Novelists as a breed have less success writing plays than poets, but Johnson is both. He's written books of poems like The Incognito Lounge, novels like Already Dead and his new The Name of the World; Jesus' Son is his famous series of (interlocking) stories about a wandering heroin junkie. On paper he can be moving and taut-voiced, grim. But onstage, for some reason, he tends to be funny. There's nothing wrong with funny. There's also nothing wrong with Hellhound, on the surface. It just doesn't dredge as well as the best of Johnson. It feels like three vagabond plays, unaware of their own possibilities.