A comedy sketch show by nature is hit or miss. What the plucky No Rules Theatre Company attempts to do in “The No Rules Sketch Show” at Signature Theatre in Arlington actually pretty much follows every rule of contemporary sketch work by including some slightly topical humor, some celebrity impersonations, broad physical comedy and a lot of bawdiness meant to be enhanced by the available cocktails.
Like a lot of sketch ensembles, especially that of, say “Saturday Night Live,” the work succeeds as much in the inherent manic energy of the individual performers as from the writing, which can be either flat or, at one point, completely wrong-headed.
In that, No Rules has a couple of standouts in the talented and versatile Joshua Morgan and unhinged energy of Jamie Smithson.
Both can be counted on to go a few degrees further in their mad characterizations, add a crazed glint in their eye, or maybe go off script. They’re certainly the only two who can consistently make the other members of the cast crack up on stage (which also seems to be a growing component of sketch comedy troupes these days).
Morgan goes a step further in creating a recurring character: his deeply weird singer Neil Shapiro, notable for his badly fitting jeans, indeterminate accent and syntax, and lack of shirt is front man for a two-man act that adapts to any occasion badly.
Still, it’s not his only standout characterization, as he shows his range in a sketch about an actor trying so desperately to win an Oscar, he changes accents and approaches at will.
Smithson is able to fade into the ensemble when needed (as when he plays keyboards for Shapiro) but also dominate other sketches, as when he’s an aggressively weird and divisive employee in a staff meeting.
There are other standouts whose celebrity impersonations shine, as when Angela Miller easily becomes Julie Andrews trying to make a comeback album with Sherry Berg’s devastating take on Ariana Grande as a kind of adult baby monster – the kind of impersonation as good as anything on “SNL.”
The rest of the ensemble – Lisa Hodsoll, Joe Mallon, Kaitlin Kemp, Richard Pelzman — help bolster the show’s 21 sketches by playing dozens of roles.
But the show must rely on the writing and the show’s six credited authors can’t quite keep the ball in the air throughout. Its political material was particularly weak for the D.C. area, where it’s expected to be strong. A sketch about presidential debates in the future influenced by years of social media, for example, is underdeveloped and over about as soon as it starts.
Elsewhere, a liquor spot’s single joke is its vulgar sounding name. And a bit about NPR voices being sexy is little more than a premise.
At least you want to do no harm, though, and an awful, outdated and offensive stab at hip hop, “Rap Isn’t Scary When White People Do It” is not only unfunny, it’s tone-deaf at a time of a renewed national conversation on race. Mostly, the scene only serves to underscore the caucasian confines of the team. When one declares “I don’t even know any black people!” it sounds more sad and true than satirical.
And the final kissoff to the number is so offensive, I won’t even repeat it, since I can’t quite believe I heard it right.
But that’s the risk of taking big swings: sometimes it hits home; sometimes you miss by a mile and go so wrong that not even a fourth appearance by shirtless Neil Shapiro could make a difference.