Mike Daisey is one hell of a story-teller–even a seasoned raconteur would have difficulty weaving together such disparate plot-points as an America-revering island culture, the wonders of IKEA, and the cost of a sandwich in the Hamptons. But Daisey does it seamlessly in Woolly Mammoth’s The Last Cargo Cult, delivering a monologue that is at once a hilarious account of adventure-travel and a searing indictment of the global financial system.

The play draws its name from a phenomenon that cropped up in the post-World War II era: isolated islands in the South Pacific became obsessed with Americans and the “awesome shit” they brought with them when establishing military bases. After the G.I.s and missionaries cleared out, the indigenous people developed cults that worshipped the material goods of the First World (remember The Gods Must be Crazy?). Daisey details a trip to Tanna, the island at the furthest reach of Vanuatu, where members of the John Frum movement (the last cargo cult, of course) gather once a year to tell the story of America through music, theater, and dance. Daisey extends his stay in the village for several weeks, infiltrating himself in a society that is struggling to maintain a way of life that doesn’t rely on money. The youth of the village is moving to the other side of the island to find jobs and “awesome shit”, similar to when the youthful Daisey did all he could to escape the duldrums and poverty of his childhood home in Maine. This becomes his most poignant parallel: the want for money can lead to the disintegration of community and human relationships, regardless of geography.

The Last Cargo Cult alternates between this peculiar island nation and Daisey’s personal comments on the bloated global market and the current financial crisis. In almost two hours, Daisey does not move once from his desk, which holds only a glass of water, a handkerchief, and his notes. A nod goes to Jean-Michele Gregory’ subtle direction, Andrew Griffin’s savvy lighting, and, of course, Daisey’s charm for making those two hours fly (this coming from someone whose understanding of finance extends not much further than a game of Monopoly). The piece is unscripted, although a few punch lines sound bombastic and over-rehearsed. To my ear, the most effective moments occur when Daisey seems to roam from his planned narrative and drop the Chris-Farley-meets-Jiminy-Glick delivery.

Maybe some of Daisey’s statements are melodramatic (”They [the bankers] know you’ll pay. You always do.” Buh-buh-BUHM.). And you could call one particular piece of audience-participation a gimmick. But ultimately, I left excited to have been a part of such an important piece of work that put the economic crisis back on my radar. It certainly changed my strategy during an epic, four-hour long Monopoly game over the weekend. The banker won, as the banker usually does, but I watched my money closely and was hesitant to mortgage or improve my properties. And as I received $10 for winning second prize in a beauty pageant (the most insulting Community Chest card, really), I remembered Daisey’s assertion that money is our primary religion. We trust that the totems of our world–the “awesome shit” of “iPods and feminism and polio vaccinations and color photography”–mean something. That dollar bills are transubstantiated into happiness and contentment and security. But really, they’re just pieces of paper. Like Monopoly money. (Buh-buh-BUHM.)

The Last Cargo Cult plays at the Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company through February 7. Performed and created by Mike Daisey, directed by Jean-Michele Gregory.