‘Talk Radio’ is a penetrating look at America’s corroded soul

I can’t stand talk radio, especially the sort that involves calls from the listening audience. So you can imagine the trepidation I felt going into a show called “Talk Radio,” at Theater on the Edge.

Radio call-in shows — so often with a blowhard host — invariably leave me thinking, “What is wrong with people?”

Theater on the Edge, south of downtown Orlando, has extended its abrasive yet thought-provoking production of Eric Bogosian’s “Talk Radio” through February, so there’s time to see a fictionalized version of this phenomenon. The downside is that the play doesn’t really feel like fiction. And instead of wondering about people in the abstract, you are likely to leave thinking, “What is wrong with America?”

“Talk Radio” paints a bleak picture of society, and although set in 1980s, with a few references changed you could be hearing this tripe on your dial today. Of course, no one uses a dial to tune a radio anymore. But, as the play shows, people still have pride in their ignorant, vapid, self-centered and repugnant viewpoints. That never goes out of style.

The play focuses on a pivotal night in the career of shock jock Barry Champlain. His Cleveland-based “Night Talk” show is being considered for national syndication. It all depends on how well tonight’s show goes. As it happens, things are not going well early on — a hysterical caller named Kent is worried his girlfriend might have died from their drug use; Barry thinks it’s a prank, but station management is worried.

Marco DiGeorge plays Barry with integrity. In other words, he doesn’t try to make this unlikable man any more appealing. Sure, he’s frustrated by his callers — but the phrase “you made your bed, now you have to lie in it” is never far from the audience’s thoughts. Yet, DiGeorge doesn’t make him a monster either. In the coked-up mania, there are remnants of humanity still on view — even if Barry doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

First-time director Allan Whitehead gets focused performances from Alex Jackson, as Barry’s put-upon assistant, Stu, and Elaitheia Quinn — rocking the 1980s eye shadow — as his erstwhile love interest, Linda. Robb Maus is a hoot as the aggressive radio host of a show on making money, a nod to the “Greed is good” mantra of the decade. Christian Wienker gives emotional depth to station manager Dan, who is having a day of monumental ups and downs.

Whitehead lets Adam Minossora, who’s always worth watching, go a bit too far over the top as Kent, the disaffected youth. And the various callers, voiced by Joel Ginel and Merritt Anne Greene, occasionally feel like academic exercises on various accents as opposed to real people.

Samantha DiGeorge’s superlative set puts the audience in a working radio station. The meticulous attention to detail — from the can of Pepsi Free soda, to the VHS tapes of “Mannequin” and “Pretty in Pink” to the dated Playboy magazine — bring smiles to those of us who remember the 1980s well.

The pace starts to lag toward the play’s end. Or maybe it’s just mental exhaustion at the sad state of the American public. Are these callers lonely? Desperate for their 15 minutes of fame? In some cases, evil?

“To hell with you, I don’t need your fear and stupidity,” Barry shouts at listeners. But, like fictional Barry, in the real world we are all stuck with them.