The perennial reception given Jack Kirkland's earthy vehicle of the poor South is a sad commentary on American audiences. Somehow, in eight years, someone should have had the downright sense to stop the flow of "adult only" and "daring presentation" publicity that has provided the abortion with packed housed. Yes, people will be dragged to see the ramshackle spectacle once, but only the degenerate or perverted could have the wide-eyed desire to go back and see two and a half hours of unadulterated country ham again.

Perhaps in the early days of the epic the original company had the ability to present some sort of social message. But the present conglomeration does little more than drift from one vaguely funny bit of profanity to the next. If there is any vestige of significance in the play at all, it is destroyed by a cast that neither understands what the author was trying to get as, nor tries in any way to say anything important at all.

There is one redeeming feature to the whole thing. It is nondescript Jeeter Lester, buffoonish his way across the drab stage with the abandon of a loosed chimpanzee, using all the tricks of the accomplished mugger, stealing every scene, cussing, spitting, pinching and generally acting as if he enjoyed every minute of his poverty. It seems as though James Barton is almost too good a comedian, for his "heavy" scenes misfire, with the audience waiting in vain for a flow of damns or hells.

The rest of the cast wanders through the thin story suffering badly from general cases of meatless Tuesdays all week. Thin, raw-boned and badly undernourished, their acting mirrors the effects of having to eat turnips for eight years on the nation's stages. If you've ever eaten too many turnips, you know the symptoms.

Basically, Tobacco Road has outlived its usefulness. Years ago it might have painted a strong picture of the condition of backwoods farmers, which is definitely a national tragedy. But with a second rate cast and a misguided press agent, the show is prevented into legitimate burlesque. A sincere effort at saying something constructive, plus the denial of vulgarity merely for vulgarity's sake might again put Tobacco Road on the theatrical map.