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Behold! is an Everlasting Gobstopper of a play: It goes on and on, with flavor following flavor in a stream of sweetnesses. It’s tinged with magic. And if it’s ultimately just a confection—the sort to be consumed in moderation—it’s delightful while it lasts. It’s just over two hours long—James Hesla’s antic metaphysical comedy began as a one-act and was developed by the Rorschach Theatre into its current incarnation—and, amazingly, that’s just the right length. Of course, if you’re someone who can’t sit through a tall tale about the possible earth-changing mysteries inside a cardboard box without muttering, “Just open the damn thing already,” you’re better off somewhere else. What you get here, in set designer Sara Nelson’s sanctuary-turned-roadside-attraction-wasteland, is a story of 10 disparate oddballs—give or take a walk-on—drawn together by a quest for something: the knowledge of what’s in the “box of prophecy” left behind by putative Madonna-manquée Anna Tingle, some kind of adventure, or just another waitressing gig. Sideshow proprietor Palamino (Tim Getman) loses the box when he delivers it to the dry cleaner, where the vacuous attendant (Grady Weatherford) eventually catches on that there might be something important in this particular lost item. Meanwhile, a couple of Midwestern vacationers (Andy Brownstein and Jenny Morris) follow the trail of a message left in a Moxie bottle, and two drunken bellboys (Hugh T. Owen and Shane Wallis)…well, OK, I don’t remember how they get involved, exactly, or why everyone is listening to a DJ called the Bishop (Cecil Baldwin) or why the same cute-as-a-button, red-pigtailed waitress (Elizabeth Chomko) keeps showing up everywhere. Granted, this whole Tom Robbins– meets– Amélie enterprise sounds impossibly precious. If it works—and it does work—it’s because director Randy Baker and the rest of the Rorschach crew have created a tightknit, perfectly synchronized carnival of a show. The interconnections therein are not the work of God, the Trilateral Commission, or even Charles Fort (whose writings on paranormal phenomena are referenced throughout), but of Hesla. Accept them and you’ll be drawn in by the spirited performances—some of which, particularly those of Getman, Weatherford, and Chomko, are surprisingly human and empathetic for such a whimsical enterprise. Behold! won’t change your religion or even inspire late-night philosophical colloquies. But for two-plus hours of in-your-face slapstick (Rorschach, as always, warns you to keep your arms and legs in your seats), multiple flavors of laughter, and, occasionally, a bare-chested Owen (pleasantly recalling his titular performance last season in the Washington Shakespeare Company’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover), this children’s play for grown-ups is worth seeing—if not always believing.—Pamela Murray Winters