BLESS ME, FATHER,
FOR I HAVE LAUGHED

Kelly McCaughan turns a Catholic upbringing
into an outrageous exercise in sacrilege,
sexuality, and shameless clowning

I spent my formative years, from four to eleven, in a Catholic school run by nuns, so I had a fairly thorough introduction to the curious architecture of religious belief. To be fair, the more enlightened nuns and priests were inclusive and inclined to regard its stranger stories as allegories, but others, particularly among the older clergy, insisted on the absolute authority of every word in both the Old and New Testaments, regardless of how absurd, anachronistic or flagrantly misogynistic its contents might be. Not much has changed in the past 50 years, and Kelly McCaughan is living proof. Raised on Catholic education from preschool through high school, McCaughan has had a lifetime to absorb the theology, and now she is putting it all on display with her piece, Catholic Guilt, at the SoHo Playhouse.

She begins as the archetypal old priest, solemnly reminding us of the fundamental tenets of the Catholic faith, before undergoing a transformation into a coquettish schoolgirl. Not her fault; it was the school uniform. In my school, nuns required students to wear knee-length black smocks over our clothes, boys and girls alike, no sexual innuendos. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that other Catholic schools dressed their girls in sexy short skirts. Who on earth came up with that insane idea, a dirty old man with a theology degree and an overactive libido?

McCaughan shows us photographs of herself as an adorable twelve-year-old, already having her skirt lengths monitored, her behavior scrutinized, and her “sins” dutifully reported to a priest in exchange for the spiritual equivalent of a get-out-of-jail-free card. Then adolescence arrives, and suddenly her hormones explode, skirts get shorter and shorter, and Jesus looks hotter and hotter. She gives herself absolutely no respite, pushing every joke to its preposterous extreme. She stuffs bread and wine into her mouth, invoking the body and blood of Christ, spits out whatever she can’t swallow, and then launches into an exuberant routine of twerking, popping and shaking her bare backside with the confidence and precision of an exotic dancer.

She embraces the vulgar, the ridiculous and the downright gross, never missing an opportunity to shock. There is a little audience participation and a clear purpose: to remind us how profoundly the beliefs we inherit can shape our minds, our relationship with our bodies and our desires. McCaughan’s mission is to undo some of the shame religion has instilled, both for herself and her audience, and her chosen method is a bizarre, clownish exorcism.

You don’t need to have been raised Catholic to enjoy the show. Every religion has its own peculiarities, misogyny, and improbable beliefs, and comedians have been making excellent use of this material for centuries. But Catholic Guilt brings something different to the table: it is unrestrained and decidedly in-your-face, to the point of feeling almost indecently keen to shock. Nothing is too sacred, too embarrassing or too ridiculous for McCaughan. Go if you enjoy raunchy irreverence; don’t go if you are deeply religious, squeamish or likely to clutch your pearls.

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photos by Luke Wink-Moran and Kranz

Catholic Guilt
SoHo Playhouse (Huron Club), 15 Vandam St. in New York
part of the 2026 New York Comedy Festival
60 minutes, no intermission
remaining performances:
Nov 5, 6, 7, 12, 13 at 9; Nov 11 at 7
ends on November 13, 2026
for tickets ($40), visit SoHo Playhouse

for more shows, visit Theatre in New York

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