie Curcio electrifies the airwaves and the stage with his brilliant portrayal of Hungry Mother in Cockroach Theatre’s dynamic and compelling presentation of “Native Speech,” Eric Overmyer’s 1984 darkly witty, intellectual language play.

Directed with vibrant immediacy by Levi Fackrell, Curcio so fully inhabits the role that it feels more like a channeling of the self-described “God’s own DJ” than an acting out of the character.

Hungry Mother is an underground shock jock whose specialty is the stream-of-consciousness diatribes he makes to denizens of the twilight hours who might happen upon a weak signal from his tinfoil antenna. He’s a shaman for those on the fringe who look for guidance through his “Junk Reports,” metaphorical news and weather reports of “existential dread” that he didn’t think anyone actually listened to.

But they do listen, and fiction begins to blur with reality as the junkies, punks, prostitutes and pimps who populate the netherworld of a decaying society begin to haunt his life and his stories about such things as “wine brewed from the sores of children” begin to come true.

Overmyer’s script encompasses many themes. Nonlinear and purposely disjointed, it’s about the scourge of racism, as Overmyer himself said. But in 1984 he could not have imagined how prophetic his ideas about the blurring of reality, fears of environmental collapse and the struggle for individuality in an anomic society would ring today.

Using the airwaves to deliver Hungry Mother’s manic point of view gives Curcio a powerful forum for capturing many nuances of the nonconformist, cerebral guy. Rarely leaving the audience’s sight, he draws us in to his subterranean studio, making us voyeuristic listeners to his ever-fluctuating tirades, at one moment joyfully dancing and at the next distressed about the world. His emotional endurance is extraordinary to watch.

Leaving his hovel, he drinks with the alcoholic Belly Up, a pragmatic poet who serves to illuminate the human condition and Hungry Mother’s purpose in life, calling him the “quintessential Cassandra.” Subtly played by Mike Thrower, he’s the Greek chorus who comments on the events of each day.

There’s a former flame who Hungry Mother clearly has feelings for, the damaged streetwalker Free Lance. Played with smoldering sensuality by Sabrina Cofield, her monologues flow with vulnerability, like a damaged heroine from a Tennessee Williams play.

She “craves the danger” provided by her jealous pimp The Mook, played forcefully by Stuart Elzy. He resents being made into a “3-D cliche” by Free Lance, who attempts to exert her independence from the stereotypically brutal thug who later wreaks havoc in Hungry Mother’s life.

And then there’s Janis, the lonely recluse who plays the radio “to keep the junkies away.” She writes sad letters to Hungry Mother and visits him in his studio, where he cruelly exploits her despondency by broadcasting their private conversation on the air. Jamie Carvelli gives a raw, desperate urgency to this downtrodden being who is an emotional voice for the consequences of alienation from society.

And in a few final blows, the pathos-rock band “Hoover and the Navajos” trash his studio and some past cellmates mug him on the dismal street.

Scenic designer Scott Fadale takes full advantage of the existing brick wall in the playing space, creating an earthy, cluttered and dingy grotto at One Marauder Avenue, bathed in the eerie blues of Jessica Betts’ lights. Will Adamson’s sound design provides a gritty, 1980s atmosphere with punk music from the likes of “The Ramones.”

Ernie Curcio gives a bravura performance as Hungry Mother that, like Belly Up says, will leave you “fiberglassted.”