Sister’s ‘Late Nite Catechism’ of Comedy
As any good Catholic can tell you, don’t mess with Sister.
Pity anyone who does, like the woman sitting near the back of the Curtis Theatre in Brea on Friday night, blithely enjoying “Late Nite Catechism.” All she wanted was moist lips, so after digging in her purse, out came the Chapstick. And up went Maripat Donovan, tromping on the stairs.
Donovan, a stout actress in full nun’s habit and dangling rosary beads, demanded the lip balm and the woman’s complete attention from then on. Tossing in some guilt, she asked “Missy Dry Lips” one question: “You think Jesus’ lips weren’t dry on the cross? Hmmm?”
It sounds harsh, but far from it. The moment was hilarious and reminded everyone what Catholic school (or boot camp) is all about. The Sisters of Mercy can be anything but, when God is the subject.
Donovan’s been doing “Late Nite Catechism” since 1993 when she, with Vicki Quade, created the part-scripted, largely improvisational show as both a celebration and sendup of nuns, the backbone of America’s parochial schools. As Sister, Donovan announces at the start that she’s filling in for Father Murphy (he had another divine calling, the weekly poker game) at his adult catechism class.
After learning how many Catholics were in the audience (most were in Friday’s crowd, although that’s hardly required to have a good time), she went into the subtleties of faith, from the Immaculate Conception to how the human race came about even though Cain and Abel never took wives. Sister quizzed the audience and sped along in often outrageous ways that remained respectful while tweaking the church’s many foibles.
Anyone who failed her little tests (or worse, were smart-alecks) endured rolling eyes and mocking mouth. But right answers earned a prize. Donovan handed out cheap religious figurines and one clever woman went home with a crucifix that doubled as a pen knife. Talk about God protecting you.
Almost as interesting as Donovan’s assurance in the role is how those picked out responded. A friend I took to “Late Nite Catechism,” a confident woman who just happened to have eight years of Catholic school, turned into something of a schoolgirl when Sister questioned her about the Immaculate Conception. Her voice got wee and she shrunk a bit, in deference to Sister’s authority.
She had company. Others, even a few seniors, seemed to drift back to their parochial days. One woman confessed that she got a ruler-rap on the hand for talking in class decades ago, and an 80-year-old fellow recalled the terrible crime of not knowing his lessons while a sister hovered nearby. Donovan just smiled knowingly, eventually bringing out her own handicraft--a tiny chair fashioned out of broken rulers.
Ouch. Oh well, nobody--certainly not Sister--ever said the path to saintliness was going to be easy. But it has funny stretches with “Late Nite Catechism.”
