by AMY BARRATT

The first clue that Cheech is not your typical Centaur show can be found on the poster, where it says, “Production sponsor: FCUK.” I can’t tell you if the deal with the not-quite-profane clothing store included product placement in the form of actors wearing FCUK duds. I can tell you that, at times, characters in Cheech are completely dud-free.

Speaking of product placement, I’d like to know how come Triumph bras aren’t a major sponsor? The set includes an exact reproduction of one of their billboards; you’ve probably noticed it, the one that features a well-filled brassiere above the text, “Tri(oomph).” Having it looming over the stage for the duration of the play set me to musing anew that surely Bi(oomph) ought to be adequate oomph for any woman. But I digress.

Except for the language being spoken, opening night of Cheech felt more like an opening at la Licorne. In fact, François Letourneau’s funny, high-energy play began its life in a Théâtre de la Manufacture production at la Licorne in 2004. Centaur artistic director Gordon McCall first staged the English translation, by Rick DesRochers, last summer in Melbourne, Australia. He holds the reins in this production too, featuring mostly young local actors.

Despite its fractured timeline, Cheech is more straightforward and easier to understand than Trick or Treat, another Quebecois play that Centaur picked up from la Licorne in 2001. Cheech is, despite its “gritty” setting (the sex trade, the underworld, whatever), a light entertainment. Unless you’re offended by a little nudity and profanity—in which case I advise you never to leave your house or to turn on Showcase after 10 p.m.—you’ll enjoy Cheech for the Sudoku it is: Letourneau starts you off with a few clues, fills in a few more until you’re able to fill in all the blanks at the end.

With its “stutter scenes” (McCall coined the term) Cheech has more in common with cinema than traditional theatre. (It’s no surprise that filming has recently wrapped on the movie version of Cheech.) The text will sometimes cut abruptly from one time and place to another, with actors having to turn, emotionally, on a dime. I’m of two minds about an enormous digital clock placed smack in the middle of the set: It’s meant to help us understand that the action of the play isn’t linear. Ultimately, I felt I could have figured that out on my own, and the presence of the clock just caused anxiety. On the other hand, Letourneau probably wanted me to feel anxious.

Australian Shaun Gurton has clearly immersed himself in the seedier side of our city to create a set that reproduces neon “contact dance” signs as well as the enormous and, I’ve always thought, rather disturbing head of a woman painted on a wall at the corner of Pine and St-Laurent.

James Kidnie gives a highly enjoyable performance as Ron, who runs the escort service. Here is a guy whose bullet head is in serious danger of exploding, who just gets more stressed out by the “spirit moments” a self-help book instructs him to take periodically throughout his day. Tania Kontoyanni is flamboyant and sharp as a tack as call-girl Jenny. Andrew Shaver comes closest of all the characters to gaining our sympathy as good-hearted loose cannon Maxime. Although his storyline remains unresolved in the script, Brett Watson gives a memorable turn as the frayed Alexis.

Cheech, or The Chrysler Guys Are In Town, is at Centaur (453 St-François-Xavier) to April 2, 288-3161

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