The plot of Richard Montoya’s AMERICAN NIGHT: THE BALLAD OF JUAN JOSE, now at the La Jolla Playhouse, is simple and sturdy.

It had better be. There are enough characters, props and ironies to choke a Tea Party Rally.

Juan Jose, a handsome, serious, sincere Mexican in the U.S., wants more than just a green card. He’s preparing to pull an all-nighter studying for his citizenship exam and he might just succeed if the Mormon missionaries will leave him alone.

They’re only the first of his tormentors, though. He dozes off into a epic nightmare that references nearly every ethnic screw-up in American history, from slavery to modern Arizona. The question posed over and over is whether Juan Jose should even WANT American citizenship.

In keeping with the traditions of Culture Clash, the Latino comedy trio that includes Montoya, Herbert Siguenza and Ric Salinas and gets credit with director Jo Bonney for “developing” this show, AMERICAN NIGHT is an equal opportunity employer of satirical targets. Everybody suffers sooner or later, including the Latinos.

Well, not everybody. Gradually, as “Sacachihuahua” bolsters Lewis and Clark and Yankee swells bully Mexican patriots into signing the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, some few good guys begin to emerge. An African-American healer who saves lives in the flu epidemic, an Anglo teacher who volunteers her services at World War II camps for internment of Japanese-Americans, the San Francisco labor organizer Harry Bridges... A few others.

But they’re paddling against the waves generated by Ku Klux Klanners, the Depression, Teddy Roosevelt, Indian victims, racial stereotypes, bad cops, trailer trash, General Custer, stoned hippies, assassins, Asian nerds, sharks and some of the very worst tuba-playing ever heard on any stage.

All this and quite a bit more is cranked out in fluid gobs of fantasy slathered on by eight supporting actors surrounding Rene´ Milla´n as he wrestles with Juan Jose’s decision.

Bonner’s staging is broad and juicy in the post-modern commedia dell’ arte fashion. The show’s energy never sags just as the ingenuity of Neil Patel’s set design never flags. (And kudos to the property people for finding and enabling such a glorious collection of junk!)

The costumes, by the mono-named Esosa, are intriguing in their range, from hard realism to jokey surrealism. David Weiner’s lighting seems flawless and the projections, by Shawn Sagady, are delightfully fresh and assorted.

Since they’re playing dozens of characters, the actors have been chosen not only for their quick wits and energy but also as representative types. Thus Stephanie Beatriz plays the young women, Terri McMahon is assigned the matrons and David Kelly is the older character man. Rodney Gardner does the black guys, Kimberley Scott takes the black females and Daisuke Tsuji gets the Asians. Choosing between them is folly; Every single scrap of characterization works quite well enough for the director’s purposes at the moment and she is in a hurry, remember.

Montoya and Siguenza also are present in a variety of roles. While their polished proficiency at this sort of work is both sturdy foundation and enriched icing for the show, they both are entering a period when they need to cast themselves selectively. I mean, Montoya is more touching as Juan Jose’s grandfather than Bob Dylan. And Siguenza’s sumo wrestler is more, um, appropriate than his Neil Diamond.

But, hey! This piece is a blast throughout. And while there are a lot of old American scabs picked at, the climax is pretty much all anybody could expect. Just because most of the cast is wearing ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) for the finale doesn’t obscure that Juan Jose himself sports a Dodgers jacket.

Cultures do indeed clash in AMERICAN NIGHT, but the point seems to be that the U.S.A., in all its mongrel reality - comes out way ahead anyhow.

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